The Kissing Diary (14 page)

“No kidding!” cried her mother, dancing a jig with the mop.

“Your mother was always a good dancer,” said her father, smiling.

Mrs. Goldglitt laughed, surprising Rosie.

Rosie left her parents talking pleasantly in the kitchen. She wanted to go upstairs and read the note in her bedroom. Examine every ink splotch. Hold the paper to the light. See if he'd somehow drawn an invisible heart.

Jimmy called to her from the living room. “What happened?” he said. He was still on the couch, but he was watching television.

“Robbie asked me to the dance.” She perched next to him, hoping he wouldn't burst her bubble.

“That's good,” said Jimmy. “I hope you have fun.”

Rosie looked at her brother. His eyes were full of pain, as if the rite of passage that her father had talked about had damaged him. “Are you okay?” she asked him.

“I guess,” said her brother. “We only lasted three months. Linda and me.”

“She was pretty,” said Rosie, not knowing what to say.

“She still is,” said Jimmy. “She's just not … mine. I mean, she never was. But I felt so good when I was with her.”

Rosie took his hand, and Jimmy actually let her hold it for three or four seconds. They spent the rest of the night watching television together. Brother and sister, side by side. Rosie even kissed him good night, and he didn't push her away or pretend to rub it off.

Later, in bed, Rosie wrote in her journal:

Friday night

Dear Diary,

Things have changed. This may become a kissing diary after all. Robbie asked me to the dance! I have nothing to wear, and I hope Mom will take me to the mall to buy a dress, and not complain about money. Today I discovered that grownups have it hard, maybe as hard as we do. I didn't fight with Dad, and my mom was so happy that Robbie asked me out she danced with a mop. You had to be there.

I'll have to speak to Lauren about what she's wearing. I don't even know if she's going, I realize. This week in detention was terrible. I lost touch with the world!

I'm kissing this page, wearing my new lipstick … in case it happens!

Lots of love,

Rosie Life-glitters

P.S. Jimmy's recovering from a broken heart. I love my brother. If he reads this, I'll deny it.

16

Rosie Goldglitt, Smitten

Rosie was up early on Saturday morning. She couldn't stay in bed, thinking about the dance and Robbie and what would they talk about and would she find something pretty to wear when her mother took her shopping?

“Can't we go to the mall tonight, Mom, right after work?” Rosie interrupted her mother, eating her last piece of whole wheat waffle.

“I'm seeing Grandpa tonight, honey, but I promise I'll take you tomorrow.” Mrs. Goldglitt gulped down the rest of her coffee. “Now let me go so that I can make some money.”

“I can get shoes, too?” Rosie asked.

“Absolutely. Where are my car keys? Sam says I should put a hook on the wall so that I'll always know where they are.”

“I saw them in the dining room.” Rosie smiled. “A hook is a great idea, Mom, but only if you remember to put them there.”

“True,” said Mrs. Goldglitt, laughing. Her face became serious. “Do you want to come with me to visit Grandpa?”

“I should,” said Rosie. “Shouldn't I?”

“It would be nice,” said her mother. “I'll pick you up after work. Ask your brother when he wakes up.”

*   *   *

Visiting Grandpa at the nursing home was a somber affair. Rosie's heart beat quickly as they entered the building. The nurse directed them down a corridor to the game room, where they found Grandpa slumped over in a wheelchair with his chin on his chest.

“Is he sleeping?” whispered Rosie.

Jimmy crouched down so that he could see. “His eyes are open.”

“Hi, Dad,” said Mrs. Goldglitt, sounding falsely cheerful.

“Hi, Grandpa,” Rosie said. “This is the game room?” she whispered to Jimmy, looking around. Not a single person was playing Parcheesi or Monopoly or Uno or anything resembling a game, although the shelves were stacked with them.

“Sometimes I've seen them stringing beads,” said her mother. “Daddy,” she said, stroking her father's cheek.

