Eighty and Out (3 page)

I sulked for days, and Jeannie was the only one at home who seemed to care. As I sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor reading a book, she poked her head in.

“I just did my hair,” she said, turning from side to side. “You want me to do yours?”

I managed to smile. “Sure.”

She came in and took a seat on the bed behind me, brush in hand, and began going through the tangles and smoothing them, working from left to right. She hummed as she braided, which put me at ease and lifted my spirits ever so slightly. When she had finished, she turned to me and said, “You wanna go outside and play? We could climb a tree.”

Jeannie was afraid of heights, but she knew how much I liked climbing trees. Her kindness almost made me want to cry.

I was about to say maybe another time because I was tired, when Mom called out from the kitchen: “I made brownies.”

I had been on a hunger strike ever since she ruined my life, but brownies were my very favorite food. I knew exactly what she was up to, and I wanted to stand my ground, but Jeannie wore an excited expression.

“Brownies! C’mon,” she said.

Reluctantly, I followed her to the kitchen and took a seat. Mom set the plate of brownies in the center of the table and poured us each a glass of milk. I took a bite of one, which was delicious and melted in my mouth, but tried not to let the satisfaction show on my face.

“I’ve got a fun day planned for us,” she announced. “There’s a carnival nearby, and we’re taking you there this afternoon. They have games, rides. They even have a carousel with horses,” she said, eyeing me and smiling.

“All right!” Jeannie exclaimed, practically jumping out of her chair.

I put the rest of my brownie down and pushed the plate away. I didn’t want to go to a stupid carnival.

Mom ignored my reaction. “Okay. We’ll head out as soon as you’re both ready,” she said.

Jeannie raced down the hallway to wash her hands. I went to my room and stared in the mirror, feeling sorry for myself. No wooden horse could ever compare with Maximilian.

After I changed, I shuffled to the family room, where Jeannie, Mom and Dad were waiting.

“Who’s ready to have a great time?” Dad asked.

“I am,” I answered flatly.

Dad looked disappointed by my lackluster response, but he put on a big smile and said, “Let’s get going then.”

The carnival was packed. Amusement park music filled the air, along with peals of laughter as kids of all ages ran to and fro with pink and blue clouds of cotton candy. Even though we’d just had brownies, Jeannie wanted cotton candy, too. And since Dad was going out of his way to make us happy, he said yes.

After sharing a pink cloud of sticky sugar, Jeannie and I ran around checking out all the rides. On my way past the Tilt-A-Whirl, I spotted Frankie. He was waiting in line with one of his friends and was just about to board. He saw me and waved, so I waved back. He’d been a bit nicer since I’d backed away from Sandy, but I still didn’t care for him. He was a bully.

I watched him climb into the cart and sit next to his buddy. His round face and puffy cheeks made him look like a pig, and I smirked as I thought of the Spanish word for pig:
puerco
. I could call him that to his face and he wouldn’t have a clue what it meant. As the ride started and he and his friend began spinning, I smiled, the secret knowledge filling me with a sense of satisfaction.

“Which one do you want to go on?” Jeannie asked. She looked eager.

“I don’t care. You pick.”

Jeannie spied the screaming kids on the Tilt-A-Whirl. “How about that one?”

I wasn’t sure if I would like it, but we got in line. Our parents caught up to us, and Jeannie asked, “Are you coming, too?”

“We’ll watch you from here,” Dad said. Something about his expression told me spinning rides weren’t his thing. I glanced at Mom. She gazed at me, wearing a hopeful expression, but I turned away and started chatting with Jeannie.

When Frankie got off the ride, he looked ill. His pale freckled skin was tinged yellowish-green, and he swayed as he walked. Jeannie and I were next, so we climbed the stairs and hopped in an open cart. Once they were all filled, the ride began. It started off slowly, and I was about to say “this isn’t so bad” when it quickly accelerated, spinning out of control. The crowd blurred as I screamed and slid into Jeannie, the pressure so strong I worried I might crush her. Unharmed, she threw her hands in the air and howled at the tops of her lungs with delight.

I stumbled as I got off, and Jeannie grabbed my arm.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Just a little dizzy,” I said.

Jeannie grinned. “I loved it. I could go again.”

Mom and Dad approached. “How about we go on the carousel next,” Dad suggested.

I had no interest in wooden horses, but I figured I’d get it over with. At least it would make my parents happy.

We boarded and I searched for a black horse. I didn’t see one, so I chose a white one instead. The saddle was decorated with pink and purple jewels and the reins were painted gold. And soon I was moving up and down, riding in a circle to nowhere.

Mom sat on the horse just ahead of me on the left. Halfway through the ride, she turned back to see if I was having a good time, but I didn’t make eye contact. I just continued staring into the space ahead, thinking how pointless this idea was.

