Saving Ruth (9 page)

“This.” She waved her hand in front of my waist.

“Mom.” I reached out and put my hand on her goose-pimpled forearm. “No.” The truth was that maybe she was partly responsible. She had always battled her body's inclinations with focused ferocity and tsk-tsked my own inability to do the same. I think she knew that, at least on a very basic level. Looking at her panic-stricken face now, however, I couldn't say as much. Besides, what would placing blame do? In the end, it was my choice what I ate, or didn't eat, every day.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Relax.”

“Good.” We continued walking in awkward silence. “So, who is it?”

“Who's what?”

“The guy you're going on a date with?”

“It's Chris, actually.”

“Our Chris?”

“That's the one.”

“David's Chris?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She nodded slowly. “Well, I'll be damned.” She smiled broadly. “He is really good-looking. And such a nice guy.” She paused for a moment. “I'm trying to keep my cool here, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

“Well, you know what this means. A new outfit, top to toe. This is serious business. What about these?” She held up a pair of shapeless pants. My mom had a soft spot for linen.

“Am I sixty-five?”

“Very funny.”

“What about this?” I held up a purple T-shirt.

“Are you twelve?” I smirked. To say that we didn't have the same taste was a severe understatement.

In the dressing room, I surveyed myself in a black minidress.
Who the hell is this?
I wondered. I actually laughed—whether out of nerves or fright or happiness, I wasn't sure. The rational me saw the emaciated girl staring back and thought,
Yikes, you really are a nut job.
The crazy me saw a girl who could probably still stand to lose a few pounds around her midsection. The rational me knew that there was no way in hell I'd be able to keep this up forever, and the crazy me said,
You'd better, because skinny is all you have
. It was a constant game of psychotic ping-pong.

My mom opened the dressing room door. “I'm so bored out there! Show me.”

“So—”

“Oh, Ruth.” She put her hands over her mouth, and her eyes widened behind her glasses.

“What, Mom?” I squirmed in front of her. “Mom! Come on!”

“Ruth, I—I just don't know what to say.” She sat down on the stool beside me, and our eyes met in the mirror. “You're so thin.”

I was trapped. I couldn't take the dress off and put on my baggier clothes, but I also couldn't just stand there and watch her fight back tears.

“You know what's really screwed up?”

“What?”

“Part of me actually thinks you look good!” She took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. “How sick is that? Here's my daughter, looking like someone right out of Dachau, and there's part of me that's happy for her! It is my fault—all of this. I'm a terrible mother.” I slid down the wall to the ground and sat with my back against it.

“You're not a terrible mother.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Mom, this is not your issue. Cut the ‘we' stuff. I've gone a little overboard with the eating thing, and I know that, okay? I'm trying to be more sane, I really am.”
“Trying” as in I think about it but never actually act on it.

“Do you promise?”

I nodded.

“Because if this gets worse. . . .”

“Mom, everything is going to be okay.” I stood back up.

“Ruth, when you look in the mirror, do you see that you need to gain some weight? Five pounds would work wonders, you know. And this is coming from a woman who used to believe that a person could never be too thin. No longer. You're too thin, honey. Too, too thin.”

What I wanted to do was scream,
But, Mom, five pounds leads to ten pounds, leads to thirty!
What I said was, “Yes, Mom, I see that.”

“Okay.” She exhaled deeply.

“Ruthala, remember when you were little and I found you stark naked in my bedroom, standing in front of the mirror and kissing your own shoulders?”

I laughed. “Yeah.”

“What happened to that confidence? Where did it go?”

“Mom, I was three.”

“I know, but oh—I wish I could have bottled that feeling for you.”

“Mom, you have mascara all over your face.” I licked my fingertips and rubbed it away as she waited patiently.

“Ruthie, you really promise that you're okay?” she asked when I was finished.

“Yes! Now scram so I can try on something that doesn't make you burst into tears.”

“Okay, I'll wait outside for the next one.”

She left, and I stared at myself in the mirror for another moment. I didn't want to live like this, but I also didn't know how to not live like this and look the way I wanted to look.

In the end we settled on a blue-and-white-striped tank top and some white shorts.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said as the cashier handed her her credit card.

“You are very welcome.” She looked at her watch. “Shall we go to lunch? You're going to eat something, right?”

“Yes, I'll eat something.”
Get a freaking sandwich, eat half, and move on, Ruth!

