It's an Aardvark-Eat-Turtle World (6 page)

“I hope Dad's got the tickets.” Phoebe shakes her head. “That's all Duane and Mom need to hear, that we don't have them. They think we're all weird and irresponsible anyway.”

“They're wrong.” Mindy is annoyed. “Just because we don't choose their life-style doesn't make us wrong.”

I've got the giggling down to the point where it's sort of little inward hiccups. “Don't get so upset, Mindy. We've only misplaced the tickets, not Phoebe.”

Mindy laughs. “You're right. I guess this meeting has me a little nervous.”

“Mindy, don't worry. Mom's probably just as nervous as you,” Phoebe offers. “Duane, however, probably wishes that he never had to deal with any of us.”

Like the cavalry coming to save the situation, Jim arrives and saves the day. The tickets are in his hand.

Except for the carry-ons, the bags get checked in.

We enter the terminal. The place is jammed with people. I wish that I could know everybody's story . . .   where they're going, who they're picking up. Since I don't know, I make up stories about them in my head.

I told Mindy how I love doing that. She says that's the sign of someone who writes. Maybe someday that's what I'll do . . . just like Mindy.

Everyone in our group is standing around talking. Not about anything important.

Everyone's really dreading meeting Phoebe's mother and stepfather at the departure gate. Of all of us, I'm the one who's got the least reason to feel nervous.

“We're going to be late,” I tell them. “Come on, no more stalling.”

We rush to the gate.

Mrs. Carson's pacing up and down.

She hugs Phoebe and says, “Where have you been?”

“Technical difficulties.” Phoebe gives her a smile as she steps back.

“Hi, Kathy,” Jim says, reaching out to shake her hand and then putting his hand down when she doesn't extend hers.

Mrs. Carson realizes what's just happened and reaches her hand out just as Jim finishes dropping his.

What confusion. They can't even get it together to shake hands. Obviously, they got it together at one point to do a whole lot more. Phoebe's proof of that.

It's kind of weird to watch ex-married people try to make contact when it's changed so much. Mindy and my father were like that for a while until they decided that they really hated each other and now have almost nothing to do with each other.

Mrs. Carson touches Jim on the arm.

Mindy stares at her.

“Jim, this is Duane.”

The ex and present husbands meet and coolly shake hands.

“And this is Mindy.” Jim goes over and puts his arm around Mindy's shoulder.

Kathy and Mindy smile at each other and say hello.

Jim continues. “Kathy. You know Rosie.”

She smiles at me, gives me a hug, and introduces me to Duane, who shakes my hand and nods to Phoebe.

Then we all stand there, looking at each other, saying nothing.

I wonder what people waiting for the plane think of our strange group. I know that if I were watching and not involved, I'd sure be curious. Mindy looks beautiful, as always. Her outfit is very Woodstock—turquoise peasant skirt and blouse, Birkenstock sandals, and lots of beautiful Indian jewelry.

Jim's wearing denims, a black turtleneck, and sandals.

Phoebe's got on denims and a T-shirt that looks like it's from a college and says “Neurotic State.”

I've got on denims and a black glitter-painted shirt.

Duane the Drip, who is pretending not to know us, is in a three-piece suit, even though the weather is warm.

I bet the observers are real confused about what I'm doing with this group.

It's time-warp time. The superstraights meet the post-hippies.

The woman at the desk announces that the plane will be ready for boarding in a few minutes.

Jim turns to Phoebe, holds out his finger, and says, “Phoebe, phone home.”

“Dad, please don't.” Phoebe blushes.

He stands there, with his finger pointing.

Finally she smiles, holds out her finger, and says, “Phoebe, phone home.”

Jim does the same to me, and I respond.

Duane continues to act as if he doesn't know us.

As Mindy and I hug each other, she says, “Have a great time, honey. If you need me for anything, night or day, call collect. Promise.”

I promise.

Mindy hugs Phoebe.

I hug Jim.

