Love is a Four-Letter Word (6 page)

A perfect Friday night consists of me, Benji, pizza, and a movie. Sometimes we pick out something new, but usually we just channel surf until we find something we like.

If there isn’t anything good on, we pick the worst movie we can find, put the sound on mute, and make up our own dialogue. Tonight is one of those nights. It’s Benji’s turn to pick, and he chooses some movie of the week on the Women’s Network. I don’t know for sure, but it appears to be about a scandalous love affair in a Mennonite community. I have decided to adopt a Spanish accent for the voice of the female lead, who looks vaguely Hispanic and not Mennonite at all.

“Oh, John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, I love how your muscles ripple under that shapeless tunic,” I gush.

Benji giggles and then replies in his best cowboy voice, “Senorita Bellissima, you know I cannot love you. I already have a wife and twenty-five children. But oh, how you haunt my dreams.”

“I shall haunt you forever, until you agree to leave this place and marry me,” I say passionately, being sure to roll my R’s.

“Where would we go?”

“Perhaps we could go to America, the promised land.”

Benji drops his deep-voiced tough-guy act. “Wait, aren’t we already in the States?”

I throw a cushion at him. “Do you have to be so literal all the time? Use your imagination! I would think you of all people would appreciate an acting exercise like this.”

Benji shrugs and helps himself to another piece of pizza. The silence is stretching on a little too long. Something is up.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Are you offended?”

“No,” Benji says slowly. “It’s just … can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you swear to answer honestly, even if it means hurting my feelings?”

“I’m always honest,” I protest, but seeing the look on Benji’s face I add, “with you, anyway.”

“Do you think I make a good Lion?”

Great.
Wizard of Oz
talk. I smile and try to brush it off so we can move on to something else. “What? Of course you do! You got a lead in a musical, didn’t you?”

Benji chews on his pizza thoughtfully. “I know, but I was thinking … please don’t laugh when I tell you this …”

“I won’t,” I promise.

“Well, the other day at rehearsal, I was doing the scene where Dorothy first meets the Cowardly Lion. Everyone laughed — which is good, it’s supposed to be funny — but then I started to wonder, what if they were laughing
at
me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I know I’m not the best singer in the world, and I’ve never acted before, and look at me, there is nothing lion-like about me.”

This is true. Physically Benji looks more like the Scarecrow than a lion.

“So what if the only reason they cast me is because it’s funny that a skinny kid like me is playing the Lion? You know, like when they cast that wrestler as the tooth fairy?”

“You saw that movie?” I scoff.

“No, but you know the one I mean.”

I did. It was the kind of movie I would only see if I had to choose between it and poking my own eyes out.

“I think you’re overreacting,” I say, but Benji still looks miserable. I hate seeing him like this; it reminds me of those sad-eyed puppies that stare out at you from the window of the pet store in the mall. Plus I really don’t like talking about the play. I know a better person would have put it behind her by now, but my insides still clench up when I think about how Charity Smith-Jones, not Clarissa Louise Delaney, will be playing Dorothy.

“Would you help me? I mean, would it be weird if you practised with me?” Benji asks.

I draw on all my acting skills to keep my face composed. “Me?”

“No one knows
The Wizard of Oz
like you do, and I know you’ll be honest with me.”

“I don’t know,” I protest.

Benji droops a little bit and I remind myself that this is not about me, it’s about Benji. To my surprise and mild horror, I find myself thinking about what Mattie would do in this situation. I hate to admit it, but she is a much better person than I am. Mattie would definitely help out. Reading those lines with him will be hard, but Benji is worth it.

“Okay, but just for a little while.”

Benji brightens. “Really?”

“Really.”

Benji rummages in his backpack until he finds his copy
of the script. He flips to the right page and hands it to me. His lines are highlighted in pink. “Here, you read everything that isn’t marked.”

And so Benji and I read through the scene. It hurts to read Dorothy’s lines and know that I am not going to be the one saying them on stage. But for Benji’s sake, I give it my best. After all, an actor needs something to play off.

When we finish, Benji looks at me expectantly. “Well?”