I fell asleep on the car ride home. The sugar buzz had worn off, and so had the adrenalin rush from one last visit to the Tilt-A-Whirl to satisfy Jeannie’s need for speed. I woke much later in my bed, confused where I was for a moment. Wide awake, I reached for the flashlight I kept under my bed and began reading one of my romance comics, preferring the fiction of the story to the reality of my crummy life.

At the end of the school year, my parents hadn’t budged on their decision. Bernice knew I felt awful but told me to keep my chin up, and promised we’d do it again when we were a little older. “It will be even more fun then because I’ll know my way around.”

“I guess,” I mumbled.

I couldn’t believe I had wasted all that effort on being good. It hadn’t gotten me anywhere.

“You want to go to a movie before I leave?” Bernice asked.

“Sure,” I replied.

As we walked to the theater, I kept thinking about how Bernice was embarking on an adventurous journey while I was left to climb the same old trees and take trips to the nursing home to see Aunt Violet.

Once we got to the cinema, I noticed a John Wayne movie was playing, which piqued my interest.

“How about
The Searchers
?” I suggested.

“Sounds good,” Bernice said.

The bored ticket attendant took our money without even asking our ages; Bernice treated us to popcorn, and we took a seat. Cartoons played before the movie, and when the film finally started, everybody quieted down.

I was captured by the setting as much as the story. The main character, Ethan, had returned to Texas after fighting in the Civil War, and when his niece Debbie was abducted, he set out to find her. His journey took him to New Mexico of all places, and I found myself smiling despite his sorrow as I watched the beautiful scenery.

Someday it would be my turn.

On the way home, I turned to Bernice. “I have a secret I never told you.”

“Really? What is it?” she asked, slowing her pace.

I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t told her before, but it seemed like the right time. As we walked home I told her of my dream to live out west. I divulged every detail.

“I know it’s my fate,” I said. “I’m certain of it.”

Bernice held up her arm. “Look,” she said. “I’ve got chills.”

Sure enough, she had goose bumps.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I think it’s a shame you’re not coming this summer. I think it’s more than a shame. I think it’s detrimental.”

I studied her. I wasn’t sure what detrimental meant, but I figured it was serious.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this opportunity showed up when it did,” Bernice said.

“I know exactly what you mean,” I said. “I tried to explain it to my mom, but she doesn’t get it.”

“Maybe she does get it. Maybe she’s just thinking about your age. Isn’t that what she keeps saying? That you’re too young?”

She had a point. Maybe my mom wasn’t stupid after all. Maybe she was only seeing one side. But since she was the one who had the final say, her side was the only one that mattered.

When we got to Bernice’s house her mom was making dinner so I didn’t stay long. I gave Bernice a hug.

“Have fun,” I said. I started to leave, but she told me to wait a minute, disappeared into the other room, then reappeared with her mom, who was holding a book.

“Why don’t you borrow this,” Bernice’s mom said.

I took it from her and smiled. It was
High Desert Love
by Judith Johnson.

With Bernice gone, I hung out with the other neighborhood kids. Some of them were fun and enjoyed playing the games I liked, but a lot of times they just wanted to stand around and talk about stupid stuff, like the black family that had just moved to our side of town.

“My dad says they all came to Chicago from the South looking for jobs.”

“Well, they’ve got a lot of nerve moving here,” another said angrily.

As they gossiped, I stayed busy practicing cartwheels. I wished we could play tag or pitch pennies. I couldn’t wait until Bernice came home. These kids were kind of boring.

“What do you think?” one of them asked me.

“About what?” I answered, pretending I hadn’t been following their conversation.

“About the niggers that just moved in near your house?”

I couldn’t tell them my true feelings, that it didn’t bother me. That would just create more problems than I’d had with Sandy.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

The older boy, Kevin, didn’t buy my response. “Whatever,” he grunted.

I shrugged and checked my watch. “Shoot. I’m supposed to be home already. We’re having company. See you guys.” I waved goodbye.

“Later,” one of them mumbled.

On my way home, I decided to make myself scarce until Bernice returned. She would only be gone three more weeks, and I’d rather hang out with my younger sister than with the boring neighborhood kids. Besides, I had a novel to finish.

The next day, I was immersed in chapter four when Jeannie came in my room.

“Why are you so dressed up?” I asked.

“We’re going to Aunt Violet’s today. It’s her 80
^th
birthday.”

I had forgotten all about that. I quickly searched for a nice dress of my own and ended up choosing a pink floral one that was hanging at the end of the closet. I couldn’t remember when I wore it last, and when I changed into it, noticed the shoulders were snug.

Mom came into the room, looking frantic. “We’re running late,” she said. “Are you ready?”

“Almost. I just have to change my shoes.”

