Nothing But Blue (9 page)

She reaches to her hair and takes out all the barrettes and clips to release a mane of wild curls. “There has got to be more to life than wearing pantyhose and sitting in a cubicle. I can keep cleaning houses until I figure things out.” She turns to me. “You seem like a good person. You don't look like a druggie or a prostitute or a runaway.”

“I'm not,” I say.

“That's good.” She nods. “That's good. How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” I lie. I don't want her to know I'm still in high school.

“I'm thirty.” She smiles, then takes a deep sigh. “Today, in fact. It's my birthday. The big three-o.”

“Happy birthday,” I say. “You look younger.”

“Thanks.” She sighs again and bites her lower lip like she's about to cry. For a minute she says nothing, clamps the wheel tight, and stares straight ahead. She lets out a series of small wheezes to catch her breath, and then she is crying. “I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry.” She leans over to open the glove compartment, but my legs are in the way. “Can you . . . can you get me a tissue?”

I find a travel-size box of tissues and hand her one. She wipes her face and blows her nose really loud.

“I'm sorry,” she says again. “It hasn't been a very good birthday so far. I couldn't do this job interview. My boyfriend and I broke up last night. I mean
I
broke up with
him.
It was
my
idea.” She starts to cry again, and I give her another tissue. “So I don't know why I'm so upset, you know? I
wanted
to break up. But why did I have to do it right before my birthday? My
thirtieth
birthday.”

She is treating me like a close confidante instead of some strange teenager she picked up on the side of the road. She smiles sadly at me. “He wanted to move in together, Blue. He wanted marriage, babies. Sheesh. I don't want that. I want to
do
something with my life first. I haven't done anything, and now I'm getting old.”

I try to think of what I can say that will make her feel better, but all I can come up with is what my mother used to say to me: “Things happen for a reason.”

The words sound funny coming out of my mouth. I wonder if this is what I need to be doing—if circumstances have led me here for some particular reason.

“Blue?” Clara sits up straight, as though she's just figured something out. “Do you want to have breakfast with me? There's a diner in town that serves great waffles.”

I am skeptical. I only wanted a ride so I could take a break from walking and cover more ground. Besides, I have no money for waffles. How can I tell her that? I shake my head. “I ate already,” I lie.

But Clara insists. “Come on, it's my treat. I want to do something
good
on my birthday. Something fun. Besides, you really look like you could use a decent breakfast.”

Waffles slathered in maple syrup with a dollop of whipped cream. Orange juice, hot coffee. Maybe even bacon. As if on cue, my stomach growls. I look back at Shadow. He is leaning against the seat, having had enough wind up his nose. He looks at me with his dark, swirling eyes. He nods.
Fine with me.

“Okay,” I say, turning back to Clara.

 

Clara and I go to Big Ben's, a classic old diner, not one of those fancy new city diners that try to look old. There are about ten different kinds of pie in a glass case on the counter. There is bustling of wait staff and clinking of dishes and a steady hum of conversation. An old jukebox plays tacky fifties music. We slip into a booth with padded orange seats.

The waitress comes over. Her hair is wispy and her skin is splotchy red, but in spite of appearing so haggard, she gives us a huge smile. Clara orders coffee and waffles for both of us.

“Be right back,” Clara says. She takes her bag and heads to the bathroom.

While she's gone the waitress pours two cups. “Here's your coffee, darling,” she says.

I bring the cup to my nose and slowly inhale the strong flavor.

“Something wrong with the coffee?” the waitress asks.

I shake my head no and the waitress leaves. I add cream and sugar and take a sip. I watch Shadow outside the window. He wanders down the street and pees on a pole. I worry for a minute that he will run off. Even though he's been with me so far and I called him “my dog,” he could run off anytime. But I don't think he will. We have a bond. We can understand each other. He walks back to the car and lies down in a sunny spot on the sidewalk. He glances toward me and I wave.

When Clara comes back she's changed into wide-bottom cords and a tight-fitting embroidered tee. Any residue of makeup is gone.

“Ahh.
So
much better. I'm me again.” She bounces up and down a little in the booth. “I'm really sorry, about losing it back there.”

“It's okay.”

She puts her hand on mine. The touch feels strange—almost foreign, as though I've never been touched before. I stare at her perfect nails.

“I'm curious about you,” Clara says, “but I also have a
good
feeling. It's as though this”—she swoops her arm around the diner—“and
you
are exactly what I should be doing on my birthday. It's strange, I know, but I think you are a
gift.
”

I have no idea what she is talking about. Maybe she smoked a little something in the bathroom. I've done nothing and I've hardly said a word, yet she's gone out of her way to bring me here, buy me food. And now she thinks I'm some gift?

The waffles arrive and I devour them. Nothing has ever tasted so good. Butter. Syrup. Sliced strawberries. It takes not being able to eat, scrounging for food in trash bins, hoping it's not going to make you sick, in order to fully appreciate the taste of something as stupendous as a waffle. I hardly notice Clara, who is still talking, or the waitress refilling our coffee, or the other customers giving me funny looks.

I finish my eating orgy, except for a few last bites I leave on the plate.

“Don't you want the rest?” Clara asks. “You're eating like you haven't eaten in a month. Don't your parents feed you?” She laughs at this last part like it's a joke.

How long has it been since my last real meal? A family meal? My family? My mother? My father? Where are they? I'm going home to see them, right? Suddenly the waffles are lead in my stomach. I blink and focus on the here and now, on what's in front of me—on Clara, on the blue checkered tablecloth, the orange booths, and the remaining bits of waffle on my plate.

My temples pound. I shiver. I begin to hear the chant.
All dead. All dead.
I haven't heard it for days. I thought it was gone.

“Blue? Do you want the rest?” Clara's voice speaking.

