The Divorce Express (8 page)

Rosie says, “The picnic sounds like fun. The meeting’s
not until two o’clock. Why don’t we pack up some food and go walking by the stream?”

We make up some sandwiches and start the walk into town.

It’s a beautiful Indian summer day. The trees are still colorful. The air is so clean, not at all like city air.

We walk down Meade Mountain Road, onto Rock City Road.

There are no sidewalks, so we’ve got to be careful of the passing cars.

Neither of us says much as we walk. Friends can be quiet together.

At Andy Lee Field there’s a baseball game going on.

Past the cemetery. Someday I want to go in there and look at all the old tombstones, but it makes me a little nervous to think about dying.

Finally we end up right in the center of town.

Stopping to get a drink of water from the fountain at the Village Green, I look at all of the people who are shopping, hanging out, eating ice-cream cones.

“Let’s go into Tinker Street Toys,” I say, “and play.”

We walk over to the store and go inside.

There’s a table set up in the middle of the store with all sorts of windup toys.

Rosie and I have a race with two pairs of walking feet.

Her feet win.

My feet get all tangled up with a walking coffepot that some little kid was playing with.

I decide to buy a bottle of bubble liquid.

As we leave the store I start to blow bubbles.

It looks great, all of the bubbles streaming down Tinker Street as if they are in a parade.

People are smiling at them.

Rosie and I walk over to Millstream Road and start walking on the edge of the stream.

Finally we stop and sit down on a dry rock. It’s so still that I can hear the wind and the water moving.

After a few minutes Rosie breaks the silence. “My father called this morning and told my mother that the child support check was going to be late again this month. Mindy was really angry.”

“What did she say?” I pick up a pebble and throw it in the stream.

“Most of what she said was profanity. She was really steamed up. He’s such a creep sometimes. He
just bought a whole bunch of electronic equipment. I don’t see why he couldn’t send the money. Sometimes I think he does it just to get her mad. You’re so lucky that your parents don’t do stuff like that.”

I remember that when everything got split up, there was fighting. Maybe it’s good there is no child support money to worry about. I’d feel responsible, even though I’d know it wasn’t my fault.

Rosie opens her lunch. “It makes me feel cruddy, like he doesn’t care about me. He spends all the money on his wife’s two kids . . . . Sometimes he doesn’t send the money, but he’ll buy me a big present. Then it makes me feel disloyal to Mindy because I don’t want to tell her about it.”

“Do you need some money? My father’s going to give me my allowance tomorrow. It’s not much, but I’ll share it.”

“Thanks, pal.” She reaches over and pats me on the head and then pulls at my feather barrette. “No. We’re doing okay. Mindy’s getting lots of tourist tips and I’m baby-sitting, so it’s okay. It’s not the money as much as it is the hurt. I don’t know why my own father should act that way.”

I tell her about how I feel, knowing that my
mother’s spending the weekend with Duane the Drip. How he always talks down to me as if I’m three years old and how he always acts as if he’s so wonderful because he’s so rich. I also let her know how uncomfortable I feel about their sleeping together.

“I know,” Rosie says. “A couple of years ago this guy Ben moved in with us. That took a lot of getting used to.”

“What happened?” I start eating my lunch.

“It just didn’t work out. I was sorry when he left. I got used to the three of us being a family, and then he was gone. While he lived in Woodstock, I still saw him but then he moved away. He’s in Florida now. I just got a letter from him. He’s married and they just had a kid.”

“Did he and Mindy fight a lot?” I think of my parents during their bad time.

“No. He wanted to marry Mindy. She wanted to leave things the way they were. So he left.”

“Why didn’t Mindy marry him? Doesn’t she want to get married again?” I put a grape in my mouth.

“She’s not sure . . . said it would have to be someone really special, that the first marriage was such a disaster that she was afraid of her own judgment. My
father felt that way too. He waited a long time to get remarried.” Rosie shakes her head.

“Do you ever want to get married?” I bite into my sandwich.

Rosie shrugs. “Who knows? I’m having enough trouble finding a boyfriend.”

I look at two people who are walking in the middle of the stream with their pants legs rolled up. They are carrying their shoes and holding hands.

