It's an Aardvark-Eat-Turtle World (4 page)

“To work,” Jim says.

They smile and help with the pictures.

We put the one that used to be at Mindy's and my house,
NEW YORK IS BOOK COUNTRY
, next to the photograph of the four of us at the Ulster County Fair.

As we hang one of Jim's landscape paintings, the doorbell rings again.

It's Mr. Donner, the Little Nerdlet's father. He's come to pick me up.

As I leave, I look at our new house and then at the mailbox. Jim's been at work. There are three names on it. Brooks (Phoebe and Jim), Kovacs (Mindy), and Wilson (me). And a rainbow's painted on the mailbox.

I guess that makes it official.

We're home.

T
he Little Nerdlet's pretending to be a gorilla.

It's enough to make me go ape.

“Chee. Chee.” Making weird noises, he scratches his head.

“Shh. Your mommy's trying to sleep.”

Mrs. Donner's expecting Little Nerdlet Number Two, so she takes a lot of naps. Actually, I think she just wants to escape when the Little Nerdlet gets hyper.

He jumps up and down, yelling “Banana, banana.”

I give it to him. The kid really has appeal. (I'd tell Donny that, but I think he's a little young for puns.)

At noon Mr. and Mrs. Donner get it together, packing the car with blankets, folding chairs, toys, and us.

We get into the car and head to town.

Mr. Donner calls out, “Tourist time. Let's count the number of out-of-state license plates.”

Woodstock's very busy. People are going in and out of shops. Some kids who study mime are dressed as clowns and are pretending to be robots.

It's a typical Woodstock near-the-end-of-summer day.

As Mr. Donner stops the car, Mrs. Donner says, “Rosie and I will shop. The two men can wait in the car.”

The Little Nerdlet is crying as we leave.

Mr. Donner makes faces to try to distract him.

Mrs. Donner puts her arm around my shoulders. “Rosie, I just figured that you need a little rest. You're so good with Donny. We all think you're so special.”

I stumble over my feet, say thanks, and change the subject.

We go into the food place, Bazaar, and pick up some great food for a picnic.

Back at the car the Little Nerdlet greets me as if I'd been gone for years.

To get to Opus 40 we leave Woodstock and go to Saugerties, the next town over. What a weird name for a place—saw-grr-tease. It sounds like a report about a mischievous wild animal.

Driving down a dirt road and parking the car, we see all sorts of other people arriving.

There are people of all ages, since there are going to be a whole lot of different kinds of bands and groups playing.

The Little Nerdlet lets go of my hand and drops to the ground, pretending to be a slug.

I pick him up before he decides to ooze.

As we walk along, I see a lot of the kids from school whom I haven't seen all summer. The kids that I like but don't see out of school.

I also see some of the gang of kids that I do spend time with.

Milton Meyers, who only answers to his nickname, Garbage Gut, and to announcements that food is being served, comes up to me. He proposes. He's been
doing that since second grade, when he fell in love with the lunches that Mindy used to make for me. It's kind of a tradition. He proposes. I refuse.

The Donners and I sit down in the middle of this wonderful place, Opus 40. I love it. Some guy, Harvey Fite, bought this old stone quarry and started making stone sculptures and formations. His plan was to work on it for forty years, but he fell off his tractor and died during the thirty-seventh year. So it's not finished, but it's still incredible.

It's in the middle of the woods with mountains all around. There's a fountain, with water flowing down. There's sculpture in different places on the grass.

The colors and textures are really incredible. The cold gray of the stone, the green mountains and grass, the trees, the sky and clouds, the fabrics and colors of people's clothes. It's overwhelming.

I notice that Mindy and Jim have arrived and are sitting down with friends. They look like they've always been a couple, as if they've been together forever, like the rock at Opus 40.

As the sun starts to go down, the place begins to look different . . . a quieter kind of beautiful and peaceful.

The concert begins. The Woodstock Mountains Revue starts it. They play really great folk music. It's not the kind of music that you see or hear on MTV, but I love it. What's also so fun is that lots of other musicians and singers come up onto the rocks and join them. Since it's a concert for nuclear disarmament, there are a lot of people performing. That's another one of the special things about living in Woodstock. There are a lot of fantastic music people living in the area or visiting friends.

Next there's a band that plays rock and roll and more modern stuff. People are dancing along with the music.

During the intermission Mr. Donner takes Donny to the men's room while I rush to the women's room. Time for a break. I want to get there before the line's too long and I have to spend the whole time waiting.

It's okay. The line's short and moving quickly.

On the way back I stop at the table where food is being sold. There's also a souvenir T-shirt of today's concert on sale. It would be great to have but it's not really in my budget.

Phoebe comes up next to me. “Let's buy one together.”

I debate for a split second. “Sure.”

We buy stuff and share it a lot. We did that even before we knew we were going to live together.

As we make the purchase, I hear Mindy say, “Hi, kids.”

We turn around.

She seems a little nervous. “The guys are busy playing Frisbee. I thought I'd come over and talk to Phoebe for a few minutes alone.”

I stick my nose up in the air and say, “Okay. I'll leave and go eat worms somewhere.”

Phoebe puts her hand on my arm and says, “No. Don't be silly. I want you to stay.”

The three of us go over to a place where no one else is standing.

“Phoebe,” Mindy begins. “I hope you don't mind my mentioning this, but I don't think it's a very good idea for you and Dave to park in front of the house and make out like you two did this afternoon.”

I guess the whole day was not spent hanging pictures.

Phoebe backs off.

I stare at Mindy.

This really doesn't sound like her.

She continues. “I'm sure you can see my point.”

“That's my business,” Phoebe snarls at her.

Mindy shakes her head. “It's everyone's business if you're making out in front of the neighbors and everyone.”

