It's an Aardvark-Eat-Turtle World (9 page)

We sit down at a table.

Jason wipes the tears off my face. “Are you all right?”

“I think so.” The tears keep coming. “Mindy's tried to prepare me for this kind of stuff, but I guess you can't know what it's like until it happens. My mother said that when she was married to my father, she had to deal with stuff like that. Someone once spit on her.” I shake my head. “I've never had anyone talk to me like that man did.”

“I bet he's a tourist, not a Canadian,” Jason says. “Don't think we're like that.”

I think of Jason's family and friends. I know they're not.

The waitress comes by and takes our order.

I'm not hungry but order something, sort of like a rent payment for using the table.

It's so embarrassing to be crying in public.

Jason rips the straw wrapper to bits. “I've been brought up to be a pacifist . . . and I wanted to kill that guy.”

“Maybe it's not a good idea for us to go out.” I sniffle.

“Wrong. It's a good idea. In fact, it's a great idea. You're the best girl I've ever met.” Jason starts on another straw wrapper. “Has anything like this ever happened before?”

“No.”

“See? Then he's just one piece of garbage. Not everyone's like him.” Jason puts down the wrapper and takes my hand. “People like him don't fit into the way our world is now. He's got a brain like a dinosaur, and they became extinct. His kind will too.”

“I hope so,” I tell Jason. “It's weird. In Woodstock I've never had to think about it much. I do know when I visit my father, I meet some people who don't like white people, and when I'm with Mindy's parents and some of their friends, I know they would like it better if I were totally white. But nothing like this has ever happened before . . . .I really like being a combination of both colors and cultures.”

“I think you have a lot of culture, and I love your skin color.” Jason blushes. “It's beautiful.”

“I love yours too.” I blush, too, but it doesn't show as much. “But Jason, it's your freckles that are the same color as I am, not the rest of your skin.”

“The freckles and my skin make me more than
one color too,” Jason teases. “You just blend better than I do. I spot.”

That makes me laugh. It's good to know that I still remember how.

It's odd. Mindy's white and living now with a white man. My father's black and married to a black woman. Unless I'm with them, when they go out in public they don't have to deal with some of the stuff I may have to. Somehow, it's never been a big deal before. I hope it doesn't become one.

That guy deserves something awful to happen to him. He has no right to be like that. I bet when he was a kid he was one of those awful ones who thought that making fun of people made him a big shot.

I'm glad I'm growing up in a time when there are less of his kind around.

It still hurts though.

But I'm not going to let what happened mess things up between Jason and me.

Good princes are hard to find.

P
hoebe's a real down.

Jason and I tried to include her in some of our plans. He even got one of his friends to take her out last night so we could double.

What a pill she was. No smiling. No talking.

The double date ended at about 9:30. When we came back to the house, she went upstairs and her date left. I felt bad for him. He was just trying to do Jason a favor. She didn't have to marry him, but she could have acted like a human being.

The good news was that Jason and I had some time alone.

I almost called Mindy collect to talk. So much has happened in just a little while. When I left she said that I could call, so she must have had a feeling that there might be problems.

I decided to wait because we'll be home later today.

Today. That means we're leaving Canada. I'm leaving Jason.

Last night we promised to write every day, to not forget each other, not that I ever could. He promised to come to Woodstock for Christmas.

As I pack I think about how much I'll miss him. How I like his smile. His sense of humor. The way he treats me. How he makes me feel. The way he kisses.

So much has happened. It's going to take a while to sort it all out.

“Breakfast.” Aviva sticks her head in the door.

“I'll be ready in a few minutes.”

She comes into the room. “I'm going to miss you, Rosie. Even if Jason did monopolize your time here, I really like you.”

“Me too.” I give her a hug.

“Why don't you come back here again soon?” she
says. “You don't have to come up with them. You can come up on your own. I've already asked my parents, and they've said yes.”

That makes me feel great.

Something tells me that Aviva is not happy with her relatives though.

I guess that includes Phoebe, who is off somewhere talking to her mother.

We go downstairs.

Jason is waiting for me at the bottom of the steps.

Aviva goes into the kitchen.

Jason and I hug each other.

I wonder how many days there are until Christmas vacation.

This is the last meal before the plane ride.

I can hardly bear leaving Jason.

Aviva comes out. “I hate to do this to you, but breakfast is being served.”

We go in and sit at the table.

Phoebe's sitting quietly next to her mother.

Michael brings out his specialty, eggs Benedict.

He's so proud of his cooking.

He should be. It's great.

As we eat, I keep peeking over at Jason.

He's doing the same to me.

Once I cross my eyes just to throw him off guard.

He chokes on his eggs Benedict but quickly recovers.

Bev smiles at us and says, “Ah, young love.”

Really embarrassing.

Duane starts talking about the state of the world economy.

Boring.

Phoebe's saying nothing, playing with her food with her fork.

She's even more boring than Duane.

Mrs. Carson starts to talk. “Listen, everyone. I have a wonderful announcement.”

We all look at her. She's very happy.

Everyone stops talking and looks at her.

She smiles. “I'm so happy. I have the best news. Phoebe has decided to move back to New York to live with us. Isn't that wonderful?”

Wonderful isn't the word for it.

I guess this is what people mean by dropping a bombshell.

How could Phoebe do this without talking to me first?

Has she gone crazy?

Is she so angry at me for being with Jason that she's doing this to get back at me?

Is this a plot of her mother's?

How's Jim going to take this?

What will Mindy say?

I look around at everyone at the table.

No one's saying anything except Mrs. Carson.

She's the only one smiling.

