California Diaries # 11: Dawn III: Missing (5 page)

though. I want you guys to make up. I want al my friends to be happy. That’s

really important to me.

At this point, I keep my mouth shut for a moment. I know this is true. After

what happened to Alex, Ducky must be sort of desperate for al his friends to be

happy. But that’s a lot of pressure. I’m beginning to feel that I can’t tell certain

things to Ducky for fear of worrying him or at least disappointing him. My silence

continues while I think all this stuff over.

Finally…

Ducky: You are going to come to the concert, aren’t you?

Me: (First thinking about al the trouble Ducky went through to surprise us

with the tickets and then imagining myself in the car with Sunny.) Oh, man…

(Ducky is silent. I now imagine Pierre.) Of course I’m going to come to the

concert. Are you sure Sunny can’t ride in someone else’s car?

Ducky: (Laughing.) Right. I’m going to drive to your house, pick you up,

wave to Sunny next door, and call, “Your ride’s on the way. Sorry you can’t come

with us, even though we have room, but I wanted to work out something more

complicated. See you at the concert.”

Me: (Now I’m laughing.) Okay, okay. I’l be big about this.

Ducky: Great.

Me: Now I just have to convince Dad and Carol to let me go.

Ducky: What? You still haven’t gotten permission?

Me: Not exactly. I mean, no.

Ducky: And you put me through al this when you don’t even know if you’ll

be coming with us?

Me: Oh, I know I’ll be able to come. I just have to do a little planning.

Ducky: You have less than a week.

Me: That’s plenty of time.

Ducky: I hope so.

Me: ‘Night, Ducky. I’ll see you on Monday.

Ducky: ‘Night, Dawn.

Sunday morning 2/28

I feel that I’ve been a little too good lately. I need to do something daring.

Or at least fun. Hmm. I think I’ll cal Maggie.

Sunday night 2/28

Maggie and I spent the day together. Maggie is SO much more fun now

that she’s eating again. Before it was always, like, “Oh, no, I can’t eat that.” Or,

“Oh, no, I can’t eat dinner.” She might as well have added, “Are you crazy? I just

ate dinner last week.” Which, horrifyingly, was sometimes practical y the truth.

She was no fun shopping or at a party. Even at school when she started skipping

lunch and she wasn’t even IN the cafeteria, Amalia and I found ourselves sitting

around discussing Maggie’s absence and what it could mean. We were always

discussing Maggie and her weight and her appearance and the horrible tiny

meals she’d eat, when she ate at al .

But now that Maggie’s getting some help, she’s eating again. And she’s

not so obsessed with food. We can go to a restaurant and she can order like a

normal person instead of discarding absolutely every item on the menu because

it has too many calories and then ordering a small bowl or lettuce leaves or

something.

Anyway, I called Maggie and she said she didn’t have any plans today, so

we asked her dad’s chauffeur to drop us off at Harmon’s. We sauntered in there

like we were going to look around that department store forever, but the second

her car had disappeared we ran down the street and soon we were headed

toward the Square. Dad and Carol can’t stand the square. They think the kids

who hang out there are Trouble, like the ones in the “River City” song in The

Music Man. Dad calls them punks and constantly reminds me of the dangers of

marijuana. Ha. If only he knew what those kids real y do. But Maggie and I

weren’t going to hang with the kids. We were more interested in the stores on the

streets around the Square. You can get anything in them – leather clothes, ripped

clothes, incense, hair dye. And you can get any part of your body pierced.

Maggie and I poked around and bought incense, and I bought an incense

holder. Then I considered dyeing my hair black, but Maggie talked me out of it.

Finally we went into this little restaurant, the one cal ed the Tea Shop. You can

buy an awful lot more than tea there, and I don’t mean just food.

Later Sunday night 2/28

My hand was about to fall off. I had to stop writing for awhile.

Maggie and I didn’t go into the back of the Tea Shop, which is where the

interesting things happen. We sat at a booth by the front window. I ordered a

veggie burger and Maggie ordered a salad – but a good, big, healthy salad with

cheese and olives and stuff in it in addition to the vegetables. She even put some

dressing on the salad and she ate almost the whole thing.

