Taking Off (8 page)
Authors: Jenny Moss
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Historical, #United States, #20th Century, #Social Issues, #Death & Dying, #General, #School & Education, #Juvenile Nonfiction
T
he kitchen was warm and a heaven of baking smells. Mom was baking, and I was eating what she baked, at least some of it. She wouldn’t let me touch the pies, which were for Donald’s office party.
That was so unfair. Their perfect flaky crusts edged over the sides of red ceramic pie pans, tempting me. When Mom wasn’t looking, I pinched off a piece. I loved crust. I needed to bake a pie crust and just eat that. I should write a poem about a pie crust with no filling. It could be a metaphor; for what I didn’t know.
It was a nice afternoon, with just the two of us. We talked about baking, about the family, about nothing really. It was nice. The moment felt right for me to ask her what was on my mind. “Mom, why is it so important to you for me to take Donald’s money?”
Mom rolled her shoulders. “Two reasons, I guess.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
She was thinking. I tried to be patient. “First, I want you to do what I never got to do.”
“Right. Go to college.”
“Partly. But yes, mainly. And, Annie, money is an issue for us. And for you to get offered this money … honey, do you realize how your life opens up with possibility because of that? College will do that for you.”
“But what if I don’t want to go, Mom?”
“But why, why wouldn’t you?” she asked, throwing a hand up in the air. And with that, our peaceful afternoon was ruined. Why did I try?
“I think
you
want to go,” I said. “So you’re trying to live through me.”
“Annie. No. I want you to have a chance to see what’s out there.”
“Out where?” I asked. “You know, we live just thirty minutes from a city of two million. A very international city.”
“Isn’t there something you want to see besides Texas?”
“Sure,” I said. “But I don’t think I have to go to college to do that.”
She bit into a cookie.
“Mom, just because
you
want something doesn’t mean that I want it.”
“Let me ask you, Annie. Why don’t you want to go to college? Why don’t you want to leave Clear Lake? Is it Mark?”
I shook my head, then shrugged.
“So it is Mark?”
I felt like crying. I was so frustrated. Even if I wanted to go somewhere, where would I go?
And there was Mark, who loved me, who wanted to be with me. That felt good and certain. I could rely on him. He’d always be there for me, no matter what went wrong.
I couldn’t say any of this to Mom.
“Annie?”
I closed my eyes until I felt calmer. “Mom, I’ll take the money for Florida from Donald. But can we just put off the other decision until later?”
“You mean about him paying for college?”
And me actually going to college. “Yes.”
“Sure,” she said, getting up to answer the ringing phone. It was Donald.
It was only later that I realized she didn’t tell me the second reason why she wanted me to take the money.
T
wo things jumped out at me when Dad pulled up. First, he was in the Beatmobile. But before I had time to get mad about that, I noticed the second thing. He wasn’t the one driving the car. Mark realized it too. So did Mom.
When Dad got out, Mark asked: “Who’s he?”
The driver’s door swung open. A guy with dark wavy hair stepped out, resting his arms on the car hood. He gave a friendly wave. Then, he smiled. I felt my stomach do sweet, chaotic flips. He was cute. Really cute.
“Yeah, Jesse. Who’s he?” Mom asked.
His smile was like magic. It made you want to grin back at him, which I thought I might be doing. His sunglasses covered his eyes. So I couldn’t tell their color, but I didn’t think it mattered.
I tried to step forward to mutter hi or something intelligible, but felt a motherly grip on my shoulder and a boyfriend’s hand pulling on mine. But I couldn’t stop looking at the guy’s smile. It was so … welcoming. It made me giddy. Mark’s hand tightened.
“Who is this?” I heard Mom ask again.
An unexpected scowl turned down Mom’s lips and up her eyebrows, giving her face an odd, fractured look.
“Huh?” Dad asked, looking up. He’d been throwing old tennis shoes from the backseat to the trunk, and old french fries onto the grass. I realized Mom must be in shock because she said nothing about the limp fries hanging out on her lawn. Her eyes still bore into Dad’s.
“What, Mags? What?”
“The boy,” said Mom, waving. “Who’s the boy?”
But this guy wasn’t a boy. He was out of high school, for sure, probably graduated for a few years. His grin didn’t fade, just kind of slid into an amused smile, while he glanced down. He looked back at Mom, a little shyly. It was adorable.