I slipped on a nicer pair, and we were off. As we got closer to our destination, a familiar dread set in. Aunt Violet had always been nice to me, and my mom really liked her, so where the feelings came from was a mystery.

On the way there, we went through the usual routine where Mom told me to behave and not say anything that would embarrass her, and I nodded, realizing I’d never live that episode down. She told me to carry Aunt Violet’s present while she held the flowers, and as we entered the building, a nurse wearing a wide smile greeted us.

“Isn’t that nice,” she commented. She winked at me, and I felt even guiltier for not wanting to be there.

“Happy Birthday!” Mom said as we walked into Aunt Violet’s room.

The old woman smiled, and I could see a twinkle in her eye even though she was lying in bed. “Thank you, dear,” she said.

Mom put the flowers next to her bed, and I handed her the present.

“Happy Birthday,” I repeated. Jeannie chimed in a few seconds after me.

“Now, don’t I feel special,” Aunt Violet said. “Three beautiful girls got all gussied up and came to see an old lady when they could’ve been doing something much more exciting.”

“What could be more exciting than spending time with you?” Mom replied.

I thought Aunt Violet was pretty boring but figured she must have been more fun when she was young because Mom often talked about all the good times they had together.

Aunt Violet began unwrapping her gift, and I was surprised to see it was a romance novel.

“I’ve been wanting this one. Thank you,” she said, acknowledging all of us.

“My friend’s uncle wrote a romance novel,” I said.

Aunt Violet looked impressed. “Really? What’s it called?”

“
High Desert Love
by Judith Johnson. He wrote it under a pen name,” I added after seeing her puzzled expression.

“Can’t say I’ve heard of it. I’ll have to add it to my reading list.”

I swelled with pride even though he wasn’t my uncle.

Mom spent some time talking to Aunt Violet about how she was feeling, and from what I could tell, it didn’t sound good. This confused me because Aunt Violet looked so happy all the time, at least whenever we were around.

When we got back home, Jeannie and I ran outside to play. I practiced tricks with my Yo-Yo, deep in thought.

“I don’t want to get old,” I said.

“How come?” Jeannie asked.

“Because Aunt Violet looks like she’s just sitting there waiting to die. I don’t want to be like that. I say eighty and out.”

Jeannie looked confused. “You mean you don’t want to live past eighty?”

“Exactly.”

“But what if you don’t die before then?”

I caught my Yo-Yo and turned to face her, running my index finger across my neck while making a slicing sound.

Jeannie laughed. “You’re funny.”

I didn’t smile.

“But you’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

I had never been surer of anything in my life. I knew it like I knew I’d live out west and feed carrots to Maximilian. “What do you say? You in?”

Jeannie put her hands on her hips and scrunched her face as she thought about it. “I’m in,” she said, reaching for my hand.

We shook on it, and with that settled turned our attention to more important things, like the sound of the approaching ice cream truck. We bolted for the front door, and as we came running in, Dad was already standing, pulling money from his pocket.

“Thanks!” we said in unison as we raced toward the truck.

We waited patiently as the other kids took their turns. Jeannie and I both got Good Humor bars, smiling at each other and nodding appreciatively as we devoured our ice cream.

This was living, I thought.

Later that night, I couldn’t sleep so I grabbed my flashlight and pulled
High Desert Love
out of its top-secret hiding spot. I was honored Bernice’s mom had lent it to me but didn’t think my mom would appreciate me reading a grown up love story.

I was completely immersed in the plot when I heard a loud explosion outside. I jumped from the bed and peered out the window and saw a house on fire a few doors down. The colored family’s home.

Moments later, a black man and woman came running out in their pajamas. The lady was coughing, unable to stand on her own, so the man held her up as they hurried away from the burning building.

Dad opened my bedroom door. “Get away from the window,” he said. Before I could see what happened next, he scooped me in his arms and carried me to the family room where Mom and a bleary-eyed Jeannie were seated on the sofa.

“What was that loud noise?” I asked, my heart still racing.

Mom glanced at Dad.

“I think it was a Molotov cocktail,” Dad said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s a bomb,” Dad answered, taking a seat next to me.

“Aren’t we supposed to duck and cover?” I asked.

“Not this time,” Dad said. “It’s not like that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Because the bomb was meant for our neighbors.”

He and I made eye contact, and then I understood. “You mean someone tried to kill our neighbors?”

“It appears so,” Mom said.

“Why would someone do that?” I asked, suddenly feeling frightened.

Mom frowned. “I don’t know, honey.”

Jeannie started crying, which made me cry.

“Shouldn’t we go out there? Shouldn’t we see if they need help?” I asked.

I rose, thinking we were all going to race outside, but my parents stayed seated.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dad cautioned. “It’s best not to get involved.”