California Diaries # 11: Dawn III: Missing (3 page)

and I will go with them. By tonight I’ll know whether I’l get to see Pierre LIVE. I

only have enough money to buy 1 ticket, but that’s al I need.

My fingers are permanently crossed.

Monday night 2/15

Desolation.

Amalia and I joined the crowd of people in North Palo again. We held our

breath as a number was cal ed out. It was 248. I didn’t even need to look at the

number on my bracelet. I already knew it was 681. There was no way I was

going to be able to buy a ticket. People lined up according to their bracelet

numbers, starting with 248. Each person could buy 1, 2, 3, or 4 tickets. The club

seats 400 people.

Tickets were sold out by bracelet #507. Amalia and I tried not to cry on the

way home.

Tuesday 2/16

Mrs. Winslow is home from the hospital! Carol just told me. I think I’l go

visit her. (I know Sunny isn’t there.)

Tuesday evening 2/16

I don’t know why the doctors sent Mrs. Winslow home. She looks AWFUL.

Maybe she just wanted to be at home. But still. Is it safe? What if something

happens.?

An aide was with Mrs. Winslow when I rang the bell. She was helping her

take a shower. (Mrs. Winslow can’t stand up for very long, so she sits on this

special shower chair.)

I stayed with Mrs. Winslow for awhile after her shower. She is now

completely bald. She didn’t bother to wear a scarf or anything. At first. Then she

got cold and put on a hat.

I came home and cried.

Thursday 2/18

Mrs. Winslow is BACK in the hospital. I guess she wasn’t ready to come

home at al .

Thursday night 2/18

Just when I was feeling my worst, really HORRIBLE, Ducky called.

OH! MY! GOD!!!

I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!

I haven’t talked to Ducky in a few days, so I had no idea that he’d been in

line for Jax tickets and his bracelet was #261. And so he scored FOUR TICKETS.

Now get this. He just called and said he wants to take Amalia, Sunny, and me to

the concert.

When Ducky told me this I screamed so loudly into the phone that I hurt

his ear and he yelped. And Carol thought something had happened to me and

came flying into the kitchen to see what was the matter. The moment she came

flying in, I realized something. I couldn’t tell her why I had screamed. Because I

can’t tell her about the concert. Not yet. I am going to have to approach the

concert issue VERY careful y. Dad and Carol are not going to take well to the

concert. I mean, I don’t think that I can say to them, “Can Ducky drive Amalia and

Sunny and me to North Palo late on a Friday night to go to a Jax concert in a

club where liquor will be served?” and expect them to reply, “Oh, sure, honey.

You go along. Have lots of fun.”

Anyway, I’m off the subject.

I waved Carol out of the kitchen, saying, “Oh, Ducky just told me some

good news. Sorry I scared you.”

Then I apologized to Ducky for nearly destroying his hearing.

He said, “That’s all right. I guess we should get used to it. The concert is

going to be real y loud. So anyway, this means you want to go.”

“Are you kidding me? Yes, yes, YES!” I paused. “I hope Dad and Carol will

let me go,” I added.

“You think they might not?”

“I don’t know. A late night. Drinking at the club.”

“Hmm,” said Ducky. “Well, talk to them, and let me know what happens,

okay?”

“Sure. I may have to work on them slowly, though.”

Friday 2/19

Of course, al I have been able to think about since last night is the

concert. I AM REALLY AND TRULY GOING TO GET TO SEE PIERRE X!!!!! I still

can’t quite believe it. Last night I actual y pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t

dreaming. (I wasn’t. And now I have a bruise on my thigh.)

I have been daydreaming endlessly about Pierre. It will be fantastic to see

him in person…but what if, somehow, I get to MEET him? Maybe Ducky and I

could hang around the back entrance of the club and when the band members

leave I could thrust a slip of paper at Pierre and he could AUTOGRAPH it for me.

Maybe he would even write his full name and I would find out what the X is for.

No. I can’t hang around and wait for his autograph like some silly Beatles

fan. That’s no good.

Maybe I could encourage Ducky to have a little accident on the way home.

