The Divorce Express (6 page)

Protecting parents’ feelings can be a full-time job.

She tells me of all her plans for the weekend—dinner tonight, then a movie. Clothes shopping tomorrow and then a matinee. She knows I want to go to a party tomorrow night, so she’ll go out with Duane, this guy she’s been dating since she redid his office. He doesn’t impress me, to say the least. In fact, I think he’s a real creep. He’s the kind of guy who donates money to educational TV but watches football games—and that’s one of his better qualities.

My mother continues telling me what we’re going to do. Sunday brunch, and then she’ll make me an early dinner before I have to catch the bus.

“Great,” I say, wondering when I’m going to have time to do my homework and not sure that I should tell her that my father and I have made dinner plans for Sunday.

Before the divorce, and even when they both lived in New York, I had more time to do nothing with them. Now it all seems so busy.

Oh, well, it’ll all work out. I’ll talk to Andy and Katie and then I can let my mother know if I have to change some plans.

I go into my bedroom and call Andy. The line’s busy.

I call Katie. Her line’s busy too.

Taking the picture off my dresser, I sit down and look at it.

It’s Andy and me on the school trip to Bear Mountain.

Andy’s so cute—brown hair, brown eyes. He’s getting so tall. Over the summer he must have grown about three inches. When we used to slow-dance, I could put my head on his shoulder. Now it’ll be kind of under his armpit.

He’s also really smart, nice, and a good kisser. It’s a shame we didn’t start going out until near the end of the school year.

I can’t wait to see him.

I
finally got through to Katie and almost wish I hadn’t.

I’m not sure what to do or feel.

Katie and Andy have started going out together.

The conversation started out normally. How’s school? What are you wearing to the party? Any good gossip? All the questions that I normally ask.

Then she said, “Listen, Phoebe, I don’t know how to tell you this . . . .” And then she told me.

I hung up on her.

She called right back, but I told my mother to say I just left.

When I get upset or angry, I need time to figure things out or I say things I don’t always mean, that I may regret later.

What choices do I have?

Do I tell them what creeps they are, what louses, traitors, cruds that are lower than earthworms? No—because they really aren’t like that. They’ve always been my friends because they’re wonderful people.

Should I go to the party, pretend I don’t know them, and flirt with Charlie Shaw, who’s had a crush on me since second grade? No—I do know them, and it’s not fair to Charlie, who’s a nice kid but not my type.

Should I try to find an excuse—like Andy’s only going out with her because she’s a real slime queen? She isn’t. She doesn’t. She has the same standards I do.

Should I rant and rave and carry on, sob that my life is over and no one’s ever going to go with me again? No—that’s not my style.

I’m not even sure of what I feel. I’m glad that
ambivalent
was on the English vocabulary list last week.
It means having different feelings about the same thing. I guess that’s the way it is for me. I like them both and think they’ll be good for each other. Katie’s been my friend since kindergarten. Andy was only my boyfriend for a couple of months. Part of me, though, also wants to wring their necks. Another part of my New York life is changing. But that’s the way it’s got to be because now I have to face the truth. Woodstock is the place where I have to make a new life. Thank goodness for Rosie.

What should I say to them? How should I handle this? Life certainly gets complicated. I guess that I’ll have to take it all as it comes.

The phone rings again.

My mother comes to my door. “Honey, it’s Andy. Is everything all right?”

I shrug and debate whether to take the call. “I guess I’ll live. I’ll take the call. Please hang up the phone in the other room. I’ll take it in here.”

Andy starts to explain right away, how they both missed me a lot and spent lots of time talking about me when school first started. Then they both were elected homeroom representatives and spent even more time together.

I just listen, saying nothing except “Uh-huh.”

He continues. “It’s hard with you gone. I want to go out and do things, and you’re not here. My parents kept yelling about my calling you, that the phone bill would be too high. It gets lonely and boring, and Katie’s a nice person—like you.”

I say, “I guess it was kind of dumb to promise not to see other people.”

“It just doesn’t work long-distance, but I hope we can always be friends.”