I can’t know the exact reasons why the director cast him. Yes, he is a little on the small side for a lion and, yes, his voice is a little warbly at times. But he is sweet and he is earnest and isn’t that what the Cowardly Lion is all about? Maybe I’m not good enough to be in the show, but Benji is. Not that I would ever admit that first part out loud.

“Benji, you are going to be great. You’re funny in all the right ways.”

Benji takes a deep breath and I can almost see the weight lifting off his shoulders and vanishing into thin air. “This is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be,” he admits.

Tell me about it.

“Benji, you are going to be great.”

He smiles weakly. “Thanks. I knew you’d tell me the truth.”

I may not be a good enough actress to get into a community production of
The Wizard of Oz
, but I am a great cheerleader.

It’s rare to get a moment alone with Mom these days. There are always people hanging around: her clients, Denise, the running team, and now Doug and his dog.

Mom has stepped up her training and it seems like Doug is over every other day, bringing protein shakes or articles or just dropping by to say hello. He may have won my mother over, but I refuse to be charmed. He must have picked up on this, because Doug has started bringing over his dog, Suzy. If he thinks I am the kind of person who can be won over by a puppy, then he is sadly mistaken. I am not that girl. I am not Mattie Cohen, who cries at TV commercials about the animal shelter and stops to pet every dog we pass on the street. I’m not even sure I like dogs. I know I don’t like the way they smell, or that you have to walk behind them with a bag to pick up their poop. If you ask me, dogs are more trouble than they’re worth. So when Doug comes over with Suzy, who looks more like a mop than a dog, I am not impressed.

Sometimes I wish Mom would send everyone away and we could just hang out together. We wouldn’t have to do anything special, maybe just watch a movie and do our nails. I can’t bring myself to ask about it, because if she asks why, I’d have to tell her the reason. The truth is, I don’t know how much time we have left.

Until she is officially in remission, we can’t be sure that she’s not going to get sick again and maybe this time she won’t get better. I guess no one really knows how much time they have on earth. You could get hit by a car or struck by lightning or get cancer at any point. But just knowing that one of those three things is less likely to happen would make me feel a lot better. That’s not the sort of depressing thing you want to discuss with your mother, especially if she’s the one with the cancer. And so I smile and pretend everything is great and life is exciting. I don’t complain when people come traipsing through our house all day long.

Part of the problem is that Mom is always willing to hear other people’s problems. You would think she’d get enough of that, as a stylist and the best friend of woe-is-me Denise, but she can’t say no to a weepy person, even after hours. So when by some miracle we find ourselves alone at dinner, I decide to approach the Doug thing.

“So,” I begin. “Doug seems nice.”

“He is nice,” Mom says evenly, but the way she smiles says even more.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him, but I guess that’s normal, since he’s your personal trainer and everything.”

“Yes,” Mom agrees. “Training for a marathon takes up a lot of time.”

I seriously doubt that accompanying the trainer for walks with his dog and having long phone conversations counts as marathon training. But I don’t say that aloud. Instead I ask, “Is he a good trainer?”

“Very good; he keeps us all in stitches.”

“Shouldn’t he be concentrating on preparing you for the marathon?”

“Yes, but if you’re not having fun, what’s the point?”

“I thought the point was to raise money for cancer research.”

“Yes, and also to have fun, get fit, and try new things.”

“Has he done this kind of thing before?” I ask.

“What? Train people for marathons? It is one of the things a personal trainer does, Clarissa, yes. Where are you going with this?”

I can see I’m not going to get anywhere with this line of questioning. I decide to change tactics.

“Does he work long hours?”

Mom shrugs. “Not really. He’s one of the top trainers at the gym. He makes his own schedule.”

“So he can spend more time with his wife?”

Mom puts her fork down and looks right at me. “Stop.”

I feign surprise. “Stop what? Doug is obviously someone who is important to you. Why shouldn’t I want to know about him?”

Mom picks up her fork and resumes eating. “He’s not married.”

“Divorced?”

“Clarissa, that is none of your business.”

“Is it yours?”

Mom sighs. “Spit it out, Clarissa.”

“Spit what out?”

“Whatever it is you’re trying to get at.”

“Fine.” But I don’t ask right away. I scrape what’s left of the potatoes off my plate, shove them into my mouth, chew, swallow, and then I think some more.

“Well? I don’t have all day.”