A
s we settled into our booth, my mom beamed like a beauty contestant. “I don't know if I've ever seen you look so excited,” I told her. “Wow.”

“I love lunch out,” she confessed. “Your father will never indulge me, and it's impossible during the school year. There's something so wonderfully decadent about it.” As I gave my order to a giant pair of braces attached to a fifteen-year-old boy, she nodded happily.

“No comments, please.”

“Okay, I won't.” She pursed her lips. “But I'm glad that you ordered a sandwich. Good girl.”

“Mom, c'mon.”

“Okay, okay. Let's change the subject.” She took a long sip of her diet soda. “Where are you two going to go on your date? And when is it?”

“I'm not sure where we'll go. And Thursday is date night.”

“I used to love going on dates.”

“With Dad?”

“Well, sure, but with other people too. The whole idea of getting dressed up and being taken somewhere.” She grinned.

“Where did you and Dad go on your first date?”

“Where did we go? I think it was to a dance or something. Or maybe we met at a dance and then our first date was to a party?”

“Mom! You really don't remember?”

“Honey, it was a long time ago. We were freshmen in college, for goodness' sake.”

“Just like me now.”

“Yep, just like you now.” I took a sip of my drink and tried to imagine marrying Tony. Or Chris. It was impossible.

“Was Dad your first boyfriend?”

“Oh no. I dated a few boys in high school for a stretch. But he was the first man I fell in love with.”

“And when you fell in love, did you know you were in love? Or was it just something you figured out later?”

“I'm not sure what you mean.”

“I wonder if when you fall in love you're too busy experiencing it to fully realize that that's what's happening.”

“I guess there's some of that. But mostly it just feels so different from ‘like.' The thought of life without him seems unbearable. And then of course, at least for me, there was the whole sex part of the equation.”

“Mom!” I blushed.

“What? We can't talk about these things?”

“Not if we're talking about it in relation to Dad.” I thought about him asleep in his office.

Our waiter deposited our plates in front of us. My stomach dropped as I examined my BLT. As my mom futzed with the ketchup bottle, I discreetly removed the bacon and folded it into my napkin.

“Ruth, have you talked to David at all since you've been home?” she asked as she poured a pool of ketchup onto her plate.

“What do you mean? Like, really talked to him?”

“Yes, Ruth. Like a conversation.”

“No. He hates me.”

“He doesn't hate you!” She slapped her palm on the table, and her lemon wedge parachuted from the rim of her glass.

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever you say.”

“Anyway, I'm worried about him. Something is off, but I don't know what it is exactly.”

“Do you have actual proof, or is this just a mother's intuition thing?”

She chewed her burger and held her finger up. “Mother's intuition,” she finally replied. “He's just acting differently. More secretive or something.”

I chewed my own bite and tried my hardest to enjoy it, despite the mayonnaise that I detected. “He's the same as he's always been at swim practice.”

“Is he? That's good to hear. It's just that he's always been so open with me and your father. These past couple of months, not so much.”

“He's open because he's the favorite.”

“Ruth, please.” Her eyes widened above her burger bun.

“It's true. He's the soccer star on scholarship, and I'm the endearing screwup.”

“I would hardly call getting into U of M being a screwup. You're being ridiculous.”

“Geographic distribution saved my ass.” I fingered the bread on my plate.

“Honey, that's just not true. And besides, whether or not he's the favorite is not what this conversation is about. Can we focus, please? If he says anything to you that's cause for concern, will you let me know?”

“I'll keep my ears open, okay?” Here I was, starving right in front of them, and they were sweating David's PMS. Typical.

My phone rang. It was Chris.

“Hello?” My mom stared at me like a frightened deer, her hands balled into fists on top of the table. To her, cell phones were for emergencies only. Every time one rang she was convinced that someone had died.

“It's Chris,” I mouthed. “Relax.” I slid out of the booth.

“How's it going?”

“Good. And you?”

“Decent. I have the day off.”

“Nice! Uh, were you still into hanging out Thursday?”

“Yeah, definitely.” I was loitering by the bar next to a woman who looked like a human cigarette. Gray and wrinkled, she appeared to be created out of ash. Her smoke languished in her ashtray as she drank a mudslide and gave me the stink-eye.

“Well, there's this bluegrass band that I like playing downtown. They start around nine. Would you be into that? Maybe supper first or something?”

“You know, I should probably eat with my parents, but I'm definitely into the music part.”
Eat with my parents. Yeah, right.

