Notes to Self (8 page)

I crossed my eyes at her. She did her best iguana face, which involved touching her index fingers to her thumbs, inverting her hands and pressing them up against her eyes, then sticking out her tongue and hissing. Even though I’d seen her do it a million times, it always cracked me up. It usually made even the teachers smile, unless they were half dead already, which some of them were. We giggled and slurped our drinks and every time I thought I was done laughing, Emily would hiss, just a little, and set me off again. I wished we were sisters so we’d never have to spend time apart. Finally, I took a swallow of the cold chocolate coffee and it slid down the wrong pipe, directly into my lung. I had one of those huge, embarrassing coughing fits that you only get when you’re trying to tell a story to, like, nine people who know they are cooler than you. Emily giggled at me, whacked me on the back a couple of times, and went and got a cup of water from the barista. I sipped it until the frappucino gradually dissolved out of my poor, abused lung. We were cured of the giggles.

“Are you going to call me ‘Runaway Train’ from now on?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Great.” I sat quietly for a couple minutes while Emily waited. I could tell she was letting me gather my thoughts because she didn’t even take out her phone to see if she had any texts. She just sat there. It was an unusual thing to sit there with another person, not talking, not texting, just being. If the person you’re with will wait for you to work out what’s in your head so you can make them see, you know they care. I wondered if I even needed to say anything. It was like she understood already—the way Reno used to, before he got annoying.

“So technically, I shouldn’t be doing this, because my mom isn’t so bad. In the scheme of things,” I added.

“In the scheme of things,” she repeated, nodding.

“But I’m just tired of doing all the work. Ever since she started school, I have to get groceries, and do the laundry, and clean the bathroom, and make dinner. It’s not fair! Plus, she’s always super bitchy because she’s so stressed out.”

“That sucks.” Emily had been over to my place enough times to observe my mother staring into her empty cup of tea and rubbing her eyes as she tried to meet a paper deadline.

“And it makes me feel so guilty to even complain about it. Because before she started school, I hated her being so pathetic about Dad. She was always waiting for him to come back. And now she’s not doing that anymore, and it’s
worse
.”

“Why should
you
feel guilty?” Emily pointed out. “You shouldn’t have to do everything. That’s messed up.”

“I don’t know. I guess. Let’s go.”

After several hours of trying on clothes, we settled in for the night. The plan went perfectly. I fell asleep with a smile on my face, my cheek against the softest sheets I had ever felt. When my phone alerted us that it was close to opening time, Emily and I climbed out of our downy beds and hid under them. We waited as the employees arrived.

After about forty-five minutes, I knew the store was open and it was technically safe to come out of my hiding spot, but I decided to wait a few more minutes. If we didn’t give the place enough time to fill up, employees would notice us and we wouldn’t be able to sleep there again.

I texted Emily to tell her not to move for a while and closed my eyes again. We could sleep another half hour and then spend the day doing whatever we wanted. The thought thrilled me.

Then, the worst possible thing happened.

Someone—not Emily—lifted up the comforter hanging down over the bed. A face peered in to my hiding spot. It was, of all people, my mother. Awesome.

“Hi, Robin.” She didn’t sound mad. She sounded amused. I narrowed my eyes, wishing I could disappear. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Hi.”

“Don’t you want to know how I found you?” She was supremely pleased with herself. You’d think having your kid run away from home would make you stop and think for a minute or two, but apparently not.

“Not really.” I crawled out from under the bed.

“Well, I’m going to tell you anyway.”

“Great.” I grabbed my backpack.

“Your phone has a GPS thingie in it. God bless Big Brother.”

“You’re tracking me?” I frowned. Stupid phone. I should have known she was up to something when she agreed so quickly to give me a new cell phone for Christmas.

“Let’s go.” She picked up my bag. I wondered for how many years I’d be grounded for taking her credit card. Probably seven.

I couldn’t decide whether or not to call out to Emily. On the one hand, she’d need a ride home. On the other, she might not have a tracker in
her
phone. She might enjoy a couple more days of sweet freedom.

“You too, Emily.” My mom said, still as smug as all get out. So much for that.