“What are you staring at?” asked Mark.
I looked at Mark, trying to place him. Then I felt the heat flow up into my face. I
had
been staring. I looked back at the guy. But he was just so incredible. No one, not even Mr. Williams when he defied the principal and wore his jeans to school, looked quite so incredible.
“This is Tommy,” said Dad, casually throwing a hand his way.
Mom stepped forward. “And you’re dropping him off?”
“Yeah,” said Dad, laughing, “in Florida.”
“He’s not going with you,” said Mom. Not a question.
“Yeah, he is, Mags. He’s helping me drive.” He shrugged. “And he wants to see the launch of the space shuttle, don’t you, Tommy?”
Tommy took off his sunglasses. “Nice to meet y’all.”
His eyes were blue. Not that it mattered.
“Can I talk to you?” Mom asked, grabbing Dad by the arm. She started pulling him over to the side.
“What?” Dad asked, brushing her off. But he followed her. Mom began talking frantically. She never talked frantically. I didn’t understand why she felt the need to drag Dad to the side, when she wasn’t lowering her voice.
“We can hear you, Mom,” I yelled, but she didn’t get any quieter.
I caught Tommy’s eye, and he gave me a little shrug. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Annie. Sorry about them.”
“Can I talk to you?” Mark asked.
“Sure.”
He led me to the door by the hand he’d not let go since Dad had driven up. He opened the door, like he was heading inside, but I stopped on the front step. “What’s going on?”
“You’re not getting in that car.”
“What?” I pulled my hand out of his. “Mark, don’t get crazy.”
“You think I’m going to let my girlfriend go off with … him?”
“Let? You’re not going to
let
me?”
“Don’t start with that, Annie. You know what I mean. If I was going … surfing with a hot chick, you wouldn’t want me to go.”
“I don’t think I’d mind. I trust you.”
Mark’s mouth set into a firm, straight line. He looked down, shaking his head. “Annie, you’re not going.” His voice was tight, angry.
“I am going.”
With that, he hit the door with his fist so hard that the bang made Mom and Dad turn toward us. I stepped back from his anger. Tommy came around the side of the Beatmobile, but Mark started walking straight toward his own car. And just then, Donald drove up.
“Mark!” I yelled. “Come back, Mark!” I saw my neighbor down the street out in her yard. I swore she had binoculars in her hand.
Mark didn’t say a word, just kept walking. He looked up at Tommy when he passed him by. Mark’s back was to me, so I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell from Tommy’s raised eyebrows Mark had shot him some look.
Tommy shook his head and said something too low to be heard.
Donald, who had parked on the street, was getting out of his car. What was everybody doing here? Didn’t anyone work a full day anymore?
Dad looked like he might say something to Mark, but when he saw Donald, he stopped, then started walking away from Mom to the Beatmobile.
“Ready to go?” he said to me, grabbing my bag off the driveway.
Mark’s car tore down the street, tires screeching on the road. Our neighbor scuttled back into her house.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Ready.”
Donald walked over to me, pulling out his wallet. “I’m so glad you agreed to let me help with this trip, Annie.”
Oh no.
“What? She doesn’t need your money,” Dad said.
“How are you paying for gas and food?” Mom asked.
“Me and Tommy are paying. And Annie’s pitching in some.”
“Yeah,” said Mom, taking the bills out of Donald’s hand and giving them to me. “This is the money.”
“He,” Dad began, “is not paying for my daughter.” He stuffed the bills back in Mom’s hand, ignoring Donald. “Annie said she had money.”
“Dad. This is the money.”
“What about your movie-theater money? You’ve been working there for two years, Annie. You never buy anything. I know you have money saved up.”
“That’s for college, Jesse. It’s just like you—”
“Mom,” I interrupted.
“He should be paying for something, Annie.”
“All I know is that she’s my daughter, and HE isn’t paying for her.”
I took the money from Mom. “Yeah, he is, Dad,” I said. “Now get in the car.”
“Annie.”
“Get in the car, Dad.”
“Well, dammit. This trip has gotten off to a great start,” he said sarcastically, like a little kid. He slid into the passenger seat, and I slid into the back.
I rolled down the window. “See you soon, Mom.”
Mom’s mouth twisted a little. “Annie.”
