Ruby Unscripted (11 page)

I nod but feel sad for Mom suddenly. I decide to be more engaged in our “family night.” I even leave my phone upstairs.

Over plates of pasta, salad, and the best sourdough bread I think I've ever had, we go around and say two things about our day. I want to roll my eyes at how excited Mac is about this. If Carson were here, he'd probably have that look on his face that says,
You've got to be kidding—you are
not
making me do this.
But then Mom would get him to say something, even if it's a sarcastic “The best part of my day is being here with all of you, my loving family.” Which would make us all laugh.

The empty chair beside me makes me miss him all the more.

Mac says, “Well, I like my school. I made a bunch of new friends. They placed me in a math class with all sixth graders, and I played soccer at recess and almost made a goal.”

I've been so wrapped up in my own world, I'd forgotten that the little guy was facing the same thing I faced today.

Mom and Austin say things about work, their new home, being together . . . the usual parental offerings. Then it's my turn.

“I got a new cell phone today, thank you very much, Mom. And I made one new friend,” I say with enunciations like a little girl. “His name is Frankie, and he's very nice.”

“That's great, honey.”

And then I blurt, “And he's gay.”

“Ew, gross,” Mac says.

Mom and Austin look at each other. Then Mom says, “Okay. But was that necessary to include?”

“Guess not.” I laugh nervously. “Just thought I'd get that out of the way before you meet him and are surprised, or before you worry that I'll like him. Aunt Jenna knows him and likes him.”

“O-kay,” Mom says, and I know her mind is trying to settle on what she thinks of all this.

“Ew, that's so gross. He kisses boys!”

Mac starts making gagging noises, and I mouth “Sorry” to Mom for disrupting the otherwise family-perfect dinner.

Dinner doesn't last much longer than that, though Mom and Austin remain at the table as I hurry upstairs and back to my social life. As I turn on my computer, I suddenly remember Kate. I left her hanging hours ago, when I was talking to Frankie. I totally forgot about her.

Oh, she's going to be mad.

chapter ten

FRANKIE:
What color are you?

ME:
Huh?

FRANKIE:
Do you know how often you say that?

ME:
Say what?

FRANKIE:
HUH?

ME:
You ask me the strangest questions.

FRANKIE:
And you love them so much. You think about them later in the day while you're serving coffee and pumpkin bread. Admit it.

ME:
I do. Aquamarine.

FRANKIE:
Aquamarine? That's not a color.

ME:
Yes it is. If it's in a Crayola box, it's a color. What's yours?

FRANKIE:
Red. of course. Flamboyant Red though I don't think Crayola has that. Why. ick. aquamarine?

ME:
I don't know. For once I'm giving an answer off the top of my head instead of thinking it over all day. while I'm serving coffee and pumpkin bread. Maybe it's orange. Autumn is my favorite time of year, and I was thinking of painting one of my bedroom walls orange.

I look at the wall behind my bed and try imagining it a dark orange color. It's late evening, and I'm still wearing my Underground polo shirt, and my homework books from Day 2 at Marin High surround me. Sepia-colored prints of places around the world would go well on a dark orange wall.

My laptop chimes as friends keep talking to me online. I comment back here and there, but Frankie is definitely the most interesting of the bunch. Kate's at the movies with some people I don't know very well, and though she says she forgives me for forgetting her yesterday, it obviously hurt her feelings. And who can blame her? I can tell it'll take her awhile to get over it.

My phone vibrates on the desk beside me—Frankie again.

FRANKIE:
So you need to think about your color. Aquamarine is not it.

ME:
I'll give you an answer by tomorrow.

FRANKIE:
What were you before?

ME:
Huh?

FRANKIE:
See. huh again!

ME:
LOL

FRANKIE:
It changes you know. Life turns us different colors for different times in our lives. There was a time I was gray, a dark charcoal gray for a very long time.

ME:
Ah, yes. I think I've seen myself as gray.

FRANKIE:
So ready to see the town?

ME:
Huh? Okay. I'll stop saying that.

FRANKIE:
Tell me where you're at, and I'll take you round.

ME:
Not sure I can. I have homework. Julius Caesar and logarithms.

FRANKIE:
I won't have you out long.

ME:
Hang on.

FRANKIE:
Oh right, American Girl must ask permission from Mommy.

I race down the stairs with my phone in hand to find Mom, and I wonder what I believe about homosexuality. And then I wonder why I'm wondering about this right now. But still, I know what most Christians think, what my dad and my grandmother would say. Grandma Hazel will start sending me Bible tracts if she hears I have a gay friend. And I know what the extreme conservative Christians have projected on gay people—that they should be hated, that they are evil. Mom gets really upset about people like that and sometimes goes on a rampage, saying she's going to write all these articles or a book about it. Our pastor in Cottonwood preached a sermon about it; he says love them, don't condemn or judge them as we shouldn't condemn or judge anyone, treat them as Jesus would treat anyone, look at the sin in our own lives, etc.

Between my room and the living room, I decide that I don't really care to figure it all out right now.

Mom is working on her laptop at the coffee table, with Mac doing his homework beside her.

“We're working here. Don't interrupt, please,” Mac says and then smiles at me.

“My new friend wants to pick me up.”