Phoebe's not.

Nor is Duane.

Neither am I.

J
ason's driving me to the airport.

Phoebe and the Carsons are in the other car with Bev and Michael.

There wasn't room for all of us in the same car and I'm glad.

I'm so angry at Phoebe for deserting our family.

There's so little time left to be with Jason. I don't want to waste it thinking about Phoebe.

Jason parks the car and says, “Once you go through customs, we'll have to separate.”

I miss him already.

He reaches over and takes a package out of the glove compartment. “Here, Rosie. Unwrap this now.”

It's in aluminum foil. Something tells me he wrapped it himself.

I tear the paper off.

It's a beanbag frog, made out of green material with yellow and black eyes and a zipper mouth.

“Kiss it,” he says.

“I'd rather kiss you.” I do.

In a few minutes he says, “Kiss the frog. We're going to be late for the plane otherwise, and I really want you to see this.”

I kiss the frog.

Jason takes it from me, unzips the mouth, and turns it inside out.

Zipping it back up, he shows it to me.

Now it's a prince.

“Jason, I love it. It's the best present in the whole world.”

He's very proud of himself.

I put the frog/prince in my travel bag.

We kiss and then rush to the customs area, where everyone else is waiting.

Duane and Mrs. Carson don't look too pleased, but at this point, who cares.

It's awful to say goodbye, especially in front of everyone.

I'm also going to miss his parents and Aviva.

Once we answer the customs guy's questions, we have to go.

I can hardly stand it.

Next thing I know, the Carsons, Phoebe, and I are in a room waiting for the plane.

I say nothing, thinking of Jason.

I sneak a peek in my travel bag and touch the frog/prince.

Normally I would have shown it to Phoebe, but I'm not sure that I want to share anything with her right now.

Once we get on the plane, I take out a magazine and pretend to be engrossed in it.

We haven't said anything to each other since her mother's announcement.

Finally I can't stand it anymore. “Phoebe, how could you? Why are you moving?”

She's got a very removed attitude and a cold voice. “New York has so much more to offer.”

“But you've always said that you liked Woodstock better.”

She stares ahead. “That was when I was younger.”

“Two months ago,” I remind her.

Continuing, she says, “There's much more to do in New York City . . . so many cultural advantages . . .   the theater . . . first-run films . . . a higher-quality school system.”

Either Phoebe's been taken over by an alien inhabiting her body or she's been listening to her mother too much.

“What about Dave?” I want to know. “What about me?”

For a minute there's this flicker of feeling like she's not a robot. “I'll miss Dave, but we'll still see each other. He can come down to the city and I'll still be coming up to Woodstock sometimes. I'll just be riding the Divorce Express in reverse. So Dave and I will see each other. So will you and I.”

I want to pound her on the head with the airline magazine but decide not to create a scene, especially not in first class.

“What about Jim? How do you think your father's going to feel about this?” I roll up the magazine.

She shrugs. “He's got Mindy. He won't miss me.”

How disgusting can she get?

That's it. I stop asking questions.

The rest of the plane ride takes place in silence.

When the plane lands, I check to make sure that the frog/prince is still in the travel bag and quickly rush off the plane to find Mindy and Jim.

They're right where I thought they would be, waiting for us at the front of a crowd.

I knew I could depend on them to be there.

As we're picking up our luggage, Mrs. Carson says to Jim, “We have something important to talk out. If you would be so kind, Phoebe, Duane, and I have something to talk to you about. We need to work out some arrangements with you.”

Poor Jim. He doesn't have any idea of what's coming. How cruel. How can they do this to him this way?

Mindy looks at him. “Honey, if you want, Rosie and I will go for a cup of coffee so that you can talk. You can meet us in the restaurant after you're done.”

Mindy gives him a kiss and whispers something to him.

I know she's checking to see if he wants her to come along for moral support.

He shakes his head and returns her kiss.

As they head off for their discussion, Mindy turns to me and says, “What's going on?”

I explain.

“Poor Jim,” Mindy says softly. “This is going to tear him apart . . . .Phoebe must be even angrier than we thought about us living together.”

“Do you think he'll leave us to make her happy?” I ask.

Mindy hugs me. “Let's not think about that.”

While we're waiting for them to return, I tell her all about Jason. Then I show her the frog/prince.

“He sounds like a nice boy.” Mindy smiles but she seems a little distracted.

I do understand why she can't pay full attention to me right now, but I wish she could. There's so much I want to tell her, so much I want to ask her.

I also want to talk to her about what happened with that slug slime's comment about my color. Something tells me that this is not the right time.

Jim and Phoebe come over to our table.

“Time to go home.” Jim looks grim. “There's some packing to do.”

No one says a word during the entire trip back to Woodstock.

I debate trying to start a conversation but know it won't do any good.

This is definitely not the time for a few choruses of “We're Off to See the Gizard.”

Well, Phoebe, I guess you're not in Woodstock anymore.

L
ife goes on.

I guess.

I miss Jason so much.

We write, not every day, but lots.

Phoebe's enrolled back at her old school in New York.

Dave's so sad.

I'm not sure that I am.

Jim's a wreck. He walks around feeling responsible.

Mindy's upset because Jim's in such bad shape.

Even though Phoebe's not living with us, it's like she is.

She's coming up next weekend to visit.

There's still a bed for her in the room that I now consider mine.

I've used all of the storage space but one drawer, which she can use.

She better not be as sloppy as she used to be, because the room is very neat now.

She's not going to be too pleased that I've taken down her posters, even the one I liked.

Who cares? It's been over a month since Phoebe's left and next week will be her first visit.