He lifted his head, and for a moment his eyes seemed to register something, a glimmer of recognition, a connection. Confusion followed. He looked straight past his daughter and beyond Rosie, his eyes settling on Jimmy.

“Harry?” he said, one hand rising in what was almost a wave. “Harry!” he repeated, his voice cracking.

Mrs. Goldglitt bent down so that her eyes were level with her father's. “That's Jimmy, your grandson,” she said clearly.

“Who's Harry?” Jimmy asked.

“His brother Harry. He died when Grandpa was a little boy,” said Mrs. Goldglitt, patting her father's arm. “Harry fell out of a tree, didn't he? It was a long time ago, wasn't it, Pop?”

“Great,” said Jimmy. “He sees dead people.”

“At least he's calling you something,” Rosie said. “He won't even make eye contact with me, Jimmy.”

“Harry,” said Jimmy. “Call me Harry.”

Mrs. Goldglitt sighed. “He has good days and bad days, and the bad days are taking over. I'm sorry, children.” She looked at her watch. “It's too late to take him out to the garden. Do you want to see where he sleeps?”

They wheeled Grandpa out of the game room and down the hallway into a room with a bed, a desk, a chair, a dresser, and a sink. Rosie and Jimmy exchanged glances. Jimmy coughed, uttering the word
prison.

Mrs. Goldglitt stationed Grandpa by a small table with a cluster of frames on it. “These are pictures of all the people who love you, aren't they, Pop?”

They no longer expected Grandpa to answer. Rosie said, “The bed is so tiny! Didn't he and Grandma buy a king-sized bed so that he had plenty of room for his feet?”

“Honestly, honey, I don't think he knows much of anything now.”

“We used to jump on it, didn't we, Rosie?” Jimmy spoke close to Grandpa's ear. “When we were little, we had fun jumping on your bed!”

Grandpa grunted.

“Do you remember?” said Rosie in a small voice.

He dipped his head down so that his chin was on his chest again.

“I think I'm ready to go,” said Jimmy, heading for the door.

“Wait,” said his mother. “Dad, do you want to sit in front of the television set before it's time for bed?”

Mrs. Goldglitt turned him around and pushed the chair back down the hallway to the television room. The three of them took turns kissing him goodbye.

“Come again,” said the nurse as they passed the main desk. “He was happy to see you.”

Jimmy pushed open the heavy doors to the outside world. “How could she tell?” he said, astonished.

Rosie and Jimmy started laughing hysterically, and Rosie said, “We're sorry. We're sorry! We can't help it!”

“It's okay,” said her mother. “It's better than crying.”

They walked a few blocks to the Italian restaurant nearby, and ordered eggplant heroes. Nobody talked much, although Rosie was tempted to bring up their imminent shopping spree.

When the heroes arrived, Rosie took her sandwich and held it in the air. “To Grandpa,” she said.

“To Grandpa,” said Jimmy, taking a quick bite and raising his own.

“Don't get tomato sauce on the tablecloth,” said Mrs. Goldglitt, smiling.

*   *   *

On Sunday morning, Rosie telephoned Lauren to see if she could come shopping with them. According to Mrs. Jamison, she was sick in bed. Rosie hoped the story was true, and not just an excuse to avoid her altogether. Summer and Sarah were nowhere to be found, but nothing could shake Rosie's good mood as she and her mother got into the car. Her mother made the comment “I hope this dance doesn't cost me a fortune,” to which Rosie replied, “I can raid my piggy bank.”

“Bloomingdale's is out,” said Mrs. Goldglitt, but Rosie couldn't help noticing the excited glint in her mother's eye that shopaholics get before a spree. Next to a great cup of coffee and her boyfriend, Sam, nothing put a smile on Mrs. Goldglitt's face the way shopping did. Buying for her daughter was almost as rewarding.

Mrs. Goldglitt was elated when they found a dress in the mall that was inexpensive enough to keep the glint in her eye. It was short, fruit-free, a soft violet color that brought out Rosie's eyes, and she felt downright pretty wearing it. They found a cheap little matching beaded handbag, a pair of low strappy heels, and dangling fake diamond earrings that her mother wasn't sure about.