“Why? Do you have a date or something?” I ask innocently.

Mom looks at me and says slowly and precisely, as if she’s
been practising it, “No, I do not have a date
tonight
. And if you had asked in the first place, I would have told you that Doug asked me to dinner and I said yes. So eventually, yes, I will have a date.”

With that, she gets up, takes my plate, and starts clearing the table.

“But I’m not finished,” I say.

“Oh yes you are.”

Mom does the dishes in silence. She doesn’t even turn on the radio, like she usually does. I slink off to watch TV in the den, but I can still feel her anger radiating down the hall and ruining my shows. I don’t see why she’s so upset when she’s the one who is changing everything by bringing Doug into our lives. For someone who complains about there never being enough hours in the day, she seems to be able to make time for him.

“Did you hear about Min’s birthday party? She invited to whole class to her parents’ restaurant. THE WHOLE CLASS!”

“I heard you, Mattie.”

“She’s so lucky. Her parents are going to close the Golden Dragon so it will be just us. After dinner, Min said we can push the tables back and have a dance. Can you imagine? Our own private dance!”

I don’t really care for dances, but I do love the Golden Dragon. I especially love those crunchy orange noodles they give you for your won ton soup.

“Do you think everyone will come?” I ask. “Lots of people don’t go to the school dances.”

“This is different,” Mattie insists. “It’s a free all-you-can-eat buffet and a dance. Even the boys can’t say no to that.” She has a point. I have never known any boy to turn down a free dinner.

“Come on, let’s go plan our outfits!” Mattie likes nothing more than putting outfits together. For a split second, I feel bad doing anything clothing-related without Benji, who watches those makeover shows religiously and is always honest about what looks good on you and what doesn’t. But then I figure he gets to act on stage in a musical and wear
real costumes, so I don’t feel so guilty anymore. Still, Mattie and I have very different styles; I’m not sure I can trust someone who only wears jeans on Fridays.

“Maybe some other time,” I say. “Benji will want to help out.”

“Oh.” Mattie struggles to look like she doesn’t care.

Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I make her the perfect counter-offer. “Why don’t you both come over after school on Friday? Then we can decide together.”

That perks her up. “Okay! Do you think we could ask your mom to do our hair?”

I shrug. “Sure. She’ll probably love that.”

“Great! What are you going to get Min for her birthday?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t really thought —”

“Oh! We should go to the mall together. Maybe we can find outfits, too!”

“I wasn’t really planning on getting a whole new outfit.”

“Then we’ll have to see what we can come up with. This is going to be the best party of the year, I just know it!”

By Friday, Mattie is so excited
I’m
ready to scream. She hasn’t been able to talk about anything else. Luckily Benji is here and I can zone out for the skirt talk.

“So … I was thinking about wearing my jean skirt — you know, the one with the rainbow stitching? — but I don’t think it’s special enough for a dance. It’s more of a casual everyday skirt. So then I thought maybe my purple skirt with the striped top, which I’ve only worn once”

“For picture day,” Benji says.

“Exactly! And then, like, if Josh and I start dating or whatever, obviously we’ll trade school photos, and I’ll be
wearing the same outfit I wore when he first realized we should be together.”

Benji looks impressed. Apparently he has never realized the full-blown magnitude of Mattie’s craziness. I, however, have had weeks of one-on-one, undiluted Mattie-time.

“Wow, you’ve really thought this through,” he says.

Mattie smiles. “Thanks.”

“Do you really think that boys notice that stuff?” I ask.

“He will if I point it out,” Mattie says.

Up in my bedroom, I allow Mattie and Benji to dissect my wardrobe. Benji finds an old pair of jeans that have gone soft in the knees and holds them out, frowning. I think they must have been blue once, but now they are sort of whitish-grey, like someone took a giant eraser and rubbed out all of the colour.

“Do these even fit you anymore?” he asks.

“Probably not.”

Mattie spreads a knitted poncho with fraying tassels on the bed. There’s a gaping hole near the corner where it looks like something may have been nibbling on the yarn. “What about this? When have you ever worn this?”

“I think it was a gift,” I say.

Mattie rolls her eyes. “Oh, Clarissa. What are we going to do with you? You need to weed out your closet every season to make room for new pieces.”