Emily scrambled out from under her hiding spot. She didn’t seem upset either. What was wrong with everyone? “Hey, Mrs. Saunders.”

“Actually, it’s Miss Larson again. Signed the divorce papers this morning.”

“Um…congratulations?” I could feel Emily looking at me, trying to gauge how I was feeling, but I refused to meet her eyes.

“Thanks. Now, let’s get out of here before the store management finds out they had two unwanted overnight guests. I’d rather not buy all the pillows you two drooled on last night.” We headed for the door and Emily jabbed me. She crossed her eyes and put her palms up, like:
What can you do? Moms, right?

The ride home was bizarre. Before we dropped Emily off, they both acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Mom asked Em about school and she answered. When we pulled into the parking lot of her condo complex, Emily grabbed my hand before she jumped out of the back seat. I met my friend’s eyes, she gave a little wave, and it was over. Mostly, I felt embarrassed. I didn’t know my phone would give me away. I could have left it behind so easily. Instead, the whole thing was a joke now, the kind of thing my mom would tease me about until I was forty and she was senile. I wanted to make a statement, and instead I made an idiot of myself.

We were both silent for a long time, and then I noticed Mom missed our usual turn. We probably needed gas or something. I was resigned to anything; I just wanted to fade into the car upholstery.

When she finally stopped the car, we were just inside the Disney World gates. All the road signs were purple with white letters, and all the grass was a uniform length. Palm trees lined up between 3-D billboards advertising the latest rides. She parked our car in a huge lot by a white Cirque Du Soleil amphitheater. The lot was free; sometimes we came in here to get ice cream or see a movie. When she finally spoke, her voice was no longer smug or jokey.

“I ran away from home, too,” she said, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.

I had to lean toward her to catch what she was saying. “You what?”

“I ran away. And I didn’t go back. Well, not until you came along. And then only for a visit.” She took her hands off the wheel and played with her rings. She looked younger than thirty-five to me. She bit her lip and seemed almost teenager-y, if you took away the tired eyes.

“How old were you when you ran away?” I pulled my feet up and sat cross-legged, right there in the passenger seat. This was getting interesting.

“Sixteen.”

“Wow.” I knew my mom was from Michigan, specifically the Upper Peninsula
—the place on earth for which they invented the word “boondocks”—but I hadn’t realized she’d been that young when she came to Florida.

“Yeah. I got on a bus and never looked back.”

“Was it…were things…bad?” I felt ashamed. It wasn’t like anyone was beating me or anything. Not making me the chicken I liked on a consistent basis wasn’t exactly child abuse. What if my mom was about to tell me some things I really, really didn’t want to hear?

“Things were
cold
.” She stared off into space, and then added, “It was foolish. I should’ve at least finished high school. Doing it later on was hard.”

“Um, why are we parked here? Are we going to a movie?”

“This was my, uh, destination,” she said, sheepishly. “I saw this television commercial for Disney World and it looked so perfect. So sunny and happy and…well, I was just a stupid kid.”

I got it. This was supposed to be some sort of mother-daughter bonding moment. I didn’t say anything, just squirmed in my seat. Did this mean I wasn’t grounded? I remembered visiting Grandma and Grandpa and a half-dozen aunts and uncles when I was six or seven, at Christmastime. The town they lived in consisted of a church, three bars, a Piggly Wiggly, and a bait shop.

It wasn’t as bad as it sounds, though. The land was covered in thick forest and I was thrilled—
thrilled
—with the snow. I’d made snow angels and snow men with my cousins and worn mittens, which, for some reason, pleased me to no end. The swishing sound my borrowed snow pants made was like music, and I found the Yooper accent hilarious in a good way. My grandma carried around this enormous purse that had everything you could possibly need in it. I’d made a game of it, testing her by asking for gum, band-aids, lotion, Chapstick, aspirin, a nail clippers, a scissors (!), tape, and a compass during the course of the visit. I finally got her on Girl Scout cookies. She said she’d just finished her purse box the week before.

Yet I also remembered how people there, my grandparents included, would stay in their favorite bar practically all night, every night, not moving from their favorite stools. How the town was the perfect place for you if you didn’t expect much out of life other than clean air and fried food. Even the radio station that supposedly played Top 40 music mostly played stuff from a while ago. It was strange. Frozen.