Then we say our goodbyes and walk toward the plane.

As we board, Mrs. Carson says to Phoebe, “Your father and ‘Phone home.' Does he still sing ‘We're off to see the Gizard'?”

Phoebe says yes and Mrs. Carson smiles.

I guess that not all of the memories are so terrible.

Well, we made it through our first meeting as what some people call an extended family.

I only hope that Toronto goes as well . . . if not better.

“U
h-oh,” I say after reading the form that the flight attendant has given each passenger.

Phoebe looks up. “What's wrong?”

“I think the present Mindy bought to give our
hosts costs more than the amount allowed. I'm in deep trouble. It'll be either taken or taxed. I could end up in jail. What should I do?”

“I'll ask Mom and Duane.”

“Not too loudly,” I whisper.

Phoebe leans across the aisle to consult with them.

Duane listens to her and then says, “Just say that it's under the limit. Rosie doesn't look like she'd be smuggling drugs or anything, even if she is from Woodstock.”

Phoebe turns to me and crosses her eyes.

Duane's so obnoxious that he makes my step-mother look like an angel.

As for the lying—it's easy for him to say to do that. He won't have to spend his formative teenage years languishing in prison.

I hide my face behind the paper and read the rest of the form. I am not to bring animals, birds, dairy products, plants, or soil into Canada. I check under my nails to make sure that there's no Woodstock dirt.

I do wish that Mindy had told me how much the present cost. I know it's a beautiful glass paperweight from Clouds, the Woodstock store that's like an art
gallery. It was already gift wrapped when she brought it home.

Being arrested would be a real down in terms of my trip. It might come in handy, though, for those stupid assignments about “how I spent my summer vacation.”

We're sitting in the first-class section, which is definitely a first for me.

The seats are larger and the service is great.

Mindy would definitely think it's an extravagance.

It's becoming clear how different it is for Phoebe to live in both places.

Mrs. Carson leans over and talks to us during the flight. Her husband reads
The Wall Street Journal
and doesn't say a word. Something tells me that if he knew the words “slug slime” he would use the phrase to describe Phoebe and me. He's probably too proper. He'd probably refer to us as “people pollution.”

One hour and twenty minutes after the plane takes off, it lands. It took almost less time to get to a foreign country than it did to go from Woodstock to the airport.

After getting off the plane, we go down a long hall
and arrive at this area where people are lined up waiting to go up to counters to talk to customs officials.

The signs explaining what to do are written in English and French.

I get in line behind the Carsons.

They get through quickly.

I hope to see them again.

I step up to the counter and try to look innocent.

The customs guy asks me if I have anything to declare.

I think of Butterfly McQueen's line from
Gone With the Wind
, “I do declare, Miss Scarlett . . .” But decide not to say it.

I'm not sure this guy's got a sense of humor.

I just say, “A little present.” After all, the paperweight
is
tiny.

He lets me go through.

If there's a heaven, I hope that God didn't see me lying. I'd hate to be kept out for a paperweight.

We've actually arrived in Canada.

As we go out the doors into another area, I hear someone yell, “Duane, over here.”

“Hello, Michael.” Duane nods to his brother.

It's obvious that his brother was going to hug Duane but ends up nodding too.

Phoebe's absolutely right about Duane.

Introductions are made.

Mr. and Mrs. Carson hug us, saying that we should call them by their first names, Michael and Bev. They seem like nice people, sort of Woodstocky . . . casual and caring.

They're at least ten to fifteen years younger than Duane, more the age of Phoebe's and my parents.

We go out to the parking lot, then crowd into their car.

I'm actually in a foreign country.

As the car pulls out of the lot, I wonder why Duane's an American and his brother's Canadian.

Once before I asked Phoebe. She wasn't sure but said, “If you had Duane as an older brother, wouldn't you want to move to another country?”