Just a slight one. And then Pierre would happen along in his red Jaguar (I’m

positive that’s what he drives) and stop to help us. That way, not only would I get

a personal greeting and an autograph, but I might even get to touch him.

Better yet

Oh, got to go. Dinner.

Late Friday night 2/19

I just thought of something. I have been so wrapped up in the excitement

of the tickets and my fantasies about Pierre that I’ve barely paid attention to one

horrifying detail. Ducky said he wants to take Amalia, me, and SUNNY to the

concert.

SUNNY.

An evening with SUNNY.

With SUNNY?

What was I thinking?

Saturday morning 2/20

I cannot go to the concert with Sunny. I just can’t.

Saturday morning 2/20 9:07

Not see Jax live? Not see Pierre in person? I must be crazy. Of course I’m

going to go to the concert.

Saturday morning 2/20 9:10

With SUNNY????

Saturday evening 2/20

I have been thinking about the Sunny dilemma al day. Obsessively. I’ve

thought about it way more than about having to ask Dad and Carol for

permission to go to the concert in the first place. Maybe I should worry about that

instead. After al , the concert is in just 13 days. I have a lot of work to do.

Saturday night 2/20 10:42

13 NIGHTS FROM RIGHT NOW I WILL BE IN THE SAME ROOM WITH

JAX AND PIERRE X!!!!!

Saturday night 2/20 10:44

If Dad and Carol let me go.

Sunday 2/21

All right. I decided I have to settle down and concentrate on how to handle

the concert. I cal ed Ducky.

“Hey, it’s me,” I said when he answered the phone.

“Hi, Dawn.”

(I love when people recognize my voice and I don’t have to say who I am.

It’s such a nice intimate feeling because it means you know somebody really

well. I think that voice recognition over the phone is an important step in a

friendship.)

“How are you?” I asked.

“Good,” replied Ducky, although he really didn’t sound too good. “Did you

talk to your parents about the concert yet?”

“No. I decided to talk to you first. I’m pretty sure I can convince Dad and

Carol to let me go. I just have to handle it carefully. But there’s one other thing.”

“Yes?” said Ducky patiently.

“yes.” I paused. “Sunny.”

I think that a little teeny corner of me was hoping that Ducky would

recognize my extreme discomfort at the thought of spending an evening with

Sunny, and he would offer to (somehow) uninvited her. I held my breath.

“What about Sunny?” Ducky said.

“Well, we’re still not speaking,” I began, “and…we haven’t exactly spent

much time together lately.”

“So you think the concert might be uncomfortable for you?”

“Yes!”

“Then maybe you should try to talk to Sunny before the concert.”

“Oh.”

“You should talk to her anyway, Dawn. I mean, you two should be friends

again. You’ve been friends for such a long time. And if Sunny ever needed you,

it’s right now.”

“Ha.”

“No, real y.”

“Ducky, I love you. You know that. So pardon me when I say that you’re

such a guy. That is such a guy thing to say.”

This was fol owed by a pause so long that I though Ducky might have left

the phone for some reason. Final y I said, “Ducky?”

After another slight pause he said, “Yeah. I’m here.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

I frowned, which, of course, Ducky couldn’t see.

A few minutes later we got off the phone.

School, Monday 2/22

Study hal . I just passed Sunny coming out of the library. I was about to

say hi to her, but she didn’t see me, and I didn’t feel like cal ing out to her. I’m not sure why. I know that if she had looked up and seen me I would have said hi. But

she didn’t so I didn’t. And now I feel small and mean, which is silly because she

doesn’t even know that I just walked by her.

Monday afternoon 2/22

Ducky dropped by after school today. Unannounced. (I think maybe he

had gone to Sunny’s house first, but she wasn’t home, so he came over here.) It

was unusually warm today, so we sat in the sun on our back steps. Carol

wheeled Gracie out in her stroller and parked her in the shade. Ducky and I

watched over her while she napped.

“Dawn?” said Ducky. “Do you think Maggie minds about the tickets?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you guys are all friends. You and Sunny and Amalia and Maggie.

