Just Like a Musical (12 page)

“I don’t even know why I’ve decided to come,” Sarah said the next morning while we were having breakfast in a snack bar near Albuquerque.

“I have to tell you this, Mrs.
Cogger,” I said. “Your grandmother… Mrs. Wheeler had another heart attack. There may be a chance that she won’t wake up anymore.”

A light shadow crossed her face. A vein on her forehead popped out and her mouth
tightened
 into a thin line.

“She had to leave me without a word, didn’t she? Just like she left my mother,” she said.

For a moment I thought that she was going to jump into her car and rush off back to Guthrie. But she only took a sip of orange juice, swallowed it slowly, and then carefully looked at the glass.

“This glass is dirty,” she said. “But you don’t notice it unless you take a close look. It’s just like everything else in life. You don’t get the whole picture until you come near.”

When we finished breakfast, Joshua suggested that he drive so Sarah could get some sleep; she had been driving for eight hours straight.

“It’s only a two-hour drive, you know,” I said when Sarah fell asleep in the back seat.

He looked at me as if he hadn't understood what I was talking about.

“To Los Angeles,” I said. “And there are also trains every couple of hours.”

“Let’s not talk about it now, okay?” he said.

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear, of course. I wanted him to tell me that he would visit me every single
weekend, that he would send me love letters every day, and that he would eventually come to live in Los Angeles because he couldn’t stand to be far from me. I guess that was a selfish thing to ask for since I was the one who was leaving. He must have noticed how worried I was, because he looked at me with the most tender smile and said, “You know I won't let you go so easily, don’t you?”

I watched Sarah in the rearview mirror. She looked like a big, unprotected child. Why didn’t she look for Mrs. Wheeler? Did she feel unwanted herself? Can the feeling of forlornness creep in so deep under your skin that you pass it on to your child just like you would pass on a genetic disease? I suddenly felt the strong
desire to wake her up and tell her everything Mrs. Wheeler had told me that sorrowful night, the night after the afternoon I spent watching a B-horror movie with some strange guy who had midnight-blue eyes – the guy now sitting right beside me. I wanted to tell her how much Mrs. Wheeler wanted her mother, how many sleepless nights she had spent imagining her growing up, how many tears she had cried over her.

My phone rang. Sarah’s face crumpled, but her eyes remained closed.

“It’s your mother,” I told Joshua. “Will you take it?”

“No, you answer,” he said. “I can’t talk while I’m driving.”

I knew that wasn’t the only reason, but I didn’t want to argue.

“You got a letter from Ryan Whitman. Do you know someone by that name?” I said when Joshua’s mother hung up.

“Ryan Whitman!” he shouted, braking suddenly.

“Who’s Ryan Whitman?” Sarah said, rubbing her eyes.

“He’s the agent I sent my screenplay to,” Joshua said, grabbing my phone. “Moron! Oops, I’m sorry, Mrs. Cogger. He’s not a moron, it’s just…”

“You kids!” Sarah said, sinking into the back seat again.

A splash of red spread across Joshua’s face as he listened to his mother’s words.

“He offered me representation,” he said, tossing me back my phone.

“Oh, that’s great!” I shouted, throwing myself around his neck.

Sarah opened her left eye.

“You kids,” she repeated and nodded off again.

“I guess that’s a start, right?” Joshua said.

I’m a dreamer. The boundaries between reality and reverie are slippery in my world. One word, one sluggish stream of sunlight, and I’m there, on the other side. I closed my eyes, leaned back in my seat, and the images began to pop up in my mind, just like in a movie. I saw myself in my lovely apartment in Los Angeles. The doorbell rings. I run to the door barefoot, look through the peephole and see Joshua with a suitcase in his hands. He wraps his arms around me. I make room for his things in my closet… our closet. His toothbrush next to mine. Lazy afternoons by the ocean. My reflection in his eyes.

“Is Ruby sle
eping?” I heard Sarah whisper. “Maybe we could take a break here.”

I opened my eyes and we were in Flagstaff. It felt almost like home.

***

You know those letters that people write to their future selves? Well, here is mine.

May 1, 2011

Dear Ruby-in-the-future,

I’m writing you from Interstate 40, somewhere in Arizona. You’re probably in your little house by the sea, watching an old movie or eating corn tortillas. Have you quit putting a ton of mayonnaise on everything you eat yet? Is your boyfriend (or husband, maybe) lying with his head on your lap? Does he call you a moron sometimes?

I just wanted to remind you of some things, in case you forgot. These are very important things, most of them life-saving, so read very carefully.

You have probably learned by now that life is cruel and mean, and it has traps set for you around every corner. But there’s much more to it than that. Remember the day you met Mrs. Wheeler under the Californian sun? And how about the moment when your first love told you that he loved you, there in the middle of the desert? I’m sure that you’ll find many more examples from the future that I haven’t seen yet which will lead you to the ultimate truth about life: life is wonderful. Don’t you ever forget that.

If you ever get the chance to enter a time machine and relive your younger years, don’t make any big changes, please. However, I beg you to go to 2008. On your way out of the house, on a freezing July evening, tuck up your shirt and show your mother your naked belly. It will make her freak out, and you will feel great.

Just a few more things. Don’t dye your hair; it’s beautiful the way it is. Don’t believe what fortune tellers tell you, especially if they mention the red bird. Red birds equal broken nose. And never, never make a wish when you see a shooting star.

That’s all for now, old fart.
We are only a couple of miles from home, so I’d better get prepared for Mom’s priceless lessons.

I guess that we’ll never meet since you will always be a few steps ahead of me, but let’s keep this correspondence going.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours,

Ruby-in-the-present

It was half past midnight when my mother opened the door.

“Oh, my girl!” she screamed, throwing her hands around my neck like she was going to smother me.

