The Year of My Miraculous Reappearance (12 page)

“Don't you give up on me!” I screamed. A bunch of people on the street turned and stared. “Don't you dare give up on me!” Don't you frigging dare.

She started to walk back toward where I was standing.

My palms stung from where my fingernails were digging in, but I couldn't unclench my fists.

“My own mother doesn't even care enough to try with me. My own grandparents left me behind like I was something that wasn't even important enough to bother packing. Even my sister ditched me because I wasn't worth having to talk to my mom.” And then Zack deserted me, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her that. She was getting closer now, and I was losing my fight with crying. I could feel tears squeeze out no matter how hard I tried to hold them. And when I talked, it bent my mouth around funny. “I have no friends. I asked you to be my sponsor. And your sponsor is supposed to be the one person who doesn't just blow you off.”

She was almost nose to nose with me by now. I could feel her breath on my face. It smelled like hot sauce.

“Don't give up on me,” I said. Quiet now. Like I finally realized it was a sad thing to have to say.

Then I waited. And waited. And waited.

“Tell you what,” she said at last. “If
you
don't give up on you, I won't, either. Have we got a deal?”

I sniffled and wiped my nose on my sleeve. Which is gross, I know, but so is what would've happened if I hadn't. Then I nodded.

I felt her hand slap down on the top of my head. Not really hard, but hard enough. Enough to surprise me, like I might've just been smacked a little. But then she gave the top of my head a couple of pats and walked off.

And I stood there, trying not to cry. Wondering why I'd just let somebody—anybody—matter to me. And, worse yet, let them know about it.

When I got home I called Nanny and Grampop. Nanny answered. My heart was pounding, wondering what she'd say to me. We hadn't talked since the accident.

I said, “I want to talk to Bill.”

Nanny said, “Talk … to Bill?” Like that was totally impossible or something. I was still waiting for her to say something about “It.” I forgot this was
my
family. We only talk about easy things. About the things that hardly matter.

“Yeah. Talk to Bill.”

“He doesn't do a lot of talking, Cynthia.”

“Well, he can listen. He understands me. And he can say my name. Just put him on the phone, would you?”

A long silence. I hate grown-ups. “I don't even know if he'll hold it.”

“Well, just hold it up to his ear, will you, Nanny? When he hears my voice, he'll listen.” My fuse was getting kind of short and we could both hear it.

“Okay, we'll try it.”

“Bill,” I said. “Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill.”

Finally he said it. “Thynnie.”

I almost started to cry. But I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't give in to it. I had something important to do. Besides, I'd cried plenty enough for one day.

I sang him a couple of songs. The first was just the alphabet song, because I couldn't think of anything. Then I sang some Christmas carols, and I could hear him sort of humming, singing along with me.

Then, just when I said, “Cynnie loves you, Bill, you know that, right?” Nanny got back on the line and said that was all the phone holding she could do for one time. “Fine,” I said. “But don't be surprised if I call back tomorrow.”

I started calling Bill every day. Usually after I got home from school, because it was late enough in the afternoon, my mom wasn't really a factor. I thought I'd really hit on a way to make life livable again. I didn't even care that Nanny sighed real big and dramatic every time she heard it was me. I could almost hear her rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. I didn't care. She could think or say or roll whatever she wanted. I practically had Bill back.

Zack came over to fix my tree house. With another guy. I couldn't believe it. This was not the way it was supposed to go at all. I had it all planned out in my head. With no other guy. It was like I'd gotten hit with something. I stood there feeling my face burn. Didn't he know it was important to be able to talk to him alone?

They were leaning this long ladder up against my tree. I didn't see Zack's motorcycle. Just an old beat-up gray Chevy at the curb. I took a big breath and walked up to them.

Zack said, “Hiya, Sport. This is Earl. He's a friend of Bill W., too.”

I said, “Huh?” Which is, like, always a stupid thing to say, no matter where you put it in a conversation. I said, “What do
you mean? I don't know any Bill W. You don't mean my brother Bill, right? Because he's not a ‘W.’”

They both laughed. I looked at Earl and thought I remembered seeing him at some meetings.

“Bill Wilson, the AA founder. If you want to know if somebody's in the program, you ask if they're a friend of Bill W. It's a little more discreet than saying, ‘Hey, are you an alcoholic?’”

I said, “Oh, I get it.” I wanted Earl to be gone. I wanted to be alone with Zack. I didn't want to be a friend of Bill W. Any guy who invented that stupid program, I didn't even want to know him. But then I remembered again that I had to think different about the program because I promised Zack I'd try. I tried to breathe. My brain wasn't working fast enough.

I said, “Where's your motorcycle, Zack? Is it still all apart?”

“Yeah. Turns out I gotta rebuild the whole bottom end. But I'm nearly done.”

He was holding the ladder for Earl, who was halfway up it with a two-by-six. He was knocking the board with a hammer, trying to get it to wedge between the tree trunk and the right- hand side of my tree house to hold the whole deal up.

I couldn't think of anything more to say to Zack, with Earl right where he could hear, so I hobbled over to the porch and sat down. I thought about the day Richie and Snake and I built that tree house, with Zack sitting on the porch watching, just the reverse of how we were now. And I thought about Snake again. Like, where was he right this minute? Was he
okay? But I didn't get to think too long or too hard because it didn't take them long to finish.

They walked over to where I was sitting. Earl said that ought to do 'er, she'd be pretty strong now. That's how he talked. Called a tree house “she.” Zack asked when I'd get my cast off, and I told him not soon enough.

Then Earl was tying the ladder onto the roof of his ratty old car. Zack was just standing there. I thought, Talk, Cynnie. Spit it out. In a minute he'll be gone.

