Don't Make Me Smile (2 page)

Well, that may be what the dictionary thinks divorce is, but I'll tell you what it really is.

Divorce is like watching your parents back
the car over your brand-new bicycle. You can see what's about to happen, but the car is already moving.

You shout, “STOP! STOP!” But no one hears you. So you just stand there and watch the tires of the car crush your bike as flat as a pancake. And you get this terrible, sick feeling inside you, like you're going to throw up or faint or something.

You cry, but it doesn't help. Your parents say they're sorry, but that doesn't help, either.

Nothing helps.

It's all smashed to pieces, and it will never be the same.

That's divorce.

S
O FAR, one of the worst things about my parents' divorce is that I'm supposed to go around smiling all the time. When they were together, I never had to smile unless I felt like it. But ever since they split up, I have to keep looking real jolly and happy. If I don't, it makes them feel even guiltier.

“Cheer up. Cheer up.” That's all my mother keeps saying. Then she tries to make me smile. If there's one thing I really hate, it's having someone try to make you smile when you don't want to.

“Come on,” she says, “let me see a little smile.”

Sometimes, I try to resist. But I know she won't leave me alone until I do it. So usually, I just shoot her a stupid grin to get her off my back.

My mother isn't the only one who keeps trying to make me smile, though. My father is just as bad. He even tried it the night he told me about the divorce.

He knocked on my door and asked if he could come in. I really could kick myself for not asking him what he wanted first. Then maybe he would have said, “I want to talk to you about the divorce your mother and I are getting.” And I would have said, “Well, in that case, you can't come in. Not unless you promise to stay together.”

And he would have said, “Okay. If you feel that strongly about it, I guess maybe we will.” And then all of us would have lived happily ever after.

But instead, I just unlocked my door and let him in.

Dad walked over and sat down on my bed beside me. He had this real grim look on his
face, like something terrible had just happened. It really got me scared.

“There's something very important that I have to tell you, Charlie,” he said.

By this time, I was sure that someone had died.

I swallowed hard. “Was it Grandma?” I asked.

My father looked puzzled. “Was
what
Grandma?” he said.

“The one who died … was it Grandma?”

“Oh
no
, Charles,” he said. “It's nothing like that. No one has died.”

I felt relieved. “Thank God,” I said. “For a minute there, you really had me worried, Dad.”

“I'm sorry, Charlie,” he said. “But still, what I have to tell you is very, very difficult.”

As soon as he said this, I started getting scared all over again.

“I know that I'm not going to be able to explain this as well as I want to,” he said. “But I'll do the best I can.”

My father took a deep breath. “For a long time now, your mother and I haven't been very happy living here together.”

“What do you mean you haven't been happy?” I said. “You always act okay to me.”

“I mean that when your mother and I got married, we loved each other very much,” he said. “And we thought that we would always feel that way. But sometimes things don't always work out the way we want them to. Even though two people care about each other, they're not always happy living together.”

He shook his head. “They try, Charlie, but it just doesn't always work. And after a while they decide to make some changes so that they can both be happy again.”

Dad stopped talking for a second and looked at me.

“Do you understand what I'm saying, son?” he asked.

“Sort of,” I said. “You're saying that you and Mom need to do something to make yourselves happier.”

“That's right, Charlie. We do,” he said.

Now here is where I made my next big mistake. I asked an extremely stupid question.

“So what are you going to do?” I asked.

Man, I wish I had never asked that. If I hadn't asked it, maybe my father would never have said what he said. Maybe he would have changed his mind.

Instead, he waited a minute, then he lowered his voice and said, “We've decided to get a divorce.”

I just sat there staring at him. I couldn't even speak, I mean.

Dad reached out and put his arms around me. He must have thought that I was going to start bawling or something. But I fooled him. I don't know why I didn't cry. I just didn't.

All I could do was stare.

Have you ever noticed that when you stare at somebody long enough, it makes them nervous? And when people get nervous, they say very stupid things. I know this is true. Because after I stared at my father for a while, he said the stupidest thing in the whole world.

“Are you okay?” he said.

I mean, just think about how stupid that is. Your own father comes into your room, sits down on your bed, and tells you that he and your mother are going to destroy your entire life. Then he asks you if you're okay.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

As a matter of fact, it was such a stupid question, it deserved a stupid answer.

“Yeah, Dad. I'm fine,” I said.

He ruffled my hair. “Of
course
you are,” he said.

He stood up. “Well, I think I've told you just about enough for one night. I know this is going to be hard on you. It's going to be hard on all of us. But I don't want you to worry, Charlie. It's all going to work out fine. I just know it is.”

He reached down and hugged me again. “How about a little smile just to show me you're okay,” he said.

I shot him a grin to get him out of my room.

My father walked to the door.

“We'll talk about this again tomorrow, after you've had a chance to think about it. Good night, son,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“Good night,” I said back.

I waited a couple of minutes to make sure he was gone.

Then I ran into the bathroom and threw up.

I
'M NOT sure how long I stayed in the bathroom that night. It was long enough to make my mother nervous, though.

She knocked on the door. “Charles, are you okay?” she called.

I don't know why she and my father aren't happy together. They both ask the same stupid questions.

“Great,” I said. “I'm just great.”

I looked in the mirror. I was so far from great it wasn't funny. My face was as white as a sheet.

I started the water in the tub. “I'm going to take a shower,” I yelled.

“Well, if you need anything, just holler,” Mom called back.