“I’ll be back soon, Mom. We’re driving back right after the launch on Saturday. I’ll be home Sunday night or early Monday morning.”
“I don’t understand why you had to leave this evening,” she said.
“Because I like to drive at night,” Dad said, but his window wasn’t down so I hoped she hadn’t heard him.
Mom looked so concerned. “Call me, Annie, when you get to Cocoa Beach so I’ll know you got there safely.” She glanced over at Dad.
“I will.”
“Don’t forget.”
“I won’t, Mom.” I saw Tommy looking at me in the rearview mirror. He hadn’t started the car yet. “We have to go, Mom.”
“Call.”
“I won’t forget.”
“Let’s go,” Dad said.
Tommy’s hand was on the ignition, but he glanced back at me. I nodded at him. The car started up.
Mom was gesturing with her eyes toward Donald.
“Yeah, thanks, Donald,” I said.
“Sure, Annie. Have a good time. Should be quite a show.”
I waved my hand out the window as we drove away. Tommy slid in a Van Morrison cassette and cranked up the volume.
Dad smiled. “Yeah! Thank you, kid.”
We took the Kemah Bridge. To the east of us, a blue sky stretched out over the bay. Like Van Gogh, I didn’t think I could ever tire of a blue sky.
I
couldn’t hear what Tommy and Dad were saying. The music was loud, still, and the windows were down, still. That was fine for a while, even wild and fun, but when we got to Beaumont, I hit Dad on the arm. “Hey.”
“What is it?”
“Your music—
pftt
—is loud—
pftt
,” I said, trying to keep my hair out of my mouth while I talked.
“What?” he asked, turning down “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?”
“John Fogerty is singing way too loud. And I’m cold,” I said, pulling at my red gloves. “The sun has almost set, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Sure,” said Tommy, rolling up his window.
Dad started cranking up his as well. I combed my hair with my fingers, trying to smooth it back down so it was somewhat flat on my head.
“Sorry about that,” said Tommy, looking at me in the mirror. “I forget that others don’t like it as cold as I do.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “How’s my hair?”
He laughed. “A little unkempt.”
Unkempt. Unkempt. I couldn’t get the word out of my head. Tommy, my father’s fine friend, had used the word “unkempt.” “But then I’m not one to talk,” he said, pointing to his head.
“Your hair
is
puffy.”
He laughed.
“Sorry.”
“Nah,” he said. “So your dad says you go to Clear Creek?”
I looked over at Dad. He’d leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. “I’m a senior.”
“That’s what he said,” said Tommy. “What are you doing after you graduate?”
I was used to this question, but somehow when Tommy asked it, it lost some of its sting. “Thinking it through.”
“I graduated from Creek.”
“Yeah?” I asked. “What year?”
“Eighty-two.”
“So we weren’t there at the same time.” I paused. So he was four years ahead of me. I wondered if it was strange I started thinking about when I was there relative to when he was there. “I guess not.”
“Guess not,” said Tommy. “Unless you flunked.”
I laughed.
He was driving with one hand, with his other arm draped across the back of the front seat. He wasn’t wearing his coat. His sleeves were rolled up. I noticed he didn’t have much hair on his arms, and I wondered if he had Indian blood in him. That was what Mark had told me about himself. That he was part Cherokee, from way back, which was why he didn’t have much hair on his chest.
Tommy gestured toward Dad. “He didn’t last long.” Dad was out, but not snoring too loudly yet.
“Dad does four things well: talking, fishing, and sleeping.”
“That’s three.”
“Yep,” I said.
Tommy laughed. “Well, what’s the fourth thing?”
“He wouldn’t ever tell me. And he said it wasn’t
that
.”
“What?”
“What you’re thinking,” I said.
He glanced back at me. “You’re a blusher.”
My hands went to my face. “Your cheeks are pink too.”
He looked at himself in the mirror, laughing. “Noooo.”
I smiled and looked out the window, listening to Dad snore, feeling happier and more relaxed than I had in a long time.
“So that was your boyfriend?” asked Tommy.
“Yeah. Yeah.”
“He didn’t like me much.”
No, he didn’t
, I thought.
“Is he always that angry?” asked Tommy. “Hitting the door like that?”
“I’ve never seen him that angry,” I said.
Tommy nodded. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”
I shrugged. “It’s all right. So you work with my dad?”