“Sure. Me too,” I say, and realize it’s true. We’re only fourteen years old. It’s just the beginning. And I think that one of the reasons I didn’t make friends in Woodstock when school first started was because I gave off bad vibes about being there. Part of me really wasn’t there.

After we hang up, I think for a minute, then pick up the phone to call Katie. A friend of my mother’s once said, after the divorce, that relationships with men may not always last but that a good friendship between women is like gold. I’m not sure if my mother agreed, but I thought about it a lot.

Katie and I talk for about five minutes. We both cry a little, but I think it’s more from relief than sadness.

She asks me if I’m still going to the party, that all the kids want to see me.

That would be too hard. I couldn’t stand having everyone look at the three of us and think, Poor Phoebe. “My mother and Duane want me to go out with them,” I say, hoping it was true. “They’re going to a play. I’ll see you all the next weekend I come down.”

I feel grown-up after the talks, like I can handle anything. I think that kids who have gone through divorces are more used to handling problems. Maybe kids who haven’t would disagree, but that’s my opinion.

I think of a greeting card that I sent my mother once from the Woodstock Framing Gallery. It was when the divorce thing got really heavy. She still keeps it on the mantelpiece. It says W
HEN THE GOING GETS TOUGH . . . THE TOUGH GO SHOPPING
.

I walk out to the living room where my mother’s waiting to find out what’s going on and say, “Tomorrow let’s use your credit cards and hit the stores.”

She looks at me for a minute like I’m off the wall or something. I usually don’t like to go with her, since our tastes are so different.

I point to the mantelpiece. “The card, remember.”

It dawns on her. She walks over and hugs me. “I only hope that whatever this is can be cured with an outfit, not a whole wardrobe.”

I rub my head on her shoulder as she strokes my hair. “I think so.”

It’s kind of funny. I know that shopping doesn’t take away bad feelings. It’s just a symbol for keeping on with life.

It won’t be so bad though to get some new clothes out of this. Maybe she’ll feel so sorry for me, she won’t bug me about buying stuff I don’t want to wear.

Only forty-eight hours till I’m back in Woodstock.

“H
ow was your weekend?” Rosie asks when I sit down next to her on the bus returning to Woodstock.

She doesn’t realize what she’s getting into. I tell her all about Katie and Andy. About buying a pair of boots. How when my mother realized I wasn’t going to the party, she called Duane, who tried to get an extra ticket to the play, but they were all sold out. How Duane and my mother said they wouldn’t go, but I told them to. How she called during the intermission to make sure I was all right. How I stayed
in my room and cried a little, then took the picture of Andy and me and went out into the hall and threw it into the compactor and then felt bad that I did that.

“I feel better now. I think I’ve worked it all out of my system. And they still are my friends. They both called and wanted to stop by, but I already had plans.”

“Wow, I would have ripped off their faces.” Rosie shakes her head. “I can’t believe that you didn’t scream at them, mangle their bodies into tiny pieces, and throw them to the rats to gnaw. That’s what I would have done.”

“What if the rats are veggies?” The thought of cannibal rats makes me ill.

“They’re not. Those rats’d probably even eat cafeteria food,” Rosie says. “I think you’re being a regular saint about Katie and Andy. I wouldn’t earn a halo on this one.”

I make a mental note never to go out with anyone she’s involved with, not that I ever would.

“You must have been really angry and hurt. Confess, weren’t you?”

Thinking first, I say, “No. I really do like them both. Maybe if Andy were my first boyfriend, it would
have been different. But he wasn’t. My first boyfriend was Danny O’Hara in the fourth grade. We went steady until he traded me to Arnold Berman for one of those electronic toys. That time I got really angry. I tried to put Silly Putty up his nose until the teacher stopped me from doing something dangerous.”

Rosie starts laughing and then I start.

People look at us and then turn away.

We keep looking at each other and laughing. We’re all the way to Paramus, New Jersey, before we calm down. After the weekend I’ve just been through, it feels good to laugh.

“How was your weekend?” I ask.