Mom gets that look—eyebrows pinched together and a slight frown. “Why don't you guys just hang out here?” She glances at Austin, who's in a chair reading the paper.

“He wants to give me a driving tour of the area.”

Mom shakes her head. “No. We have to meet him first.”

ME:
They said no.

Frankie:
I'll talk to them.

ME:
You don't know my mom.

FRANKIE:
She's a tyrant?

ME:
No. But she can be strict.

FRANKIE:
Parents love me. Or let me rephrase. Moms love me. Dads and brothers, not so much.

ME:
I wonder why.

FRANKIE:
I can't figure it out.

Then Austin says, “You should let her go. After we meet him.”

Mom looks at Austin. “What? Why?”

“She needs some friends,” he says.

Mom is quiet a moment, then says, “Okay, but after we meet him.”

Stepdad saves the night.

Mac peeks at Frankie from the top of the stairs, and I give him an angry wave to go away. I hear his laugh as he hurries off to his room, probably both disgusted and fascinated at my “boy-kissing” friend. I'm just glad Carson isn't here right now.

“Hello, Frankie,” Mom says, coming out of the kitchen. “Did you have dinner?”

“Yeah, I've already eaten. Penne pasta and white wine mushroom sauce.”

“Yum,” Austin says, coming in behind Mom. He shakes Frankie's hand, and I make the introductions.

“Well, it's Lean Cuisine. I'm a frozen dinner connoisseur. Gotta keep the figure lean and mean.”

Before they can respond, Frankie starts asking question after question about the house. “It's one of the coolest houses I think I've ever seen,” he says after getting the history and gazing around.

Austin even shows him the garage with the arched door and access to the backyard where the fruit trees are blooming. They like Frankie, just as he predicted.

“So you're going to show Ruby around?”

“Yep, it sounded like she needs to get out. And I promise to drive your daughter carefully, and I promise, really promise, that I won't kiss her.”

That shocks me, but Mom chuckles. “It's nice to know she's safe then.” She keeps laughing quietly as she follows us toward the door.

“Ew, kissing, gross!” I hear from Mac upstairs, and I want to slink away to my room.

But nothing fazes Frankie.

“Sorry about my brother,” I say after the friendly good-byes and Mom's invitation for Frankie to come to dinner sometime—when Austin is cooking, she says with a laugh.

“Cute kid. Now ready to see some of Marin?”

We drive the hilly streets up one side of the mountain to the other where the rough Pacific waters beat against the cliffs.

Frankie chain-smokes but doesn't offer me one. He drives with the window cracked and holds a cigarette like someone from a movie, cool and casual-like. It almost makes me want to start smoking. He finally parks at a place that overlooks the water, with the sunset faded into the water and nearly turned to darkness. And for some reason, I tell him about little Tony Arnold in the Christmas program with me and now dead from a drug overdose.

We get out and walk barefoot on the beach, and Frankie strips down to his boxers and goes running to the water. I laugh as he jumps the waves and finally goes diving in. That water is freezing! But as I watch Frankie swim alone in the ocean, a sense of contented solitude surrounds me. A sense of knowing that this is the time and place for me.

It's not Frankie in particular or the rhythm of waves or the bright moon coming up behind us as the last light disappears out across the ocean. There are plenty of troubles in this new life. But a gentle strength reminds me that I'm going forward in life's pathway, and nothing in the world needs to stop me now.

chapter eleven

I don't have to wander the lunch periods alone anymore, like the first day when I bought a sandwich and then moved from place to place as if I had somewhere to go. If anyone had actually been watching me, I'd have appeared pretty ridiculous.

Today is the second day Frankie has lunch with me, but this time he brings me to his table of friends. Before moving to Marin, people like Bart, Axner, and Janice might have freaked me out a little with their tattoos and piercings. Bart is the size of a small giant and wears all black and black eyeliner. Axner is short and stares at me intensely, then smiles widely and shakes my hand. Janice gives me a cool nod of welcome, then rests her head back on Bart's shoulder. Another guy and girl arrive at the table.

“This is Redden. My gay brother, but not my gay lover,” Frankie says in a singsong voice, and they high-five.

“Nice to meet you,” I say awkwardly, not sure how to respond to Frankie's flamboyance sometimes. Is the guy really his brother, or just called that 'cause he's gay too?

“So, Frankie, this is your experiment into conservative Americana,” says a girl who just arrived. She's a hard and cold mix of beautiful.

“This is Blair. Blair, be nice to my Ruby.”

“It won't be easy,” Blair says and gives me a long condescending look that moves up and down my body.

Blair continues to make rude comments and references to me throughout lunch. I wonder what she has against me, and decide to ask Frankie later. And just as I now have one friend, I get the idea that I now have an enemy too.

Aunt Jenna picks me up from school, and we go straight to the Underground. I write Kate on my way to the coffeehouse, but she doesn't answer.

My twelve-hour day last week (was it only last week?) and working yesterday provide a comfortable familiarity. I've learned the espresso recipes and even get a few compliments. Some of the regulars know my name, which makes me try harder to remember theirs. I look for Natasha, but she doesn't come in today. When someone orders the pumpkin bread, I think of Frankie.
What color am I?
Who asks questions like that? He's one of the most unusual people I've ever met—and I love him for that.