Of All the Stupid Things (29 page)

Then I call a cab.

When I’m done I hold on to the phone, looking at it for a bit. Pink sends a text saying to have fun and not do anything stupid. Part of me hopes David would call saying that he and his family are on their way to his grandparents’ and would I like to join them.

After a few seconds, I toss the phone in my purse. Not that I would go with David and his snot-nosed family anyway. I have enough money to go shopping in Paris; I could lounge on the beach in Hawaii. I don’t need to go on a family road trip.

The cabbie rings the bell. I haul the suitcase off the bed. It thumps down the stairs behind me. I grab my coat and leave the house. I don’t set the alarm. And I don’t leave a note.

It takes us close to five hours to get to the airport. Everyone and their damn mother is on the road. The cabbie says it’s always like this the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I watch the meter change every few minutes, even though we haven’t moved and tell him to go to hell. At one point I think about walking. Then the cab moves a few yards, so I stay. We get to the airport close to nine. I pay the cabbie a shitload of money even though he barely did anything. I could have bought something real nice with what I paid. I stick around to get my twenty cents change.

The airport is packed. The lines to the ticket counter are longer than I’ve ever seen them. I go to the airline my parents always use.

It takes forever to get to the head of the line, but finally I’m there. The man behind the desk is in his forties and looks like he’s about to die of boredom.

“Where are you flying to?” he asks without looking up.

“I’m not sure. Can you give me a price comparison between Paris and Hawaii? Oh, and maybe Thailand too. Just wherever, really.”

Now the man does look at me. I bat my eyelashes and smile sweetly.

“What dates?” he gruffs.

I force myself to stay smiling and pretend to flirt. “Silly. Today of course.”

“There aren’t any flights today.”

“What?” I lose the smile.

“We only have three fights left tonight: St. Louis, Phoenix, and Tallahassee. St. Louis leaves in fifteen minutes, so you won’t make it, and Phoenix is sold out, so it looks like Tallahassee.”

I drop the charming act and demand. “What the hell am I going to do in Tallahassee? Can I get a connecting flight somewhere else from there?”

“Not tonight.”

I think for a second. Tallahassee is in Florida, I think. Which means it’s close to Disney World and Miami Beach. “Fine, I’ll go to Tallahassee.”

The man types in some numbers. “When are you coming back?”

“I don’t care, a few days, a week, whatever.”

He types some more and then speaks. “That’s one thousand—”

“One thousand! You’ve got to be kidding!”

The person waiting next in line calls out, “Hurry up, missy. Some of us don’t have all night.”

I try to smile again at the airline man. “I don’t need first-class tickets.”

“These are standard coach seats.”

I try one last time since I’m obviously not connecting with him. “I’m sorry, could you repeat the price?”

He says it again, and still I don’t hear anything after a thousand. I could do it. I have enough. But if it’s that much to fly somewhere, how much is everything else going to cost? Between the flight and what I already paid the stupid cabbie, I wouldn’t be left with much. Probably not enough for a few nights in a hotel, food, and a taxi to get to Disney World and Miami Beach. And not to mention any money left for shopping.

“I think I’ll try another airline,” I say as I gather up my bags.

The man shrugs and then says, “It’s the busiest flying day of the year and you’re booking at the very last minute. You’re not going to find anything cheaper.” And then he waves to the next person in line.

I shuffle out of the way. I can’t even pretend that it’s his loss. I walk over to the monitors listing all the flights. I have to blink a few times to read what they say. There’s just a handful, and none of them is going anywhere fun. Tomorrow’s flights aren’t up there yet. And I don’t want to go back and ask the airline man what they’ll be.

I close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them, there’s one less flight on the screen. I stay there for a while longer until someone comes by with a mop bucket. I wheel my bag to the nearest chair and plop down.

The crowd is thinning. I wonder how long before everyone is gone. I wonder if there’s a time they make everyone leave.

A scruffy man sits down two seats away from me. He takes off his shoes and stretches out his legs. Then he picks his nose. He wipes his finger clean under the chair and goes back to picking his nose. He looks up to see me watching him and winks.

I get up and move away.

I feel his eyes on me while I duck through the remaining people. I head to the other side of the terminal. Even then, I feel his eyes searching.

I can’t do this. I can’t spend the night in the airport. I can’t fly to some random place and not know what I’m doing there. As much as I want to get away, I can’t. I’m scared.

I think about calling Pink to come get me. But then I remember how slow she drives, how she always manages to get lost—chances are I’d be waiting for her till Christmas.

I wish Tara could drive. She knows how to get where she’s going. She’d pick me up, if she knew how to drive. And if we were still friends.

I let out a sigh. I don’t want to pretend anymore.

I want to go home, but I don’t want to go to my house. But I don’t see any other choice. There’s no one else I can turn to. I pull out my phone and scroll down the phonebook.

She answers on the third ring. “’Ello?”

I take a deep breath. “Hi, it’s me. I’m at the airport. I’m—I don’t want to be here. Can you come get me?”

“Why are you at the airport? You’re crazy.”

I see the scruffy guy shuffling to the bathroom. He stops for a few seconds to scratch his ass.

I turn away so I don’t have to watch, but then check to make sure he’s not coming up behind me. I don’t see him, but that doesn’t make me feel better. I clutch the phone and whisper, “Just come get me. I’m all by myself. Please, Carmen, hurry.”