I put a lot of force behind it and it popped out. “It's actually a week from Tuesday.”

“What is?”

“That I get my cast off. You promised me a ride on your bike, remember?”

He got a funny look on his face, like he was trying to remember promising. Actually, I'm not sure he did promise. I know we talked about it.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess.”

It wasn't quite what I wanted. Which would've been something more like, “Perfect, I can't wait.” But it was enough. It had to be.

One of the days after that, I got home from school and my mom was sitting up at the kitchen table. Really not passed out at all. It was unfortunate. She didn't look very happy, either. I pictured her like this cartoon character with a dark black cloud hanging over her head. Maybe with lightning bolts shooting through it.

“Why have you been calling Nanny and Grampop?”

I got a little pissy about the stern business. Don't start pulling that “I'm the boss” crap on me. If you're the boss, act like the boss. All the time. “Because I feel like it.”

She held up a couple of papers that I figured must be the phone bill. Waved them around. Always the actress. “You spent forty-seven dollars of our money talking about me with them. What are you telling them? Are you planning something behind my back?”

From the tone of her voice, I don't think she was guessing surprise party. More like family intervention kind of a thing.

“I don't talk about you to Nanny and Grampop.”

“Bullshit! Then why are you calling them? You never talk to them! You don't even like them!”

“True enough,” I said. “I call Bill.”

She gave me the evil eye. “I don't believe you. Bill doesn't even talk.”

“Would everybody please stop saying that?” I was shouting all of a sudden. “He's not a dog, for God's sake. He understands things. He communicates.”

She sat back and folded her arms over her ratty, lumpy robe. “So why don't you tell me what you two talk about? Forty- seven dollars' worth?”

“Nothing. I just talk to him. We sing songs and stuff.”

She laughed the way people do when they're not happy and nothing is funny. “Not for forty-seven dollars you don't. This stops now.”

“Like hell it does.”

“Unless you want to pay these bills yourself.”

Then I walked out because I was seriously about to say something that would have been going too far even for me. I mean, I actually had to leave before something really bad happened, and I caused it.

I called Nanny and Grampop's house collect. She accepted the charges.

“What's wrong?” she asked, sounding out of breath. “Is it your mother? What happened?”

“Nothing happened. I called to talk to Bill.”

Long silence on the line. “Collect?”

“Mom's pissed off about paying for the calls.”

“And you think Grampop will like it any better?”

“Just this once, Nanny, please?”

She sighed and held the phone for Bill.

The next day I called again, but not collect. I didn't care what my mother thought. In fact, I didn't care what my mother thought every day for the whole rest of the month.

The day I got my cast off, Zack took me for that ride I'd been begging for. The bike was sounding real good since he'd done all that work on it, real loud and strong.

I put my arms around him, and he said, “Where to, Sport?”

It seemed so obvious, I couldn't believe he would ask.

“The reservoir, of course.”

“Sure you don't want to see something new?”

“Positive.” I wanted it to be just like it was before. I wanted everything to be just like it was before.

I held him real tight, waiting for that moment when he put on the gas and nearly blasted me right off the back of the bike. But he accelerated nice and smooth and never got more than five miles over the speed limit the whole way.

It was tragic.

Zack tried skipping stones on the reservoir, but he was pathetic. I mean, I hate to say it, because it was Zack and all, but really. Pathetic. I tried to teach him, but it's one of those things you have to practice about a million times. And he wasn't relaxed like last time so I didn't figure we would be there that long.

“How're you getting along with Pat as a sponsor?” he asked when he had pretty much embarrassed himself and given up.

I made a noise that came out like an old engine that doesn't want to start. “Okay. I guess. Sometimes. I mean … sometimes I'm not sure if she's on my side or not.”

“She is,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“Trust me on this one.”

After that it got a little sticky, what to talk about. So I said, “If you were me, and you needed a job to earn extra money but you were only fourteen, what would you do?”

I was really hoping he would have an actual idea. Like maybe he even had some work that needed doing or something. Or knew someone in the program who did, someone I
halfway knew. Because the idea of going out and getting working papers and asking total strangers for a job—wow. I kept trying that on but I could never really get it to fit. No matter how I looked at it, it still sucked.

“Hmmm,” he said. “Hmmm. When I was your age I used to knock on neighbors' doors and ask if I could mow their lawns or split firewood or if they had any odd jobs.”

That was almost a worse fit than getting working papers and answering ads. Who could bring themselves to do that? Knock on total strangers' doors? We didn't know any of our neighbors. Why would we? They didn't want anything to do with us and I didn't blame them. There was just no way. Mom would have to keep paying for the calls, like it or not.

Then there was nothing left to talk about at all, and I got scared he'd pack it up. Like, Okay, too awkward, let's go. Not that he would say it like that, but I'd know. So I tried telling him something honest. Same as I did with Pat that day in the restaurant. Hoping if I was honest, it would be harder to blow me off.

I said, “There's one thing about this whole working with a sponsor bit…. What if I make all these changes, and then … Who am I going to be if I can't be me anymore?”

He laughed. I was so surprised. And hurt. “Why is that funny?”

“I'm sorry, Cynnie. I wasn't laughing at you. You know that, right? It's just that … It's like, we should all be so lucky that you'd change that much. It's just … so incredibly slow and difficult.”

“Gee, thanks. I feel so much better now.”

“I'm sorry. If you hang around, you'll get what I mean. We better head back.”

And then that was it, it was all over except the ride home. And it wasn't anything like last time. I should've known. Nothing is ever anything like last time.

When I got home, I called Pat. I didn't tell her about seeing Zack. But I told her about calling Bill, and how my mom didn't want to pay for it anymore. And how I'd been thinking about maybe getting a job, but that sounded like a terrible idea, too.