And me. And I gave tickets to everyone except Maggie.”

“Well, you couldn’t get more than four tickets. Maggie knows that. And she

didn’t want to go to the concert anyway. She doesn’t even know who Jax is.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. She really doesn’t.”

“But do you think she feels left out anyway?”

“Ducky, you worry too much.”

“I know.”

Worrying is sort of Ducky’s function in life.

After a moment Ducky said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

I sighed. “Well, I haven’t spoken to Maggie about it, but I don’t think you

hurt her feelings. I really don’t.”

Ducky was certainly obsessing about Maggie, which gave me an idea. I

remembered when I was obsessing about Groundhog Day. Maybe Ducky was

actual y worrying about something else. “Are you thinking about Alex again?” I

asked suddenly.

Ducky looked at me out of the corners of his eyes but he didn’t turn his

head. “I think about him every day,” he replied.

“Ducky, what Alex did was not your fault. It had nothing to do with you.”

“How do you know?”

“He tried to kil himself. He tried to kill himself.”

“But maybe I wasn’t a good enough friend to him.”

“Oh, that is so self-centered. Don’t give yourself so much credit.”

Ducky looked wounded, just for a moment. Then he burst out laughing. “I

don’t know whether to feel insulted or comforted,” he said.

I laughed too. “Look, don’t worry. Maggie is not going to kill herself

because you didn’t give her a ticket to a concert by a group she’s never heard

of.”

Gracie started to fuss then, and Carol appeared at the back door, tugging

at her blouse. Ducky leaped to his feet and announced that he had to leave. I

couldn’t blame him.

Monday night 2/22

Carol and I sat on the back steps while she fed Gracie.

“What do you think it means that Mrs. Winslow is already back in the

hospital?” I asked.

“I think it means that it turned out to be more difficult to care for her at

home than the Winslows had imagined,” Carol replied. “Right now she needs to

many procedures that are more easily done at the hospital.” Carol shifted Gracie

to her other breast.

I couldn’t tel is Carol was telling the truth or not.

Either way I felt horrible for Sunny.

Tuesday night 2/23

I visited Mrs. Winslow at the hospital this afternoon.

Yikes.

This time she wasn’t joking about pirates or hairstyles. All she did was lie

in her bed. She could barely move. I saw that she didn’t have the energy to

move. I mean, she could barely raise an arm or turn her head. Her mouth is

covered with sores from the chemo and they hurt her so much that she can’t eat.

The sores go al the way down her throat, I think. Even sipping water hurts her.

She looked SO ill that I thought she might not want me to stay. After al ,

she couldn’t talk. So after I’d told her absolutely everything I could think of about

school, my family, the concert (I even told her about being in love with Pierre X

and I think she tried to smile), I stood up and said that maybe I better leave.

But that was when Mrs. Winslow did manage to move a little. She put her

hand on my arm. So I sat down again.

Now what?

What was left to talk about? I couldn’t think of anything, so I reached into

my backpack and pul ed out Franny and Zooey, by J.D. Salinger. I’m real y

enjoying the book and I thought Mrs. Winslow might like to hear it, even if she’d

already read it.

I read to her until Mr. Winslow appeared. Then I left.

Later Tuesday night 2/23

Things to tell Mrs. Winslow if she stil can’t talk the next time I visit her:

1. Jeff got an honorable mention in the science fair for his project, “The

Food Chain.”

2. Mary Anne might visit over spring break.

3. The plots of any movies I’ve seen lately.

5. (Nothing else is coming to mind.)

Wednesday afternoon 2/23

I popped into the hospital after school today. Mr. Winslow had been there

at lunch, and two of Mrs. Winslow’s friends were just leaving. I had been hoping

for some miniscule improvement in Mrs. Winslow’s condition. Truly. A miniscule

improvement would have been acceptable. But she seemed worse. She was just

lying in bed with her eyes closed. I thought she was asleep. So I whispered to

her friends, “I’l come back tomorrow.”

But one of the friends said, “No, that’s okay. She’s awake.” Then they left. I