“I’m not a stupid kid,” I said.

“Oh honey, I know. I guess what I’m trying to do here is apologize. I’ve been a rotten mom and I’m going to do better. You don’t have to run away. I’m here to tell you I tried it, and it doesn’t make anything easier. There are no shortcuts or easy ways out. We just have to help each other.”

I thought about that for a while. “Well, it is a lot, um, warmer, here.” I settled on. “And you met Dad,” I added, and immediately regretted it. I didn’t want Mom to feel bad for coming to Florida. She was someone who wanted more. She always wanted more, always lived in the future. I understood that.

“That I did.”

“I…” I didn’t know what I wanted to say then, other than that her little scheme to get me to understand her better had actually kind of worked. “I’m sorry too.”

“How about if you promise not to run away again, I’ll promise not to use the GPS on you?”

“Okay. Um, deal.”

It wasn’t as if all the bad feelings I’d been trying to escape went away that day. But I started thinking of Mom as a human being, which, when it comes to your parents, you should try to put off for as long as possible.

CHAPTER 21

LOW

The phone rang as I tried to sort my school stuff into piles in my room. I wanted to figure out which assignments I actually planned to do versus which ones were out of the question. I didn’t care about my grades super-much, but I didn’t want to fail, either. I heard Mom answer and give a couple “uh-huhs,” and one “great,” before hanging up.

“Who was it?” I poked my head out of my room.

“The hospital. They said they’ve moved Emily into a private room this morning. That means we can visit her.”

“Is she awake? Is she going to be okay?”

“No, she’s not awake,” Mom said. She pinched the bridge of her nose and I saw that her eyes were a little watery. “Do you want to go now, honey? We could take the bus. I can call in late to work.”

“Yes, please.”

The bus ride was long, but the time went by quickly. We entered the over-air conditioned Florida Hospital and my mom asked for Emily’s room number at the front desk. Then she asked me if I wanted to stop in the gift shop for some flowers. I nodded. We chose daisies and got into the elevator. My hands were shaking a little.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” She fussed with my hair. I could tell she was freaked out and trying to hide it.

“I’m okay. Thanks for taking me back here,” I said.

“Of course, baby bird. See, there are some advantages to working a night shift.”

“Yeah.” I thought of this time she was helping me with my homework for sixth-grade science class, before she went back to school. She’d put together a circuit for me in about four seconds flat, and I’d said, “You’re too smart to be a waitress.” She’d said, “Everyone’s too smart to be a waitress.”

We knocked at the door to Emily’s room, which was ajar. When I heard nothing, I pushed the door open. My mom indicated that she would wait for me in the hall. She still looked a little stressed, so I nodded. I looked at Em lying there on the white bed, under the white sheet, like I had, tiny and still. Not waking up.

I pulled a chair as close to the bed as possible and sat down. I studied her blonde hair and pink cheeks. Her eyelashes had a hint of orange in them and her eyebrows were barely there, they were so blonde. I saw a few freckles on the bridge of her nose and noticed that the three holes in her ears were empty of earrings. I wondered if the nurses had taken them out, and if they had, where they were right now. Would she get them back? I was pretty sure she was wearing a necklace that night, too, with a charm that was the small half of a heart. It was a best friend necklace, and I had the other half. I never wore it; I didn’t like jewelry. Thinking about that now made me nauseous. I had to find it and put it on immediately, to make up for all the days I hadn’t worn it, all the days it wasn’t important, all the days it was just a silly charm that we’d bought at Icing as a joke.

I wondered if she was in pain or if she was dreaming. I didn’t know if I should try to talk to her or not, but I thought it might help.

“Hi Em. It’s, um, Robin. I miss you. So. Much.” I stopped a minute just to breathe in and out, to try to make my voice steady. “I have something to tell you…please don’t be mad.” I took a deep breath. “I can’t remember what happened to us. I know it’s important. I’m so, so sorry. I’ve been trying everything, I promise. I went back to school before I had to—to see if anyone could remind me of anything important. I wish…well, I just wish you would get better and be my friend again. I know I probably don’t deserve that, but it’s what I wish. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, please wake up.”