“Fair. Listening to my father play was great. I’m so proud of him. But it’s not easy. My father’s new wife has two kids from her first marriage. They’re seven and five, and they call
my
father Daddy. Sometimes they’re brats, but mostly they’re pretty okay. It’s kind of weird though, like they’re a full-time family and I’m a part-time visitor.”

“That must be hard,” I say.

She nods. “And I’m a lighter color than any of them. It’s okay, but sometimes it makes me feel a little strange.”

I think about what it must be like for her. I think she’s wonderful and has everything going for her, so she should have no problems. But I guess everyone has some.

We turn the lights on over our seats to get some homework done.

A little kid in front of us, Stevie, is bus-sick. There’s no parent with him, so one of the older kids, who’s also alone, helps him.

There’s a couple halfway back in the bus who are making out like crazy.

Finally the bus driver blinks the lights on and off to let them know they have to stop.

Doing homework under these conditions isn’t easy, but it’s the only real choice.

Two hours and then the bus pulls into Woodstock.

My father’s standing there, waiting for me.

So’s Rosie’s mother.

We pile out of the bus and hug our parents.

“Want to go for pizza?” my father asks.

I think of the big dinner that my mother made, but that was hours ago. “Sure.”

“Want to join us?” he asks Rosie and Mindy.

They accept.

We walk across the Green. It’s much less crowded. Most of the tourists have gone. There are still some street people playing music.

My father takes my suitcase from me.

We go inside and get the little round table by the window.

My father pretends to take orders like a waiter. He goes back to the counter and places the order and then comes back and looks at the bulletin board, where the standings of the baseball teams are listed. Lots of the men in town play. It’s a really big thing. My father says that when he gets to know more people, he’ll join next summer.

When he comes back to us, I’m showing Mindy and Rosie my new boots, which are red and knee-high.

He sits down. “Your mother got those for you, I take it.”

I nod.

“Are they lined?”

“No.”

He shakes his head. “Winters get cold up here. Wouldn’t lined ones have been more practical? At least these don’t have initials. Sometimes I wish
Kathy thought more. We’ll still have to get boots that will work up here.”

I wish I’d left them in New York, but then my mother would have felt bad.

Mindy says, “Sometimes it’s nice to have something that may not be practical but just makes you feel good when you wear it. I have a hand-quilted vest like that.”

Everyone gets very quiet at the table. I hope this doesn’t turn into a disaster because my mother’s bought me an expensive pair of boots.

The guy in the back yells out that our order is ready.

“Come on, Jim. Let’s wait on our kids.” Mindy gets up. “I’ll help carry it. I’m not a stranger to waiting on tables.”

My father and she walk to the back. I can tell that she’s saying something to him but can’t tell what it is.

Rosie says, “Don’t get depressed. You know that’s the way divorce parents get sometimes. I’ve been living with it for years. You’ll get used to it.”

“I hope so.”

“You will. I promise.” She watches as I put the boots back in the box. “Phoebe, you know all those
novels about divorce? They’re mostly for the kids who are just starting it. There should be one about a kid who’s lived with it for a long time. Then you’d see that we all survive it.”

Jim and Mindy return.

I don’t know what she said to him, but he’s in a much better mood.

Placing the pie in front of us, he says, “There it is—Woodstock Pizzeria’s famous whole wheat pizza, with half extra cheese and the other half sausage. You know which part I want.”

“The whole half.” I pretend to faint.

He pretends to revive me. “No—just no sausage. Honey, your boots are very pretty. Tomorrow let’s go to Woodstock Design and get a pair of leg warmers to go with them.”

Rosie and Mindy start to laugh at the same time.

As my father sits down he says, “Let us in on the joke.”

Mindy wipes a dab of sauce off her chin. “That sounds so familiar. Sometimes I buy something for Rosie that she doesn’t need or even want because her father’s just bought her something.”

“Anything you can do I can do better?” My father
hands her a napkin. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it. I thought I was over doing that.”

Rosie and I look at each other.

“I kind of like it,” Rosie says. “It’s one of the advantages of being a divorce kid.”

“Me too.” I pick up a piece of pizza. The extra cheese slithers onto my hand. “How about a trip to Hawaii? Then Mom’ll have to take me to Europe.”