Oh, I
do
need something, Mother, I thought. I need two parents who care about me. I need you and Dad to stay together. But I didn't say it.

I stayed in the shower for over half an hour. I washed my hair twice for no reason. By the time I got out, my skin was so wrinkled I looked even worse than before.

I put on my pajamas and slowly opened the bathroom door. I wanted to make sure my mother wasn't hanging around the hall waiting for me to come out.

I just wanted to be left alone.

The coast was clear. I hurried into my bedroom and locked the door behind me.

“I'm going to bed now,” I hollered.

But as it turned out, I didn't need to holler at all. When I turned around, my mother was standing there waiting for me.

I could tell she had been crying. Her nose was all red and her eyes were real puffy-looking. She looked awful.

I wanted to tell her to get out of my room, but I was afraid she would start crying again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly.

I didn't answer.

“Charles, please,” she said, “I know this is a big shock for you, and it's very hard for you to understand. But it's hard for all of us.”

A couple of tears rolled down her cheek.

All I can say is that if she was trying to make me feel better, she was doing one lousy job.

I wanted her to leave. It was all that I could think about.

I didn't say anything. I just unlocked my door and pointed to the hall. This clearly meant for her to go.

She didn't, though. She just stood there.

So I left instead.

I heard my father in the bedroom. I went to his door and looked in. He was standing there holding two suitcases.

Suddenly, I was furious. How could they do this to me? How could two people who were supposed to love me wreck my life like this?

My father looked embarrassed. “I guess I'll be staying in a motel for a couple of days,” he said. “I'll come get you tomorrow and we'll talk. Okay?”

I just kept glaring at those suitcases.

He put them down and came over to me.
“Everything will be okay, Charlie,” he said. “I promise you it will.”

I backed away. I could tell I was making him feel uncomfortable. I was glad.

Finally, he picked up his suitcases again and walked out. “I'll see you tomorrow,” he said.

I followed him down the hall to the front door. I wanted to make him feel as upset and sick as I was. I wanted to make him throw up, too.

As he headed down the front steps to his truck, I started to cry.

“Don't, Charles,” he said. “Please don't cry.”

Since he didn't want me to cry, I cried even louder. Making him feel terrible was the only thing that could make me feel better.

I really started to blubber.

There's a big difference between just plain crying and blubbering, by the way. Crying is when you make little whimpering noises and tears come out of your eyes. Blubbering is when you make this loud heaving noise, and your nose runs, and everyone in the neighborhood can hear you.

After my father put his suitcases in the truck, he reached out to me. I backed away again.
I didn't want him to touch me. All I wanted was to show him how terrible he had made me feel.

At last, he got in his truck and drove away.

I went back inside and ran to my room. My mother was still there. And to make matters worse, she was crying again.

She was really getting on my nerves. What in the world did she have to cry about? Her parents weren't splitting up, were they?

“I want to be alone,” I said.

This time, she didn't argue. She just walked out.

As soon as the door was closed, I flopped on my bed. All I could think about was how both of them kept asking me if I was okay.

Suddenly, I got up and opened my door.

“And I'm NOT okay!” I shouted. “I'll never be okay again!”

W
HEN SOMETHING bad happens, people don't all act the same way. Some people go nuts. Others just act like nothing has happened at all.

I always used to wonder which kind of person I was. Now I know.

I'm the kind who goes nuts.

I started going nuts the day after my father told me about the divorce.

My mother knocked on my door at the regular time to get me up for school.

“Are you awake, Charles?” she called.

I didn't answer. I must admit, I was getting
pretty good at not answering. It's really very easy. All you have to do is not open your mouth.

To me, the greatest thing about not answering is that no one can make you do it if you don't want to. That makes it very special. Because when you think about it, there aren't too many things your parents can't make you do if they really try hard enough.

Take mowing the lawn for instance.

One time I totally refused to mow the lawn. It was about a hundred and fifty degrees outside, and the grass was about a foot high. So when my mother told me to go out and cut it, I told her, “Later.”

“No, not later, Charles,” she said. “
Now.
”

“No!
Not
now!” I yelled.

I don't usually disobey my mother like that. It's not that I'm afraid of her or anything. It's just that she can make my life pretty miserable if I don't do what she says.

Anyway, it only took about two seconds before Mom came into my room, yanked me by the arm, and pulled me outside.

After that, she started the lawn mower, put my hands on the handle, and put her hands on top of them.

Then, before I knew it, she was walking me all over the yard, making me push the mower.

Man, did I ever feel like an
idiot.
Every once in a while, one of my friends would ride by on his bike and laugh. It was totally humiliating.

Anyway, that's the kind of thing parents can make you do. But there's no way they can make you answer if you don't want to. No way in the world.

Of course, I don't want you to get the idea that I wasn't going to speak at all. Oh no. I was planning to speak, all right. But only when I felt like it. And only when I had something really mean to say.

“Come on, Charlie, get up,” Mom said again. “I don't want you to miss your bus.”

Can you believe that? She actually thought that I was going to school as if nothing had even happened.

Boy, was she in for a surprise.

I heard her go into the kitchen to start breakfast. But a couple of minutes later, she was right back at my door. My mother is like a boomerang, sometimes.

“Charlie, your breakfast is ready. Let's
go
,” she shouted.

She waited.

“Charlie?” she called. “Charlie? ANSWER ME!”

Her voice was getting frantic. I think I know why, too. Since I hadn't answered, she was probably afraid that the stress of the divorce had been too much for me. Like she was probably thinking that I had had a heart attack from all the tension or something.