“I love you, Mom,” I mumbled into her hair.

“Come on in, all of you! I’ve made a cake,” she said, shaking hands with Sarah and Joshua.

Her appearance changed when she noticed Joshua’s bandage and a bruise under his eye.

“What happened to you, for heaven’s sake?”

“Yeah, what happened to you? I’ve never asked you that,” Sarah said.

Joshua’s hand reached for his ear.

“He just fell down the hotel stairs,” I said. “He’s a bit clumsy.”

There are moments in your life when you can feel the past slowly fading away, but the future still looks like a far-flung, blurry place, and you’re just effortlessly floating in the present, soaking up its scents and shades. Those are the moments of clarity, the moments that remain etched in your mind for a long time or forever. I clearly remember the constellation of all the things around me the moment I was crossing that threshold: a piece of Sarah’s flowery blouse on the right, Joshua’s elbow on the left, mom’s smiling lips in front of me, street lights interfering with the subtle vibrations of her voice. When I laid my foot on the other side of the threshold, I knew that nothing would ever be the same.

“This cake is delicious, Mrs. Fields,” Joshua said, wiping the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin and winking subtly. “I should get going, though. It’s pretty late.”

As soon as the door closed behind me, I felt the monster of longing growing inside me.

“I guess you’re both tired,” my mother said. “I’ll take you to your room, Sarah. The bathroom is down the hall.”

“I’ll stay for a little longer,” I said, watching the two of them disappearing behind the living room door.

I glanced around the house where I had spent my whole life, the house which I was about to leave in a couple of months. I saw a six-year-old Ruby sitting on the carpet with her legs under her, watching cartoons. I saw her when she was twelve, squeezing that awful pimple on her chin. I saw her sitting by the phone table, waiting for her father to call her on the morning of her fourteenth birthday.

“Mom, why did you tell Dad everything?”
I asked her when she came back.

“What do you mean – why?
Because he’s your father, of course.”

“Yeah, an invisible father.
”

“He’s your family, Ruby.”

“You’re my family, Mom,” I said, taking both her hands. “And him… we’ll see about him. Are you mad at me?”

“No,” she said. “I was at first, but now I’m just happy that you got home safely. But no surprises like that anymore, okay?”

I felt her warm tears on my neck as she hugged me.

“Oh, Ruby, why don’t you put on socks?” she said, letting go of my shoulders and looking at my feet. “It’s not that warm.”

I guess I’ll just have to put up with questions like that forever. And I don’t really mind. Not anymore. Those are just words. And words can’t harm you when they come from someone who truly loves you.

“I’m all right,” I said, smiling, “I can take care of myself. I’ve just come from a place a thousand and a half miles away, you know.”

“Sometimes I just forget how much you’ve grown,” said my mother, slightly shaking her head. “But you’ll always be my little girl.”

When I entered my room, my bed was already made. I cracked open the window to get some fresh air and noticed that the light in Mrs. Wheeler’s house was still on. I wasn’t inclined to go there and shut it off. In some strange way, I felt that shutting the light off would be the same as accepting her upcoming death, and I still wasn’t prepared for that.

Taking the cell phone out of my purse, I threw myself across the bed.
Should I call him? He’s probably fallen asleep already.
And just as I stretched to put the cell phone on the nightstand, it rang.

“Were you sleeping?” I heard Joshua whisper.

“No, I can’t sleep,” I said. “I just can’t stop thinking about everything.”

“Me neither. Anyway, I just called to wish you goodnight.”

“Anything else?” I chuckled.

“Yeah.”

Did I expect some words of love? Of course I did. What girl wouldn’t expect them?

“You left your dirty socks in my backpack,” he said.

“I love you, too. See you tomorrow.”

I closed my eyes, and the scenes of the previous days started scrolling under my eyelids like a conveyor belt.

***

“Is your friend coming, too?” my mother asked, slamming the car door shut.

“No,” I said, “he’s at work. And he’s my boyfriend, by the way.”

My mother’s face creased into a little frown, but she didn’t say a word.

“He’s a really nice boy,” Sarah said, smiling at me.

I know every tree and every house on the way to hospital. I could probably get there with my eyes shut. I counted till eighty-six, and we were there.

“She’s not coming back,” the doctor said. “The best thing would be to shut down life support and let her go. But that’s for you to decide, you’re her family.”

We looked into each other’s eyes. In a way, none of us was Mrs. Wheeler’s family and we all were, even my mother, who visited her every day during my absence. Squeezing the Audrey Hepburn photograph inside my pocket, I entered room number eleven. Sarah and Mom followed me.

To see Mrs. Wheeler with that awful, giant life support machinery beside her was harrowing. It was in sweeping disagreement with the image of her that I had carried in my mind since the day I met her. I drifted back to that sunny March day, looked into her vivid eyes, and smiled as she lit a purple cigarette.

“She looks peaceful,” Sarah said.

A teardrop escaped my eye and slid down my cheek.

“Don’t cry, my darling,” my mother said. “She’s going to a better place.”

All those sayings about going to a better place… well, I don’t buy that. You never receive a postcard from someone who’s gone to a better place. I suspect that they don’t go any place, better or worse – they just go to nonexistence.

“Sarah, would you like to be alone with her for a while?”  I said.

“No,” she answered and caressed my hair with a trembling hand. “I would like you two to stay.”

I approached Mrs. Wheeler, leaned over and kissed her pale cheek. I whispered something in her ear, a secret that will never be revealed.

“I think it’s time,” my mother said.

It takes one push of a button to stop someone’s heart. We stood by Mrs. Wheeler’s bed for two more hours until one of those awful machines beeped and announced that she was gone.

When we left the hospital, the sun was shining painfully. A little girl giggled, grabbing her mother’s hand.

“I’ll walk home,” I said.