“Okay, cool. How 'bout I pick you up around eight-thirty then?”

“Sounds good.” I looked back at our table. My mom was paying the bill. She cocked her head and stared into the distance as she calculated the tip. “Well, see ya later, Chris.”

“Yep, take it easy.” I considered asking human cigarette if I could bum a smoke, but thought again when I saw she was smoking menthols. I could wait it out. I made eye contact with my mom, and she began walking toward me. At the door I pocketed seven peppermints.

“Soooo?” she asked as we battled the heat on our way to the car.

“We're going to listen to some bluegrass on Thursday.”

She clapped her hands. “That really sounds like fun, Ruthie.” She beamed at me.

I smiled back. I was excited to go out with him, especially since we weren't headed to Chili's and miniature golf, the typical first date in our town. “Do you think David is going to care?”

“You know, it might make him uncomfortable for a minute or two, but it shouldn't be a huge issue. Think of all your friends he's flirted with.”

“Yeah, that's what I figured.”

“I would think that Chris had already told him about it,” she said. “Although, with boys you never know.”

“No, you never do.”

“I had a nice time today, Ruthala,” she announced with a smile. I reached over and cupped the top of her head with my hand.

10

T
he next afternoon I stood up on my bike pedals and pumped ferociously up the hill. I was working the afternoon shift, but wanted a cigarette first. At the top of the hill, I swung through my old elementary school's yard, crisscrossing back and forth from the sidewalk to the grass as I made my way to the back of the main building. I hopped off and parked before digging in my backpack for one.

I lit it and stared at myself in the reflection of a classroom window. I turned to the side, checking for any new flesh. I pinched my stomach, willing it not to grow via physical punishment. The rational me knew I was nuts. But of course, the crazy me would win out. The rational me knew that my arms looked like Barbie arms—the shoulder bone in each of them almost breaking skin—but the crazy me spotted a bit of a waddle when I raised it and waved. My collarbone may have been jutting out like a tree branch, but if I looked closely, I could see a bit of fat blurring the line of my jawbone.

I took a final drag and exhaled before grinding the butt into the ground with my purple flip-flop. Splashes and shrieks from the pool below cut through my thoughts. It was time to go.

I jumped back on my bike and flew down the incline, relishing the warm breeze. I could smell the unmistakable, slightly mildewed odor of my bathing suit, corn chips, and chlorine. Intoxicating.

“Coach Ruth, Coach Ruth!” A school of guppies greeted me before I even reached the snack stand.

“Are you working now, Coach Ruth?” Ali asked, latching on to my leg.

“I am,” I replied.

“It looks like it's gonna storm,” Crystal informed me somberly. I looked up to survey the sky. While it had been bright blue ten minutes before, now I spotted a gray curtain closing in. Southern storms were legendary: one minute sun, the next minute crackling thunder and lightning with pounding rain, and then ten minutes later sun again, as though nothing ever happened.

“Who's working with me, do you know?” I asked my minions.

“David!” Tabitha exclaimed excitedly.

“Really?” I patted her on the head and began walking toward the entrance. I never worked with David. Weird.

“Hey, hot stuff,” greeted Jason. He was eating a Whopper inside the snack bar, his tan chest and stomach still wet from the pool.

“When did we start serving Whoppers?” The smell of meat and ketchup made my stomach growl.

“Want a bite?” he asked.

“Um, no.”

“Of course you don't. Skinny-ass.”

“Hey, is David working with me?” I looked out to the lifeguard stand to find him already there, looking bored underneath the shade of the umbrella.

“Yeah.” He crumpled up the Whopper wrapper and shot it into the trash can.

“Nice, two points,” he mumbled. “David is pulling a double because Kevin is sick.”

“Kevin's sick?” I echoed. “Hungover or sick?”

“Do I look like a doctor to you? He said he's sick.” Jason looked at the clock. “Sweet! Time for me to go. Looks like y'all are gonna get a storm.” I retrieved my whistle from my basket and slipped my flip-flops off.

“See ya, Jason.”

“Y'all don't kill each other today,” he warned. “Be sweet.”

I flipped him the bird behind my back as I walked to the stand. “Is that sweet enough?”

“Perfect.”

“Hello,” I mumbled as I climbed up the ladder to relieve David on the stand. “Are you a vampire or something?” I reached for the umbrella's lever and rotated it counterclockwise. It collapsed in accordance. David kept his eyes on the pool.