*   *   *

On Monday morning, Rosie's eyes were bright and shining as she talked about the pretty outfit they'd bought. “I hope Robbie likes it!” Rosie said, munching on Cheerios although it was a junk-food cereal day.

“You're smitten, I can see,” said Mrs. Goldglitt.

“What does that mean?” said Rosie, smiling from ear to ear.

“How do I explain it?” Mrs. Goldglitt ran to the unabridged dictionary, which she kept under the china cabinet in the dining room. “It says, ‘struck hard.' So when I say it, I mean, struck hard by love! Remind me to vacuum someday,” she added, brushing the dust off the book's cover.

“You're not smitten by vacuuming,” Rosie said, making her mother laugh.

At school, Lauren was nowhere to be found. Rosie bumped into Summer at her locker. “Is that the lip gloss we bought together?” she said, hoping that going back to normal would make everyone forget about the past.

“I don't think so,” said Summer uneasily. “It's Pink Meringue.” Her eyes wandered away from Rosie.

“It looks pretty,” said Rosie. “Have you seen Lauren?”

“She still has the flu,” said Summer, slamming her locker and turning to leave.

“She's been sick forever!” said Rosie, putting out her hand. “Summer! Can we talk?”

“About what?” Summer said cautiously.

“Are you mad at me or something?” Rosie couldn't help saying what was on her mind. “I mean, are you Mary's friend now? I'm not saying it was right what I did,” she added quickly.

“Can't we just forget about it, Rosie?”

“I'd like to. But things are funny between us, you know?” Her voice caught in her throat.

“It's just that…” Summer searched for the words. “How do I put this? Mary tortured me every day. You were in my class, remember?”

“But that's what I'm saying! Why are you so upset with me?”

“Let me finish. Mary told everybody that I smelled. That I didn't know how to read, which made it awful when we went around the class and had to read out loud, because I got so nervous and stumbled more, and I was a good reader, Rosie! Dumb and Dumber Summer, remember? She told people not to invite me over to their house! And a lot of them didn't! It was the worst year of my life.”

“I know that,” said Rosie, her voice low. “Then why shut me out?”

“She was way worse to me, and I never did a thing. I never talked to anyone about it, and my mother didn't either. She made me go to school, like nothing was happening. She told me to try and be nice to her. Can you believe that? Do you know, I brought her a candy bar one day? One of those huge Hershey bars? She sniffed it and made a face, and threw it right in the garbage can, in front of everyone. So maybe I'm mad because I didn't do anything. And you did.”

“I'm sorry, Summer. I didn't realize.”

Summer's lip was trembling. “And do you know what your hitting Mary did? It just made everyone feel sorry for her. I don't remember anyone feeling sorry for me when I didn't want to get out of bed in the morning to go to school. When I wanted to crawl into the closet and stay there forever.” A tear spilled down her cheek.

“I'm so sorry,” Rosie repeated, her own eyes welling up. “But I know what you were feeling. All week, I wanted to crawl into the closet and stay there forever.” She paused for a moment, and said, “Do you really think people feel sorry for her? That makes me want to puke.”

“I hope not, that's for sure. Are you crying?” Summer brushed the back of her hand across her eyes. “Don't get me started. A secret part of me is glad you did it. Payback time. But not that way, Rosie, you know?”

“I know.” Rosie took a chance, holding out her arms to Summer. Summer moved into them, and they hugged each other hard. “I'm glad we talked,” Rosie whispered.

“Me too,” said Summer. “I feel better. And Sarah will come around, I promise.”

By the time they said goodbye, Rosie realized that she'd forgotten to tell her about Robbie. When Rosie opened up her locker to get a few books for class, another white note floated to the floor. This time she opened it immediately. It said, “Meet you at the famous rosebush, seven-thirty.”