The Cat Ate My Gymsuit (9 page)

“Does it bother you?”

“No . . .yeah, I guess it does. Maybe that’s why I don’t trust that many people.”

“You can trust me.”

“I know that you’re O.K., but I just want you to know that I’m not the type to go out much or get hung up on anybody.”

“O.K.”

“Marcy, let’s be friends.”

“O.K.”

I felt very strange. There was a lot to think about . . .Joel being bad . . .his mother leaving . . .a stepfather like Mr. Stone . . .Joel not wanting to get serious but still wanting a friend . . .my own feelings about Joel.

Nancy and Phil picked that moment to come over and talk.

“Hey, having fun? Why aren’t you dancing?” Nancy asked.

“I don’t,” Joel answered.

“But Marcy spent all week learning.”

I could have killed her.

Joel turned to me and said, “Sorry about that,” and we both laughed.

“That’s O.K. The lessons might come in handy some day,” I said.

Robert Alexander came over.

“Hi. Thought your mother wouldn’t let you come,” Joel said.

“That dope. She’s driving me crazy. I snuck out.”

“What’ll happen if she finds out?”

“She won’t . . .Even if she does, I don’t care. She said I have to go to boarding school. I hate her.”

Phil held up a six-pack and said, “Anybody want a beer?”

Joel, Robert, and Nancy took cans, so I did. I opened my can and took a sip. I’d tasted beer before and thought it was horrible. It still was.

I asked Nancy where her parents were. I was kind of nervous about the beer.

“They went to a movie. I told them I was old enough to not have chaperones. So they gave in. They’re cool.”

I just nodded my head, then pretended to sip my
beer. A cream soda would have been better. We all sat around talking.

At one end of the room there was a lot of noise. Andy Moore was putting beer cans on their sides and karate-chopping them. I asked Nancy if her parents were going to be mad because of the beer.

“Listen,” she said. “They’re so glad I don’t smoke dope that they think beer’s O.K.”

So I just stood there, watching and pretending to drink. Everybody else was dancing or chug-a-lugging. Joel turned to me and said, “Listen, Marcy. Let’s go. This party is going to get out of hand. I’d rather just talk.”

Waving to Nancy, we left. Joel and I walked back to my house.

“Joel, do you like beer?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just wondered.”

“Don’t you?”

“No.”

“Then why did you drink it?”

“Everyone was.”

“Marcy, you don’t have to drink just because everyone does. Look, you’re different. That’s cool.”

I thought, Yeah, really cool. I don’t look like everyone else. I don’t take gym like everyone else. And sometimes I don’t feel like everyone else.

Instead I said, “I don’t want to be different.”

Joel stopped and looked at me. “Ms. Finney’s different. Do you think she wants to be like everyone else?”

That was hard. Ms. Finney was special, very special. Some people can be different and still be happy. I personally think that while blimps are different, they are not special and not happy.

We continued walking. I didn’t know what to say. I guess Joel must have realized how down I was.

“Remember the time Robert told Ms. Finney how he cried while watching
Gone With the Wind
and she said she hadn’t realized how sentimental he was and he said, ‘Yeah, someone stole my popcorn’?”

We laughed.

Then I said, “What about the time she invited her friend in and they both played guitars and talked about poetry and music?”

“And all the old movies she brought in.”

“And the word games.”

“And how she let us videotape our play.”

“And the time she had us do the Blind Walk and
blindfolded one person and had one lead the other around.”

“That was neat. It was a good beginning to
The Miracle Worker.
”

“I miss her.”

“Me, too.”

By that time we’d reached the front door to my house. I was really happy thinking about all the good times with Ms. Finney.

We stood at the door. All of a sudden, I got scared. What if Joel wanted to kiss me good night? I’d never kissed anyone before, except relatives, and they didn’t count. I mean, kissing Stuart on the forehead to “make it all better” isn’t exactly thrilling. And practicing and pretending with a pillow isn’t the same as the real thing, either. What if I turned out to be a lousy kisser? Even worse, what if Joel didn’t even want to kiss me? Either way, it was going to be pretty hard to deal with.