“It's not like you're going to get any sun anyway, Snooki,” he replied. “That storm is going to hit in a minute.” I looked up to survey the sky. A gray and purple bruise of clouds now sliced it in half.

“You want me to stay up here until the lightning cracks?” he asked. “Get everybody out?”

“I think I can handle it.”

“All right, whatever you say.” He hopped off the stand. “Keep your eyes on the sky.”

“Keep your eyes on the sky,” I mocked, surveying the pool. Only a few brave souls were holding on to what they knew would be the last five minutes of swimming before the storm hit.

There was Tyler, his giant goggles covering up half of his face. He was playing alone in the shallow end, tossing rings and making a dramatic show of sucking in his breath before submerging.

Crystal held court in the deep end, practicing her backstroke start off the blocks. Her friend Melissa acted as the stand-in starter, clinging to the side of the pool and telling her to “take your mark” with about as much enthusiasm as a CVS checkout girl. Crystal's brown arms clenched the starting block with impressive force; her face was set and determined. As Melissa yelled, “Go!” Crystal's arms swung back in an arc, and she disappeared beneath the surface, pulsing her legs in a butterfly kick for speed.

Crack!

I shot up, startled by the sudden bolt of lightning across the sky. It extended its menacing fingers toward me and then disappeared, leaving a faint outline of smoke in its wake.

I began to count in my head. The rule was that if you reached fifteen before thunder rumbled after a lightning strike, the storm wasn't coming toward you. But if thunder rumbled at any point before then, it was on its way, and fast.

Five, six, seven . . .

A roar filled the sky, seeming to shake the rickety wood beneath me. I put the whistle to my lips.

“Everybody out! Hit the bricks!”

Crystal, Melissa, and Tyler looked up, wide-eyed, before making a break for it. They quickly swam to the ladders and hauled themselves out of the water, pie-eyed with fright. I hopped down from the stand.

The kids dried themselves off quickly and then either mounted their bikes or ran to the phone, calling their parents for rides home. Faster than they could even wrap themselves in their giant Sponge-Bob towels, the cars pulled up, their honks piercing the humid, now almost pitch-black air.

“Bye, Coach Ruth! Bye, Coach David!” they yelled as they trudged up the hill to safety. They would be back as soon as the sun came out again, their parents more than happy to drop them back off until suppertime. We may have been called lifeguards, but really we were tan babysitters in swimsuits.

“Well, looks like it's just you and me,” David said. He was inside the concession stand, leaning back on the chair precariously with his feet propped on the ledge.

The first heavy drops of rain fell, splattering on the hot sidewalk. I opened the refrigerator to survey its contents of sugary junk. Skittles, Snickers, and individual corndogs wrapped in plastic stared back at me. I shut the door with a sigh and sat next to David. We watched the sky together in silence, its facade pierced by ferocious bolts of lightning.

“How's it going?” I asked after a few minutes. It was odd, making small talk with someone who used to arrange your dolls in compromising positions every time you left the house.

“Okay,” he answered.

“That storm came in quick, huh?”

“They always do.” Great, we were commiserating about the weather.

“You want to smoke?” David asked.

“Smoke what?”

“Smoke weed, Einstein.” Smoking weed with David was something I never thought I'd do. Not in a million years. I'd never seen him touch the stuff.

“You smoke weed? What about soccer?”

“What about it?” He reached into his bag.

“They don't test you?” He didn't answer and began to pack his bowl, not looking at me.

“David? Hello?”

“What?” He looked up at me angrily with a glint of defiance in his eyes. “Shit, I don't go back to play for, like, two months. What are you, a narc?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Excuse me for being even the slightest bit taken aback. My brother is suddenly Willie Nelson, not to mention he's on the job, and I have the audacity to express disbelief.”

“Ruth, take it easy. You're all riled up.” He put his hand on my knee. “First of all, this weed is about as potent as a cigarette, and second of all, did you really think I didn't smoke weed just because you'd never seen me smoke weed? It's not a big deal, I swear. We'll be fine.” He smiled at me.

“It's just weird to me, that's all.”

“Yeah, well. I suppose it is.” He got up and wrapped himself in his towel. “You want yours? Speaking of weird, it's actually cold.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He tossed my towel to me, and I covered myself with it.

“Hey, remember when we would dress up Maddie and pretend that she was a human?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Oh wow. Yeah, I remember. That poor dog.”

“Yep.” He sat back down and lit the bowl. “We would come home from swim practice, eat Pop-Tarts, and watch
The Price Is Right
.” He exhaled.