While we were eating I said, “I have to find a way to make Dad and Carol

let me go to the concert next weekend.”

“They won’t let you go?”

“No, they haven’t said that yet. But they’re going to when they realize that

the concert is in a club and that liquor will be served and that Ducky is driving us

and it’ll be late at night.”

Maggie made a face. “Yikes,” she said.

“I know.”

“I’ll help you. I’m good at this sort of thing.”

“I know that too.”

“Okay. First of al , be as honest as you can without telling the whole truth.

That way, your dad and Carol can never say that you kept anything from them

exactly.”

“For instance?”

“For instance, tell them the concert is going to be held in a club, not at a

concert hall, and that ordinarily you’d get carded before you go in, but that this

concert is open to all ages. They should figure out the liquor thing.”

“Somewhere, in the backs of their minds,” I added.

“Right. And later, if it’s an issue, you can say, ‘But I told you it was going to

be held at a club.’”

“Okay.”

“Then, of course, there’s always begging, wheedling, promising, bribing,

and bargaining.” (I grinned.) “Although you don’t have to try them in that order,

and you don’t have to be subtle about some of them.” Maggie swallowed a radish

and smiled at me.

The waitress (crew cut, green streak on top of head, two nose rings, five

earrings in one ear, other ear naked, leather tank top, miniskirt) asked us if we

wanted anything else. Maggie and I ordered tea so we could sit and talk a bit

longer.

We made a list of how I could approach the concert with Dad and Carol.

Here’s the list:

1. Tell them about the concert and how badly I want to go. Don’t tell them

everything, but don’t lie either. Impress upon them how much trouble Ducky went

to in order to get the tickets.

2. If they say no, try begging.

3. If they stil say no, try wheedling.

4. If they stil say no, start making promises. (Like, I promise to wear my

seat belt, to make Ducky stick to the speed limit, and to call the moment we get

to the concert.)

5. If they are uncertain, try bribing them. Tell them which chores I’l do if

they let me go.

6. As a last resort, try bargaining, but I may have to compromise the

evening if I do.

Maggie and I hung out at the Square until 15 minutes before we were

going to be picked up. Then we raced back to Harmon’s. When the limo arrived,

we were standing in front of the store looking exhausted from window shopping.

(We had put our bags containing the incense and stuff into old Harmon’s

shopping bags that we’d hidden in our purses before we left.)

I plan to try #1 on the list tomorrow at dinner.

Monday night 3/1

Here is our conversation from dinner (clearly I am going to have to move

on to #2 on the list, probably later tonight):

Dad, Carol, Jeff, and I sit down at the table. Gracie has just had a big

snack of milk and is crawling around on the floor where we can keep an eye on

her.

Dad: So, did everyone have a good day?

Jeff, me, Carol: Oh, yes, sure, yup.

Jeff: My math teacher is a bonehead.

Me: He is? Why?

Carol: It isn’t nice to call people boneheads.

Jeff: Even if they are boneheads?

Dad: This salad is delicious.

Carol: Hearts of palm.

Me: I have some news. (Everyone looks at me.) It’s…well, it’s really

fantastic! I am so excited!

Jeff: What is it? What is it?

Me: Ducky invited me to the Jax concert. Actually, he invited Amalia and

Sunny and me. He got four tickets. Isn’t that cool?

Jeff: (Nearly falling off his chair.) You’re going to the JAX concert? Whoa.

Oh, man, you are SO lucky! The Jax concert. Man…man…I didn’t really think

you’d get to go.

Dad: When and where is the concert?

Me: This Friday night. In North Palo.

Dad: How are you going to get there?

Me: Ducky’s driving.

Carol: What time is the concert?

Me: Jax comes on at about eleven, but the warm-up act starts earlier.

Around ten, I think.

Dad: (Choking a little.) So you won’t even be leaving here until nine or so?

(He glances across the table at Carol and they exchange a meaningful look.)