Here. Now. Breathe. In and out,
I tell myself. I count,
one, two, three
. . . I answer. “I'm saving it for Shadow.” The mention of Shadow helps. I breathe.

“Oh.” Clara laughs. Her laugh is soft and gentle, like lilting bells, but she seems nervous now. Is she scared? Of me? Is she suspicious?

“I'll get something for Shadow. Something just for him,” she says.

She puts in an order for a burger, cooked rare. “He'll like that, won't he?”

Is she kidding? He'll be ecstatic. I don't know what Shadow ate before he started following me around, but I know I haven't provided him with anything other than dumpster leftovers and trash on the streets.

“Thanks. You're being really nice. You don't have to—”

She interrupts me. “You know what, Blue, I
want
to. I don't know what your problems are or where you're from, and I'm curious, sure, but in the end I don't really care. I
want
to help. In fact, why don't you come back to my house? You can take a shower, wash your clothes, have a nap.”

It's like the more Clara offers me, the happier she becomes. She sits up straighter and straighter, getting taller as she talks. A shower would be so delicious. I can already feel the spray of warm water and smell the apricot shampoo. And sleeping in a bed with a real mattress that's up off the ground, with clean sheets. I want to say yes. I am about to say yes, when I tune in to what Clara is saying:

“You have to seize the moment because everything can disappear. You think you know life, but then it's gone in an instant. Like that family whose house blew up. Kaboom. Everything gone forever, just like that. Can you
imagine?
”

My stomach tightens. House blowing up. Everything gone. I want to hurl. I can hardly breathe.
All dead. All dead. All dead.
I want to run.

Clara's voice goes on: “At first they said no one survived, but now they think someone did. A daughter.”

These are the last words I hear before I am out the door.

Maybe the way it happened with Jake at the beach wasn't the most romantic thing ever, but it's a known fact that the first time with someone is always awkward. The next time it would be totally and perfectly romantic.

When he dropped me off that evening, my parents were sitting in the living room, waiting. Could they tell what I'd done? Did I look different?
Was
I different?

“Have a seat. We need to talk to you,” my dad said. Something was up. My parents hadn't talked to me since I was about ten. They worked hard to protect me from everything by not telling me anything. But I was hardly a child anymore. At the very least I was a young adult. Especially now.

I plopped myself down in the middle of the couch. My parents each sat in a chair facing me.

“What's up?” I asked.

“You know I've been applying for jobs,” my mother said. She patted her knees and leaned forward. “Well, I finally got one.”

My mother had finished her law degree that spring and had gone on a couple of interviews. I knew she was hoping to get something big, but I hadn't thought she actually would.

“It's at a really great firm. A perfect fit.” She sat back.

“That's great,” I said, not understanding why this necessitated a sit-down family talk.

My parents gave each other a special between-them look. My father frowned and my mother sighed, moving her hands from her knees to brush back her hair.

“Darling,” my father started.

That was all he said, when I got it. Those interviews—most of them were out of state. I shook my head. “No!” I screamed. “I am
not
moving. You can't make me.”

“This job is going to give us a lot more money,” my mother said. “It's a once-in-a-lifetime offer. I can't pass it up.”

“What about Dad's job?” I asked.

“I can work long-distance via Internet and fax. Besides, I'm ready to let your mom do the hard work for a while,” he said. She frowned at him, but he went on. “Your mother needs this, darling. We all do. You'll be able to have all the things you ever wanted.”

“We've already made an offer on a house,” my mother said. “A brand-new house in a fancy, modern development. You'll love it.”

Did my parents know me at all? I may have liked new things, but I loved this old house. It was the only house I'd ever known.

“Where is it?” I asked.

They told me. It was a state far away, far inland, far from the sea.

“But that's hundreds of miles away!” I blurted.

“Things like this happen for a reason,” my mother said. “You'll see.”

“I have friends here.” I thought of Jake. How could I possibly leave now?

“You'll make new friends. There's a pool and a gym in the community, lots of organized events with other kids. You could even slim down a bit if you're more active.” My mother always had to slip in something about my appearance.

“There are people who like how I look,” I said, remembering Jake massaging sunscreen into my back, telling me I was sexy, his hands on my hips.

“I know, sweetheart. You are beautiful. You really are. It's just that, well—”

“I'm big-boned,” I said, interrupting her. “I get it from Dad.” I looked at him accusingly.

“You could stand to lose a few, that's all we're saying,” my father butted in. “The boys will be sure to notice you.”

My father had a slightly opposite take on dating than my mother did. But I know they both thought that I was antisocial and weird.

“The point is,” my mother said with finality, “we are moving.”

“No,” I said. “For your information, I have a boyfriend!” I hadn't planned on telling them this, but it slipped out. “And he likes me the way I am! He likes me a lot. I'll stay here and live with him for my last year of school.”

My parents shared another glance.

“You will do no such thing,” my mother said. “And what do you mean, you have a boyfriend? You're way too young to get attached.”

There she went again. Did my parents really think I was still a little kid? They couldn't shelter me anymore.

“Your mother's right. It's better to date around first before settling. You'll meet new boys.”

“I will not! I will
not
move.” I felt like a stubborn, scowling little girl throwing a tantrum. Maybe I was being immature, but I didn't care. If they were going to treat me like a baby, I'd be able to act like one.

“It's already done,” my mother said. “The firm wants me there yesterday. Our offer on the new house was accepted. We'll be moving in a few weeks.”

“This is so unfair!” I protested. “I don't get any say?”

“Don't worry, you won't have to pack or anything. We've hired top-notch movers. The firm is paying all our expenses.”

“What will happen to this house?” I asked.

“We're going to sell it.” My mother sounded so cold. She never did like this old house. She was the one who liked everything new.