“Remember to spay and neuter your pets!”

“Yep, and then we would dress her up in your doll clothes. Man, I was such a little girl!” He passed me the lit bowl, and I shook my head no. He looked at me for a minute as if to ask,
You sure?
and I waved it away. He shrugged his shoulders and took another hit.

“You were a little, er, sensitive,” I agreed. “Speaking of dolls, remember Judy?”

“Oh man,” he said, coughing a little as he exhaled. My great-aunt had found Judy at a yard sale and given her to me on my sixth birthday. Her hair had been either ripped or cut out—it wasn't entirely clear—and her face was one only a mother could love. My aunt's motive may have been to make sure that I loved all babies regardless of their attractiveness, but it didn't work. I had felt a little bit guilty over hating the gift outright, but I had dealt with said guilt by shoving Judy in the back of my closet. Out of sight, out of mind.

David, however, getting wind of my cruelty, had rescued Judy, unbeknownst to me. It was only when I went charging into David's room months later to ask him about a missing pair of goggles that lo and behold, there she was. David had set up a high chair and a makeshift bed for her.

“Talk about issues,” said David in a cloud of smoke.

“It was sweet. You were what, eight? A little strange maybe, but sweet.” The rain continued to pound the pavement. “Are you high?” I asked.

“Yeah, a little.” I could hear the saliva crackling in his mouth. “I'm thirsty.”

He pulled four quarters from the cash box. “Whaddya want?” he asked as he walked to the drink machine.

“Diet Coke, thanks.”

“Yech,” said David. He dropped the quarters in the slots. “How do you drink that shit?”

“Oh, like that Sunkist is so much better. Do you know how many calories are in that thing? You're, like, drinking lunch.” He handed me my can, and I popped it open.

“I don't think you need to worry so much about calories.”

“Oh shut up.”

“
We don't say shut up in this house!
” he yelled, mocking our dad's famous saying.

“Give me a swig of that,” I demanded. He handed the orange can to me, and I gulped from it, relishing the sticky sweetness. I handed it back.

“Oh no, looks like the rain is letting up.” The storm had been reduced to a drizzle, and the sun was breaking back through the clouds.

“Shit,” said David, noticing it too. “How come you're not smoking? Don't you smoke at school?”

“I do. And I smoke here too. The other day I smoked with M.K. and Jill, and Dad busted me.”

“No! How?”

“I mean, we smoked and I had to come home before work to eat, you know? He just happened to be on his lunch break, so I was pretty much caught red-handed.”

“You had the munchies?” He laughed. “What did you do, eat frosting out of the can or something? Dip Cheetos in barbecue sauce?”

“Ew! Nasty! Who does that?”

He shrugged sheepishly. “It is pretty gross. But don't knock it till you've tried it. There's something strangely satisfying about it.”

“Can you imagine me dipping Cheetos in barbecue sauce across the table from Dad like it was no big deal?” We laughed together.

“It wasn't that bad,” I continued, “but I guess I was pretty obvious. I ripped into a bag of marshmallows and went to town.”

“Oh no! You might as well have been wearing one of those pot leaf T-shirts and a hemp necklace.”

“How dare you!” I was full on laughing now. “A hemp necklace!? Never.” Our giggles petered out.

“Anyway, he got upset with me. I had to go into work that afternoon, you know?”

“Yeah, I mean, of course he has a valid point. But c'mon. By the time you went up on the stand it would have been a couple of hours already, right?”

“Yeah.”

“God, they're so rigid, our parents.” He shook his head. “I bet neither one of them ever smoked a joint in their lives. I bet they'd be a lot less miserable if they had.”

“Since when do you think they're miserable?”

“Maybe ‘miserable' is the wrong word. But I don't think they're happy. I never realized how high-strung or judgmental I was until I smoked weed. They could probably use a little relaxation, don't you think?” asked David.

“Yeah.” What did David have to be anxious about? People swooned everywhere he went. I guess I could see how that came with its own set of issues, but certainly none that I could relate to.

“Do you think Mom and Dad made us that way?” he asked.

“Made us what way?”

“You know, anxious. Do you acquire it on your own, or is it something that's programmed from birth?”

“Good question. I don't know. Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“How come you're anxious? I mean, people worship you. You own a room before you even set foot in it.”

“Ruth, nobody worships me in Atlanta. Nobody worships me here either for that matter. You've got a warped vision of reality.”