“Don’t bother,” Benji says. “I’ve been trying to tell her that for years.”

“Hey! I weed!”

Benji is sceptical. “Oh, yeah? Name one thing you’ve thrown out this year.”

I wrack my brains. There has to be something. “I had these reindeer pyjamas —”

“Pyjamas don’t count,” Mattie says.

“Besides you’ve had them for five years,” Benji adds. “What else?”

“Some socks, some underwear …”

Mattie is scandalized. “Clarissa! Everyone throws out underwear! At least I hope they do …”

Benji grins wickedly. “Clarissa probably has underwear in here from grade three.”

“That’s disgusting!” Mattie giggles.

I reach into my sock drawer and throw a pair of balled-up socks in their direction. “Catch!”

Mattie squeals as the socks bounce off her shoulder and fall into Benji’s lap. Benji unfolds them and pulls a sock over his hand. His thumb fits through a hole in the bottom. He wiggles it at Mattie, which makes her laugh even harder.

“See? She’s hopeless.”

Mattie looks at me, eyes shining. There is something suspicious about that glint in her eyes. “Clarissa, will you please let me — no,
us
—” she says, grabbing Benji’s arm. “Will you please let us dress you for Min’s party?”

“You can consider it your early birthday gift to me,” Benji says.

“And me!” Mattie adds. “Please, please pretty please?”

I don’t know. On one hand, it means I won’t have to worry about picking my own outfit. On the other hand, I don’t want to end up wearing one of Mattie’s plaid jumpers or ruffled blouses in front of the whole class. This could go horribly, horribly wrong.

But it’s very hard to say no to your two best friends when they are sitting there smiling and begging. Besides, it might just be the easiest present I ever give them.

“Fine,” I say. “But it doesn’t mean I’m going to like it.”

“You don’t have to like it,” Benji says. “You just have to wear it.”

After much deliberation, a snack, and two bathroom breaks, Mattie and Benji have finally decided on my outfit for Min’s birthday. Before unveiling the winning selection, Mattie and Benji describe their process.

“First of all,” Benji says, “we wanted to pick something that you would be comfortable in.”

“Something that shows the real you,” Mattie explains.

“Right. But we also thought you should step out of your comfort zone a little and try something new.”

“Sooo, without further ado, drum roll please …” Benji drums his hands against his legs as Mattie throws open my closet door and my party outfit is revealed.

“Ta-da!”

At first I can’t say anything. It is exactly what they promised it would be — me but with a twist.

Benji looks at me hopefully. “Well? What do you think? I know you don’t like skirts, but that’s why we paired it with the
tights
, so it feels like you’re wearing pants.”

Along with black tights and a plain jean skirt that must belong to Mattie, they’ve added my favourite t-shirt, the one with an image of Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz movie silkscreened on the front, along with a short-sleeved red blouse. There isn’t a hint of a ruffle or bow anywhere.

“You’re supposed to wear the blouse unbuttoned,” Mattie explains, “so you can see the t-shirt. I know you love t-shirts. That one is so vintage, which is very in right now.”

“So you see? It’s you, but the best version of you,” says Benji proudly.

“If you’re feeling extra-adventurous, you could add a cool scarf,” Mattie suggests.

“Or dangly earrings!” says Benji.

“What about shoes?” I ask.

“You could wear a pair of mine,” Mattie suggests. “I brought three pairs to choose from.”

All of Mattie’s shoes are shiny, glittery, or pink. I can’t go to a party in shoes like that, I wouldn’t feel like me. I reach into my closet and pull out my two-tone sneakers. They may not be pretty, but they’re my favourites.

“What about these?”

“Perfect!” Mattie says. “Tights and sneakers go really well together.”

“I love it,” I admit. “I really, really love it.” I feel guilty for second-guessing my friends. Scarf or no scarf, it is the best possible outfit and I never would have come up with it all by myself.

Mattie and Benji jump up and down, cheering and clapping. “High-five!” Mattie cries. Benji slaps his palm against hers and the two of them hug, congratulating themselves.

“We could go into business!” Mattie gushes.

“We could have our own show!” Benji says.

As they brainstorm names for their reality-based fashion 911 TV show I take one more glance in the mirror. For the first time, I’m really excited about the party.