I opened my purse and started to look for my keys. My purse always has so much junk in it that it takes forever to find anything. I dropped half the stuff on the ground, and then we had to search for everything. I found my keys and just stood there.

“I guess I should go inside now. Thanks for a nice
time.” It was dumb, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Joel leaned over. He was actually going to kiss me. I closed my eyes like they always do in the movies and on TV. I felt a quick kiss on my forehead. It was the type of kiss I get when my mother tucks me in. So much for my career as a sex fiend.

A light went on in the living room, so I said, “I’d better go in now.”

We said good night. When I got inside, my mother was waiting.

“Did you have a nice time, dear?”

“Yeah.”

“Did everyone like your new clothes—oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. Do you think Joel will ask you out again?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Why don’t you know? Did something go wrong?”

“Mom, please don’t start. I had a good time.”

She looked at me and said, “I only want you to be happy, Marcy. I don’t want you to be miserable the way I was when I was little.”

I didn’t know what to say to her. So I hugged her and went to bed. Then I lay awake, trying to figure everything out and wondering whether I’d wake up with pimples all over my face.

M
y phone rang and woke me up the next morning. It was Nancy, in a bad mood. The kids had helped her clean up after the party, but when her parents came home they found a couple of the guys in the backyard, throwing up. In the future, they said, they would stay home when she had parties.

I thought she got off easy. If it had been my family, my mother would be in hysterics and my father would be screaming for blood.

Nancy asked if I wanted to come over and listen to
some records. I really wanted to but had to go see my grandmother, so I told her that I’d call when we got back.

When I got downstairs, I saw that the Sunday paper had been delivered. I picked up the funny sheets, and my father took them away. He said that since he paid for the paper, he had the right to read it first. Then he put them beside his chair and read the sports section.

I got mad. I screamed, “I hate you! You’re a real creep,” and ran up to my room and slammed the door and locked it.

It all happened before I realized that I was going to do it. I was scared. I didn’t know what was going to happen next.

I could hear him yelling. He was telling my mother and Stuart how bad and ungrateful I was, how hard he worked and all he wanted was peace and quiet and how I never let him have any. Finally he shut up, and then I heard my mother coming up the steps.

She came to my room and tried to open the door. Then she knocked. I sat on my bed and screamed, “Leave me alone! Can’t everyone in this dumb family just leave me alone?”

She knocked again and said, “Marcy, please let me in, or else I’ll have to tell your father.” So I let her in.

“Marcy, don’t be mad at me. It’s not my fault.”

I threw myself back on the bed and put the pillow over my head.

She started to cry. This time I didn’t even care. Then I heard my father’s voice.

“See what you’ve done, young lady. You’ve made your mother cry. Apologize or you won’t be able to go out on any more dates.”

My head was still under the pillow. I wanted to stay there and smother, but I sat up and said, “Leave me alone. Just leave me alone. I hate you.”

My father raised his hand. He had never hit me before, but this time it looked as if I was going to get clobbered.

My mother grabbed his arm and screamed, “Martin! Please don’t. Nobody made me cry. I did it myself. Don’t hit her.”

He looked at both of us. She was trying to stop crying. I was staring at him. He glared at me and said, “Get that snarl off your face. You look like an animal.” Then he turned and left, slamming the door.

My mother was still standing there. I wanted to be alone, so I went back under the pillow. I heard her leave. My head ached. It was hard to breathe. I just wanted to be dead.

Someone tapped me on the back. I peeked out. It was Stuart.

“What do you want?”

He patted me on the head and said, “I love you. Give me a kiss.”

So I kissed and held him. Poor little kid. It’s scary when something like this happens.

My mother came back in and said, “We’d all better get ready. Your father wants to leave in half an hour.”

So we went. The visit to my grandmother was horrible. Everyone was in a rotten mood. My father kept telling her what a monster I was.

Sometimes I feel guilty hating him, but he deserves it.

J
oel called the next day. His grandmother was making him buy a birthday present to send to his mother. He didn’t want to get one, but figured that it was easier than fighting.