“I’ve worked at the plant for a year, all with your dad. He’s a good guy.”
I looked at Dad, wondering if I agreed.
“He talks about you all the time,” said Tommy.
“Me?”
“All the time.”
“What does he say?” I asked.
“Everything. He told me about a paper you wrote for class. On King Lear.”
“What?”
“Yeah. How you argued Lear had an epiphany, and that even though he died right after he had the epiphany, it was important that he had the epiphany. Right?”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling uncomfortable Tommy knew things about me that Dad had told him. What else had he said? “So,” I said, eager to change the subject, “where did you work before the plant?”
“I was in college,” he said.
“Oh, yeah? Where?”
“California. At USC.”
“USC? That’s cool. You didn’t like it?”
“Nope.”
“Why not go to another college?” I asked.
“It wasn’t USC I didn’t like.”
“Oh,” I said. “What then?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated I know.”
He laughed. “Fielding lots of questions lately?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“About what you’re going to do with your life?”
“Yeah.”
We were quiet for a moment.
“Did you know what you were going to do when you graduated?” I asked.
“No. I had an idea, but my parents …” His voice drifted off and he didn’t say any more about it.
I figured he didn’t want to talk about whatever it was and I knew how that felt. I changed the subject: “Do you like working at the plant?”
“It’s fine, for now.”
“And that should be okay,” I said.
“What?”
I hesitated, trying to figure out what I meant. “I mean it’s okay not to know. It’s okay to do other things until you figure it out.”
“That’s what I think.”
“Yeah,” I said, taking a breath. “Yeah.”
“Hey, you want a Coke?”
“A Coca-Colaaa?” I asked, singing the word. I paused, inwardly cringing.
I wasn’t used to being so awkward. I’d always been comfortable with guys. I’d been friends with Mark for ages. When we started dating, it felt natural, even though we hadn’t been best friends or anything. But we’d been friends and hung around together in the same group.
So we had bypassed awkward.
Tommy was different. Or I was different around him. Not good.
“There’s some fast food up in Orange,” he said.
“It’s a date!” I closed my eyes. Just stop it now, Annie.
Tommy didn’t seem to notice my befuddlement though. He pulled into a McDonald’s just off the interstate. Dad continued to sleep and snore while we ordered Cokes for everyone, including him.
Tommy drove to the food-pickup window, and a girl who didn’t look good in McDonald’s colors leaned out. “Hi,” she said to Tommy in a husky voice. “Interesting car.” I leaned forward to see her better. She was trashy looking, I thought, as I fell back.
“I have a question for you,” Tommy said to the girl, “about someone who used to live around here. In Port Arthur.”
“Shoot,” she said.
“You know Janis Joplin? Big rock singer. Biiiig.”
“Never heard of her,” the girl said.
“Sure you did!” I called out from the back. “Wasn’t Janis Joplin at Woodstock, Tommy?” Dad snorted and moved around a bit, but he still slept. “Hey, she even had her own art car, remember?”
“That’s right!” said Tommy. “It was that psychedelic Porsche.”
“What’s an art car?” the girl asked.
Tommy glanced back at me. “And Janis had to have been at Woodstock.” He paused. “You do know Woodstock, right?” he asked the girl.
She giggled. “Of course I do.” She leaned over the window ledge. “Is that y’all’s dad sleeping?” Dad’s snoring stopped, and he shifted in his seat. He then leaned his head against the glass window.
I leaned forward in the seat and pointed to Tommy, then to myself, “We,” I said, “are not brother and sister.”
“What are you then?” asked the girl.
I leaned back. I didn’t know the answer to that.
“We’re friends,” said Tommy.
She handed him a drink. “Diet Coke.”
“Here, Annie,” he said, handing it back to me. “Have some bubbles of nothingness.”
“So, how good of friends are you?” the girl asked.
“Very good friends,” he said. The look he gave me made my stomach feel all flippy and nice again.
“Thanks,” I said. “For the Diet Coke, I mean.”
“Are you in Orange for long?” asked the girl, passing the last Coke to Tommy, but not letting it go. He held on to it too. I thought their pinkies might be touching.
“We’re leaving in five seconds,” he said. “Thanks for the Coke.”
“You’re welcome,” said the girl, releasing it. “Come back anytime.”