Me: I don’t know exactly what time we’ll be leaving, but yeah, probably

around nine. Maybe earlier if we go out to eat first. (This has never been

discussed, but I add it brightly because it sounds good.)

Dad: Carol and I will have to talk this over.

Later Monday night 3/1

After this disappointing dinner I called Maggie.

“Okay. On to number two,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

I got my chance less than an hour after dinner. Dad and Carol were in the

living room playing with Gracie, and Jeff was doing his math homework. (I’m not

sure, because I didn’t ask, but I think the math teacher is a bonehead because of

the length of this particular homework assignment.) Anyway, it was a nice, quiet

moment, so I took it as an opportunity to try begging. Also to drive home the point

about Ducky.

“Dad, Carol,” I began, “Ducky went to a lot of trouble to get these tickets.

And we didn’t ask him to get them for us. It was, like, a surprise. He wanted to

surprise us. It means a lot to him. To be able to take us, I mean. He wanted to

treat us. You know what a hard time he’s been through. Alex and everything. I

don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

Carol nodded sympathetically. But Dad said, “I understand all that, Dawn.

But we can’t make decisions based on your friends’ situations.”

Since this did not sound very promising, I decided to move right to #3,

wheedling, before Dad could even continue.

“Dad,” I said, “I consider you and Carol very enlightened parents.” (I know

Carol loves it when I refer to her as a parent rather than as a stepparent.) “And,” I

went on, ignoring the fact that Dad was clearing his throat and trying not to look

at Carol, “I know you won’t be swayed by the fact that the Winslows are letting

Sunny go and Amalia’s parents are letting her go. I know you’ll just stick to the

facts. And at least take Ducky’s desperate situation into consideration. He’s

vulnerable right now. But he’s also an excellent driver. And the most responsible

sixteen-year-old I know. Just very needy. He needs his friends. And I know how

you two feel about being loyal to friends. It’s practical y a family value.”

I paused to see what sort of reaction I was getting. It was interesting. Dad

and Carol didn’t say no. But they didn’t say yes. I think I’ll wait for them to make

the next move. If they don’t make it by tomorrow night, though, I’ll move on to #4.

Cafeteria, Tuesday 3/2

I forgot to mention yesterday that Sunny’s mom came home from the

hospital again. When I returned from school an ambulance was in the Winslows’

driveway. At first I panicked I ran inside, cal ing for Carol. She and Gracie were

out, but Mrs. Bruen was there, which was just as good (Mrs. Bruen is like another

mother to me.)

“Mrs. Bruen!” I cried. “There’s an ambulance next door!”

Mrs. Bruen looked up from the pasta she was fixing for our dinner. “It’s

okay, Dawn,” she said. “Mrs. Winslow just came home.”

“In an ambulance? She had to ride in an ambulance?” This seemed very

odd. If she was sick enough to need an ambulance, why was the hospital letting

her go?

Mrs. Bruen nodded. “she’s pretty sick, honey.”

“I know, but…”

“I think she just wanted to come home.”

“Maybe I’l go visit her.”

“Why don’t you wait a bit. Let her get settled first. It takes more time now.

At least wait until the ambulance leaves.”

I was so shaken by the sight of the ambulance that after awhile. I decided

not to visit her. Maybe I’l go this afternoon.

Tuesday afternoon 3/2

I am sitting at my desk, looking out my bedroom window. I can see the

Winslows’ driveway. In it is a delivery truck with the words HERITAGE

SURGICAL on the side. Below is a list of some of the stuff that I guess this place

either sells or rents to people: commodes, walkers, back and knew braces,

bedsore products, hospital beds, ostomy supplies (whatever they are). The list

goes on. Under the list, in larger letters, are the words ALL SICKROOM supplies.

I shivered when I read that last part. All sickroom supplies. It sounds so

sad and sort of tragic.

This guy has been going in and out the Winslows’ front door, carrying

large cartons.

Hmm. What’s going on? I was planning to visit Mrs. Winslow, but I guess

I’ll put it off again. At least until things seem quieter next door.