“You shouldn’t have any trouble finding someone. Look at all the guys who are your friends.”

She says, “Yeah, but none of them want to start dating yet. Why do girls have to grow up faster than boys? The guys who date want to go further than I do. Oh, well . . . I guess I’ll just have to wait. Until someone comes along, I’ll just baby-sit a lot so that it isn’t a total loss.”

We look at the water. There are lots of leaves in it, going downstream.

Rosie says, “So what about you?”

“I don’t know. I kind of like Dave, a lot. I like him much more than I liked Andy.” I blush. It’s not easy to talk about something that I’m not sure is going to work out.

“He’s nice, isn’t he.” Rosie pulls out an apple and bites down on it. “I think he likes you too.”

I think for a minute. “I guess I want him to like me and be my boyfriend. But that’s just for now. I don’t know about later. If I’ll ever get married or anything . . . Marriage just doesn’t seem to work out for anybody.”

“I know some that work,” Rosie says. “Dave’s parents are still together, and I think they’re happy.”

“But a lot don’t. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Why don’t we go to the same college and be roommates and then when we graduate, we can get an apartment in New York and have careers?” Rosie says. “And if we ever do get married and have kids, we can be bridesmaids for each other and aunts to the kids.”

“If I could choose a sister, it would be you.” I close my lunch bag. “Somehow I never thought you’d be so traditional about weddings and stuff.”

She picks up my bubble stuff and starts to play with it. “Maybe because Mindy is so untraditional. Don’t kids have to do stuff to rebel against their parents? Maybe the only way I can go against her is to be real straight.”

I laugh. “You can get all dressed up each day in three-piece suits and be real conservative.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, but I’ve never really been part of a whole happy family or even an unhappy family. My parents split up when I was a baby. I’d like to have a good family.”

“I promise to be your bridesmaid and baby-sit for your kids if that does happen.”

“Okay, now let’s figure out what our apartment’s going to look like,” she says.

We sit by the stream and make plans for what our lives are going to be like when we’re on our own. Rosie’s much more sure of what it’s going to be like. She’s obviously thought about it a lot. I haven’t. I think much more about the present. She thinks more about the future.

The only future I’m really thinking about right now is whether or not I’m going to see Dave at the meeting.

T
he first meeting of KRAPS is about to take place.

KRAPS stands for Kilmerites Rebel Against Poor Sustenance. Personally I think the group name is a little obnoxious, but I was outvoted.

Rosie and I ring the doorbell. Sarah Bennett answers it. “Everyone’s in the living room. Go in. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Rosie leads the way because she’s been here before and I haven’t.

The house is absolutely beautiful, all natural wood and all the furniture in earth colors. It’s large, with high ceilings.

Everyone’s sitting by the fireplace. Some are on chairs; a lot are on cushions.

Dave’s not here yet. There are about twenty kids already present and there should be about thirty, so maybe he’ll arrive soon.

Sarah brings out dip and vegetables. There is already some great-looking food on the table—apple slices with melted cheese, granola cookies, carob candies.

Garbage Gut downs a couple of carob candies.

Jennifer Farley says, “Milt, how come you’re here? You like the school food.”

He doesn’t answer until she asks him the same question, calling him Garbage Gut.

I can’t believe it. He seems to prefer that awful nickname because he stops eating long enough to answer. “My father, the dentist, said that I should come here. Anyway, I like parties.”

His father, the dentist . . . . I think about Rosie’s comment about kids having to rebel. It’s a good thing that Garbage Gut’s father isn’t a policeman.

The kids are all sitting around talking.

Wendy Aaronson pulls out a cigarette and lights up.

Sarah walks up to her. “Listen, if you want to smoke, you’re going to have to do it outside. We don’t let anyone smoke in the house. The smell . . . plus we care too much about people to be part of their harming themselves.”

Wendy says “Okay” and goes out the side door.

“That was done nicely,” I say.

Sarah nods. “My parents used to smoke, and then my uncle died of lung cancer.”

More kids arrive. Some are from Woodstock. Others are from other towns. That’s good because sometimes only the Woodstock kids get involved in causes, like leftover hippies from the sixties. Also, it’s hard for all the kids to get together because there’s no public transportation.