Pinkie

THIRTEEN YEARS AGO TODAY, ON NOVEMBER THIRTIETH, my mama died at home. I saw Daddy crying on her chest and she didn’t move. Strange men covered her up and took her away. I wasn’t quite four years old, and yet I remember everything about it. Right down to the pink sweatpants and daisy sweatshirt she was wearing.

I remember thinking she looked like a fairy princess, like Snow White sound asleep. I remember telling Daddy that all he needed to do was kiss her and she’d wake up. Yet even with all that wishful thinking, I still knew deep down what it meant when someone died.

I’ve always known that she would never come back, but I’ve always been determined to keep her from ever really going. That’s why I started writing letters to her. At first they were drawings with my name and “I love you” scribbled over them. Then, as my writing got better, so did the letters. Everything that happened, everything I didn’t understand, that I wanted to talk about with someone but didn’t want anyone to know about, I put in the letters. Some people write in their diary; I wrote to my mama.

She was my best friend when Tara and Whitney Blaire, not knowingly, made me feel left out. She was my enemy when I couldn’t handle her not being there for me. Whatever or whoever I need her to be, that was Mama.

And today is the day she died, thirteen years ago.

Every year, Daddy and I plan a special surprise for Mama: cards, flowers, candles. We bring poems, stories, comics, and newspaper articles that we think she might like, and spend hours reading them to her. There’d be photographs to share and report cards show off. One year, the year we went to Barbara’s parents’ house for Thanksgiving, we brought Mama some leftovers. Every year we do something. It’s a tradition. It’s the only time when just the three of us are together again. Our own family.

But now, for the first time in thirteen years, Daddy isn’t going to be there. He didn’t even leave her a card or ask me to pick up some flowers on his behalf (though I did anyway). I feel like he’s betraying us. I also feel that if he really wanted to, he could have been here. For Mama, for both of us.

I planned to go straight after school, but I forgot the scented candles at home. It’s okay, I tell myself; it’ll only take a couple minutes to stop by and pick them up.

It’s pouring when I get home. Lightning, thunder, and pelting raindrops. It has never rained before on Mama’s day. I can only hope that it’ll stop soon. I go in to get the candles and run back to the car. She doesn’t start. I try again. Nothing. I speak to her nicely and tell her I’ll get her oil changed 100 miles before the next 3,000-mile deadline. Still nothing.

I sit in the car for a few minutes wondering what to do while the rain continues. It’s too far to walk, I haven’t ridden a bike in so long I’ve probably forgotten how to, there aren’t any buses that go from my house to the cemetery, and even if I knew how to ride one, I don’t have a horse. I put my head on the steering wheel and pray for a miracle.

I hear tapping on the window and I scream. Through the rain, I make out a giant wearing a raincoat and holding an umbrella. Oh, thank goodness, it’s only Barbara. Still, I make sure there’s no hook in her hand before rolling down the window, just in case.

“The car won’t start,” I say.

She nods over to her minivan. “Come on. I’ll take you.”

I gather the bags and run over to her car. The sliding door is open and I jump in it. I set the bags in the back, then squish my way to the front. We buckle up and head for the cemetery.

The rain hasn’t stopped by the time we get there. I take a deep breath.

Barbara turns off the car and pulls out a magazine. “I’ll wait for you here, unless you want me to come with you.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“All right. Take your time, but if you’re going to be longer than twenty minutes in this weather, I want you to give me a call, just to make sure you’re not frozen or something.”

I smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”

I grab the bags and leave. Normally, Daddy and I spend hours with Mama, but Barbara is right; it’s too wet and cold to stay very long.

Right away I realize there was no point in stopping home for the candles; I forgot the matches. And the bits of paper I brought to read to her get soaked through before I finish unfolding them. I made a wreath of flowers to put over the headstone like a tiara, but within seconds the rain tears it apart.

With nothing left to do, I crouch down and speak to her as freezing water pours down my face. “Hi, Mama, it’s me Pinkie. Daddy couldn’t make it this year. He’s in Japan for work, which is about as far away as he can get from being here. He hasn’t been gone more than a few days, but I really miss him. I think it’s just this time of year that seems so lonely. Even when Daddy was here, I’ve been feeling very left out. Whitney Blaire has been very hot and cold with everyone lately. Even when she laughs I can tell she’s just pretending. I told her she seemed depressed and she agreed. But when I told her she should get help she said no, that she was happy being depressed. I don’t understand.

“As for Tara, I don’t know if we’re friends. It’s really awkward being around her. I don’t know what to say or do. I want to give her a hug, but I just can’t. I can’t. I can’t be myself around her. I want to gossip about cute guys, but I can’t. I want to ask her what she thinks of my new top, but then she’ll notice my body so I can’t. I can’t act normal around her anymore.”

I move a lock of wet hair from my face. Rain has poured around my collar and soaked my raincoat through. I start to shiver.

“But at the same time, I don’t want to lose Tara’s friendship, or Whitney Blaire’s. We have so much history; I don’t want it to end. But I’ve also figured out that they can’t be my only good friends. David is great, like a brother. Trina in trigonometry seems nice. And there’s this funny-looking guy, Oliver, I’d like to get to know now that he’s called me back about some polisci homework.