I rushed downstairs to tell my mother that I’d be going out. She got upset because I was wearing bluejeans and a sweatshirt. She said that even though I was “plump,” I didn’t have to look like a slob.

I told her that I wasn’t going to change, that until
I saw her I had been happy with the way I looked, and that if her advice meant that I was going to end up with a guy like my father, I didn’t want to bother.

She got really mad then, and told me that I was becoming an unmanageable brat.

I walked out of the house and sat on the front steps, waiting for Joel. My mother came out and said that she couldn’t take any more fighting.

“Mom, I don’t want to fight with you either. But you can’t tell me what to do all the time. I’m not a baby.”

“I know, but a child is always her mother’s baby.”

That seemed silly. Did that mean that my father was still my grandmother’s baby, or that Mr. Stone was someone’s baby? I doubted that Joel was his mother’s baby. I bet Ms. Finney’s mother didn’t think she was a baby.

“Marcy, you’re so important to me. I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

“Mom, what about Mrs. Sheridan? Talk to her.”

“Oh, I can’t. There are certain things that you keep in the family.”

“Well, tell Stuart. I can’t stand it. You tell me things, and then when I tell you I hate my father, you get upset. What do you want from me?”

“Try to understand. I’m trying to change and
grow. Marcy, it’s not easy for me. I know it’s not easy for you either. Let’s try to help each other.”

“Why’d you marry him?”

“If I hadn’t, you and Stuart wouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, I know . . .but that’s not why you married him . . .is it? Uh . . .Mom, did you have to get married?”

“Marcy! Your father and I were married for two years before you were born. You know that. I married your father because I loved him. I still do. We need each other. Don’t you understand?”

I shrugged my shoulders. Why couldn’t she understand? I mean, I’m just a kid. Why couldn’t she talk to Mrs. Sheridan or someone? Why me?

Joel was coming down the block. He waved, and I waved back. My mother looked and then said, “I guess that’s it. You want to be with Joel, not me. Have a nice time,” she said, walking into the house.

Joel walked up to the steps.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you and your mother just have a fight?”

“Well, not really a fight. A discussion.”

“Was it O.K.?”

“Oh, Joel, who knows? Let’s go.”

So we took off, and ended up going to a shopping plaza, one of those places that has every kind of store. All the kids hang out there, so we ran into a lot of people. But we had to go look for a dumb present for Joel’s mother.

He was in a weird mood, laughing a lot but also a little angry. At first I thought I’d done something wrong, but Joel said, “No, I’m just mad ’cause I have to get something for my mother.”

It was funny. He kept looking in all of the stores, trying to decide what to get. He looked at an anthill farm, a plaque that said “God Bless Our Happy Home,” a rock record, a Monopoly game, a green shade of nail polish, and a button that said, “Kiss me. I’m neurotic.” Finally he picked out a really ugly heart-shaped pin with red, green, and orange rhinestones. It was atrocious.

We found it in one of those horrible stores that sell lots of junk: striped purple and yellow toilet seats, rock posters, candles, stationery, doorknobs, mink-covered can openers, and other stuff. The pin was on a clearance table with other disasters that no one else had bought.

Joel immediately picked it up and said, “This is it. It’s fantastic, really perfect. I love it.”

I didn’t know how to tell him that it was awful. “Listen, Joel. Are you sure your mother will like it?”

Looking at me, he smiled and said, “She’ll hate it. Don’t you see? She’ll just hate it. It’s perfect. She’ll never figure out if I know how ugly it is or if I think it’s beautiful. When she comes to see me or if I have to go there, she’ll have to wear it. It’ll look awful. And when I show it to my grandmother before I send it, she’ll never know either. Those two don’t realize a guy can have good taste.”

“Is that your mother’s mother?”

“No. My father’s. But my mother and she are a lot alike. They think everyone has to be a certain way and that’s it. I’m glad my father’s not like that. He’s cool. He listens to me when I talk, and he doesn’t make me think the way he does. And I like the things he says and does. He’s O.K.”

“Wish mine was.”

“Just don’t let them get to you. In three and a half more years you’ll be in college . . .or at least out on your own. Just try to survive until then.”