Driving into Toronto, Michael points out some of the sights. The CN Tower stands over the city. Toronto is such a beautiful, clean city. There's a Chinatown and other ethnic areas. There are sections that look like suburbs with homes and little apartment buildings.

We travel along until we reach Russell Hill Road. Michael pulls into a long driveway and stops at a house that looks like an old English mansion.

“Home,” he says.

Well, Phoebe, I guess we're not in Woodstock anymore.

“O
h, Rosie. I miss Dave so much I could die.”

“You saw him yesterday,” I remind her. “We just got here. We're unpacking.”

“But my heart hurts, I miss him so much.” Phoebe puts one hand to her forehead and the other to her heart.

She's been watching too many soap operas.

“Do you think that he's thinking of me at this very
moment?” She swoons on the bed. “That our two hearts are throbbing in unison across the continent between the two nations?”

I may puke.

She sits up. “He's at work. I'll call him later.”

Changing the subject, I say, “Isn't this house incredible? Have you ever seen so many beautiful things in one place? It's so comfy and warm.”

“The art, the pottery, antiques. It's great.” Phoebe hangs up her clothes.

I guess she's neater visiting than living.

“Who would have thought that Duane would have human relatives?”

“I wonder what their kids are like.” I finish putting my clothes in the dresser.

“We'll find out when they get back from their music lessons. Bev said that Jason's a little older than we are and Aviva's our age.” Phoebe sits down on the bed. “Listen, Rosie, I'm really glad you're here.”

“Me too.”

“Rosie! Phoebe!” Bev calls up the stairs. “Jason and Aviva are here. Come on down to meet them.”

Phoebe brushes her hair and says, “Well, let's check them out.”

I put on some lipstick and say, “They'll be checking us out also.”

She grins. “Oh . . . right. I wish you hadn't mentioned that.”

We go down the stairs, Phoebe first, and enter the kitchen.

Aviva and Jason are emptying grocery bags.

They look like brother and sister. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Both are cute without being so attractive that you're afraid of them.

Jason in fact is very cute and seems very nice.

Phoebe notices.

She begins to flirt with him.

I wonder how Dave's heart is feeling right this second. I also wonder if I'll ever get over feeling shy around boys that I might like.

Phoebe asks him what sign he is.

I'm a goner if that's what it takes to have boys pay attention.

He grins. “My sign? . . . ‘Slow Children at Play.' That's always been my favorite sign.”

I laugh. “I've always liked the ‘No Standing' sign. I feel guilty about being upright around one of them and wonder if I should lie down and roll through the area.”

Jason looks at me and smiles.

Phoebe says, “The two of you are very silly.”

We agree and then we all ask each other some questions to get to know each other, like school grade, interests, favorite ice cream flavors.

Aviva's a drummer.

Jason's a guitar player and singer.

Phoebe's standing right next to Jason, acting like he's the most important person in the world.

It's not fair. She's got Dave.

I hope she's not going to pair off with Jason. I'd really hate that.

I'm getting so good at pretending it doesn't matter that even I'm beginning to believe it.

“T
ime to go shopping.” Mrs. Carson comes into the kitchen. “Bev and Aviva have promised to give us a guided tour of Eaton Center.”

“Are you going too?” I'm glad that Phoebe asks Jason.

He shakes his head. “I hate malls.”

That's something that we have in common. I would prefer to stay behind but it wouldn't be right, since Phoebe's mom and Plastic Pop paid for my trip.

Jason says, “See you later, I hope,” and seems to look straight at me.

As we go out, Phoebe says in a surprised whisper, “He likes you. I can tell.”

I say nothing and hope no one heard her. It would be so embarrassing if someone did hear and Jason really didn't like me. Once, in the seventh grade, I had this tremendous crush on a boy and let him know. He acted really gross, ignoring me and making me feel like slug slime. Since then I've been sort of scared to show my feelings. In dating I guess I'm a late bloomer with an early inferiority complex.

Mrs. Carson and Bev are in the front of the car and we three kids sit in the back.