- - - - -
Neither Tommy nor I said anything else for a while. I was uncomfortable, not so much with the way the girl had acted toward Tommy as that it reminded me of my own reaction to him. I wanted to believe I wasn’t anything like that girl back there. That girl would end up married to a guy in her town and stay there all her life and never do anything worthwhile.
With a sick feeling in my stomach, I thought about Mark. That was what he wanted of course. And he didn’t need anything beyond what he had right now. I found I didn’t want to leave
him
, but I thought I wanted to go.
“Your dad’s a real sleeper,” said Tommy.
“He’s always falling asleep, at the movies, on the couch, in a chair at Star Furniture once. Doesn’t he sleep at work?”
“Nooo. Your dad’s a hard worker.”
“He’s asleep. You don’t have to say that.”
“Hey, it’s true. Your dad’s well thought of at work.”
“I thought he quit a lot.”
“Quit? He’s worked at the plant for fifteen years. But you know that.”
I didn’t say anything.
“They want to make him a supervisor,” said Tommy. “But he’s resisting. Doesn’t want the pressure. But he told you that, right?”
“No.”
“How about that?” said Tommy.
So why was Dad telling Tommy all this stuff, and not me? He never talked about work. I hadn’t even known about Tommy, but he and my dad were close. “It sounds like you know my dad better than I do.”
“We’re together a lot at work,” said Tommy. “He doesn’t talk much about your mom. How long
have
your parents been divorced?”
“What are you doing, writing a book?”
“Hey, I’m sorry.”
“No, look. I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s okay, really. I just don’t know a lot about my mom and dad.” I paused, glanced at Dad. “I don’t understand them really.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, first of all, I don’t find them very interesting, or at least as interesting as you do.”
Tommy laughed. “That’s normal.”
“Are you interested in your parents?”
“I tried, more than they did. Or at least more than my father did.”
I thought about that, unsure about what he meant. “Hey, are you hungry?” I started going through the sack of groceries on the seat beside me. “Ah! Potato chips,” I said, grabbing the bag. “Thank you, Dad! You want some, Tommy?”
“What else is in there?”
“Nothing healthy,” I said.
“Jesse brought a cooler of stuff, but unfortunately it’s in the trunk.”
“Here’s some cashews,” I said, pulling out a can.
“That’ll work.”
While I pulled off the sealed top for him, he leaned forward and started playing with the radio. “That station’s going to static.”
I handed him the can, and he put it on the seat beside him and then went back to fiddling with the radio. I ripped open the bag of chips gleefully. “By the way, do girls always act that way around you?”
Tommy glanced back at me quickly. “Who? That girl back there?”
“Yep. Her.”
“You mean friendly.”
“She was way more than friendly.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. She seemed nice.”
“To you.”
“She wasn’t nice to you?”
“She wasn’t not nice to me. But she sure wasn’t as nice to me as she was to you.”
“Huh,” he said, stopping on a station playing country music. “Do you mind country?”
I shrugged. “I’d prefer not.”
So he kept searching, finally leaving it on some awful generic music station. “Nothing.”
“I’ll find us another cassette,” I said, picking up the shoebox from the floorboard. It was Dad’s. I don’t know why I didn’t remember to bring my own cassettes. Nothing in here was going to be after 1970, the year the music died, according to Dad.
“So why do you want to see the launch?” Tommy asked.
“Why do you?”
He laughed. “Just thought it would be a cool road trip.”
Even his laugh was infectious. It just made you feel all warm inside. What was it? Because he was so good looking? It wasn’t just that. Some guys were fine looking, but were missing something else. And whatever that something else was, Tommy had it. And what made it extra charming was that he didn’t seem to know he had it.
“So why do you want to go?” asked Tommy.
“Well …,” I began, trying to figure out exactly why.
“Are you a space nerd? A big
Star Trek
fan?”
“No,” I said, laughing.
“Not going to be an engineer?”
“No.”
“Wanted to take a trip with your dad?”
I laughed. “No.” Then I looked at my dad, hoping he hadn’t heard that. But his mouth was open and he was still sound asleep.
“Okay, so I don’t get it,” he said. “Oh, wait. Did you just want to skip out on school?”
“I don’t mind school,” I said, wrapping up the chips bag and throwing it back into the grocery sack. I had to stop eating this junk.