Abby Streetman. Harry Marcus. The school couple. They go everywhere with their arms around each other. Most of the time his hand is in her back jeans pocket. Sometimes I wonder if it has to be surgically removed every time they go to class or home.

Pete Redding. The school clown. He does the best imitation of teachers and the Principal.

Holly Marham. Willow Smith. Meredith Cooper.
The three of them are always together unless two of them decide to gang up on the third. That usually lasts for only a few days and then they are all back together until the next fight.

Still no Dave.

Oh, well, I’ve got to remember that the real reason for being here is to work on the committee.

The work begins.

Everyone starts talking about the steps already taken . . . letters sent to the Principal and the school board . . . trying to talk to the Principal and nutritionist. Nothing has worked.

I take a piece of broccoli and stick it in the dip.

It’s interesting to watch everyone. Even though there’s some joking, everyone’s serious about the subject, except for Garbage Gut, who keeps saying things like “I love hot dogs . . . . What’s wrong with processed cheese? . . . So what if potato chips have a little grease?”

“Any suggestions besides the things that Phoebe told us they did at her old school?” Rosie picks up a notebook and pen.

“Why don’t we have a commando raid on the kitchen, take it over, and make our own meals?” Sarah practices a ballet step as she talks.

“Illegal,” Rosie says. “We want to stay within the law.”

“I thought of a new one.” I raise my hand, forgetting that we’re not in school. “I guess by now that most of you know I have this weird habit of rearranging letters in words so that they mean other things.”

“Those are called anagrams,” Steve Gleason says, pushing his glasses back.

“An A-plus for the Poindexter.” Pete waves a piece of cauliflower.

Rosie shakes her head. “Yeah, you rearranged my name, and I ended up with I SORE. What a friend.”

Abby stops making out with Harry long enough to call out, “See what our two names are when they are put together.”

“Your two names together are going to spell out BABY if you aren’t careful.” Garbage Gut cradles his arms as if he’s got an infant in them.

Harry makes an obscene gesture to Garbage Gut.

Then he and Abby go back to making out.

“Continue.” Rosie nods to me, trying to get back to the subject.

“Well, I tried it with CAFETERIA and ended up
with several things.” Taking out my list, I read from it. “Here are some . . . I TEAR FACE . . . EAT FAR ICE . . . AFTER I, ACE.”

“That would be good to use when someone cuts in front of the cafeteria line,” Sarah calls out, using a chair to practice leg extensions.

“Better than flat tires, even,” Jill says, braiding Wendy’s hair.

Garbage Gut does flat tires a lot. That’s when someone behind you steps on the back of your shoes and the shoes come off.

I continue to read from the list. “I CEE A RAFT . . . I.E. FAT RACE . . . I.E. RAT FACE . . . FACE IT, EAR . . . I CARE, FEAT . . . .”

“Not bad.” Pete Redding does his imitation of Mr. Morley, the math teacher. “But could you get to the point? Remember the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, Ms. Brooks. You’re taking the long cut.”

“Okay. Listen to this one . . . CITE A FEAR. That’s it. We can write that on a piece of paper and everyone can tell what their worst fear is about the cafeteria.”

“I like it,” Willow Smith says.

Holly and Meredith agree. So do the other kids.

Dave walks in the door. He’s out of breath. His blond hair is flopping in front of his brown eyes.

I’d love to go over to him and brush the hair off his face but decide that would be a bit much.

He walks through the crowd and sits down next to me. “Sorry I’m late. I had to do some errands before I could get the car to come over here.”

Rosie looks at me and smiles.

Jill says, “I’ve made up a list of committees to work on. Everyone sign up and get to work.”

As people get up to look at the paper, Dave turns to me. “I have an idea too. I stopped at the library to get a copy of ‘Trees.’”

“I figure you should know it by heart, since we have to sing it in assemblies all the time.”

“No one pays attention to the stuff they make you memorize in school . . . . Look, let’s work together on it.”

“Okay. So what’s the idea?” I really want to brush the hair out of his eyes.