Phoebe stares her down. “What an obnoxious thing to say. How can you tell me what's right when you and my father live together and aren't even married?”

Mindy says, “Phoebe, you're overreacting.”

“Who do you think you are to tell me what I should and shouldn't do? You're not my mother.” Phoebe stamps her foot.

“I was just trying to be helpful.” Mindy glares at her.

“Help like yours I can do without.” Phoebe looks furious.

Jim comes up to us. “How are three of my favorite people doing?”

“Not good,” Phoebe informs him.

“Not well.” He always corrects our grammar without even thinking about it.

“I've had it.” Phoebe backs off.

“What's going on?” Jim wants to know.

“Ask her.” Phoebe gestures toward Mindy. “She's your friend. She'll tell you what to think about what's going on.”

Phoebe turns and walks away.

I knew it was too good to last, feeling good and happy about being a family.

Maybe that's really the way it is.

All I know is that a little while ago I felt great and now I feel absolutely miserable.

Something tells me that Phoebe's feeling the same way.

And Jim.

And Mindy.

P
hoebe refuses to talk to Mindy.

Jim tried to reason with Phoebe but she wouldn't listen, so now they're not talking to each other.

That leaves Jim and Mindy talking to each other and to me.

Mindy is absolutely furious with Phoebe and feels that she's trying to sabotage the new arrangement.

Phoebe talks to me.

I'm the only person talking to everyone.

Whatever happened to our family vows? Why is it that the one thing I want most in the world is turning to slug slime?

Phoebe sits on her bed, brushing her hair. “You've got to admit it, Rosie. Your mother's wrong, really wrong.”

I start to untangle some jewelry that's gotten jumbled in the move and don't answer.

“Come on,” Phoebe persists. “Mindy had no right to say what she did, to butt in like that. Admit it. You wouldn't like it.”

I shake my head. “It isn't like Mindy to make judgments like that . . . to butt in. Of course, I've never made out in a car in the front yard, so this is a new experience for her. Maybe it just freaked her out.”

Phoebe brushes her hair harder. “Mindy's wrong, and it's not fair that Dad's taking her side. Don't you start taking her side too . . . . Why couldn't things have stayed the way they were? With us as best friends but without them falling in love.”

She says “falling in love” as if it were a plague.

I sit quietly, intent on separating my long beaded earrings from a Mickey Mouse pin.

Phoebe stops talking.

Part of me wants to tell her to cool off, that Mindy was wrong but so was she. The other part doesn't want Phoebe to be angry at me too. There's enough fighting already.

Phoebe says, “Rosie, talk to me about this. Come on, you're my best friend and we've always been able to tell each other everything. I don't want to stop just because of HER.”

I look up. “HER. You mean Mindy, my mother, the person you've always liked and confided in. That's the HER you're referring to, right?”

“Past tense . . . used to like,” Phoebe says. “Quit siding with her. She's not perfect.”

“I never said she was,” I say. “But she cares a lot about you and you know it.”

Phoebe makes a face.

“Well, it's true.” I think about what I should do, what I really want to say, and decide that I've got to speak my mind. “I think you're being impossible not talking to them and making everything disgusting to spoil our new family.”

“Blame me.” Phoebe raises her voice. “That's it, all my fault. Your mother, the beautiful little saint, had nothing to do with it.”

“My mother's not a saint, but she's a good person. She's always been nice to you. You're not giving her a chance.”

“Traitor—with a best friend like you, I don't need enemies. You just try to be so good and have everyone like you. You drive me nuts.”

That's it. I've had enough. “You don't want a best friend. You want a best mirror, someone who reflects you.” I get up to leave the room.

As I reach the door, I turn around and say, “You don't care about this family. You just care about yourself. When you're ready to be and have a real friend, talk to me then. Until then, I don't want to have anything to do with you.”

Before I slam the door, I yell, “And why don't you clean up your mess in this room?”

I stand outside the door and realize that there's no private place to go . . . that Phoebe and I still have to share the room.

Maybe I should find a cave to live in alone. Life sure gets confusing when there's more than one person involved.

Jim and Mindy are in the kitchen talking, so I go into the living room.

I could ask to use Mindy's study, but then they'd ask what's the matter.

Sitting down on the couch, I look at the wall and see the picture of all of us at the Ulster County Fair.

Our happily ever after as a family lasted only one day.

I
t's war, all-out war.

In history class, we learned about the cold war.

In this house, it's the ice war.

Everyone's walking around incredibly tense.

No one's laughed or smiled in days.

It's all truly disgusting.

I baby-sit all the time.

Mindy's working overtime, waiting on tables.

Jim goes to his studio and tries to paint.

Phoebe spends most of her time with Dave. When he's working, she's on the phone or out with Beth Owen, a girl we both know. They're probably becoming best friends right now.

Phoebe walks into our bedroom.

She pretends that I'm not there.

I act like she's some giant cootie and stare at her, saying nothing while she brushes her hair.

She continues to ignore me.

This is more than truly disgusting.

It stinks.

There were reasons that we were best friends, lots of good ones.

In three days, it's as if there aren't any.

Something's got to give.

Someone's got to speak first.

Phoebe's stubborn.

I'm stubborn.

This could go on for the rest of our lives and someday, eighty years from now, we could wake up dead and never have spoken to each other.

It's like the thing with our beds, only more serious.

How come the adults can't straighten it out?

Someone's got to be reasonable.

How come it's got to be me who has to cope with stuff?

I hate to sound like a wimpette, but it's always me.

My parents get married, then divorced, and guess who got stuck dealing with the whole black/white issue. Me.

They both end up with people of their own color.

I'm like my own personal United Nations. Black. White.

Another thing that I've had to deal with is growing up without a lot of money. It's a good thing I love thrift-shop clothes.