Plastic Confidence (Good Bye Trilogy #1) (2 page)

Krysta, a petite blond that went a little heavy on the makeup, was nice to me. They had been dating for a couple years and my mom really liked her. She showed me how to apply my own make up one day and I sort of looked up to her, since I didn’t have a sister. I told Kent that if he breaks up with her I would never talk to him again.

“Hey, twerp.” He stood up and whoa, he was taller. He threw the magazine on the table and enveloped me into a hug, while mom observed us with a faint smile.

“Hey big brother.
Whatcha doing home?” I asked, as I wrapped my arms around his lanky frame. My brother was super nice, but he was kind of a geek. He wore thick lens square glasses, but listened to heavy metal. He head banged, for God’s sakes, to The Cult, Guns and Roses, and Metallica. He was a walking contradiction.

“I just wanted to see my
Julia Child before I headed out,” he smiled at me. That nickname was ridiculous. I tried to speak like her once. I sounded more like a drunk cat, not that I had ever heard one. But that is what Kent and the
Jasons
said, and I went with it, laughing right along.

“Where are you going? Can I come?”
Excitement streamed through my veins at the idea of chilling with my
big bro
. Sometimes, he would let me tag along and I would be the special little sister for the day. It made me feel somewhat superior to my friends.

“No way!
Jules you are staying home until I tell you that you can leave!” Mom bellowed with the sternest voice in history. Kent and I were taken aback.

“Oh
... kay,” I drew out. This stern attitude was a little over the top, even for Mom. I mean I would just be going to hang out with Kent. He would watch over me the whole time. What was the big deal?

Kent gave my mother a look that my Dad would have given her
, if he was still around. Kent must have felt uneasy with her temper, as well. For the second time that day, I thought about my Dad.
Weird
. He left when I was five and we hardly saw him. He lived about two hours away in Massachusetts, but since he had a new family, the drive was too long for frequent visits, he had argued once. Birthday cards and Christmas gifts were Kent and my only expectations out of him.

I don’t know why he didn’t want to see us but I think it had something to do with seeing my mother at drop off. She
tried so hard to say something nice to him. He would nod at her, without even looking at her, and get us in the car as quickly as possible. Kent and I slowly accepted that we would never be fans of our father. Our loyalty remained with our Mother.

“It is so great to be home,” I sassed at them
, with a slight pucker, and made my way back to my room. My room was big and it was set in the far back corner of one side of the ranch home. I thought about the car ride and my mother’s outburst. What did she mean I couldn’t leave the house? I was considering sneaking away for the day. I mentally thought of everything I needed to pack in my backpack. Water, change for candy, a swimsuit, towel, and... as I started for my empty backpack, the lawn mower’s loud reverberation started up outside my window and I drew back the blinds to find my brother. Kent was head banging to his Walkman, pushing the old lawnmower over freshly mowed grass. I rolled my eyes at my mother’s deceptiveness. Obviously, Mom sent him out because she knew I would crawl out my window to go to Emmy’s house. She was so annoying. And right.

TWO

Returning home from camp was a
big, fat mistake. The days dragged on and on without anything to do. It was like going from a roller coaster to the merry go round in two minutes. I was bored out of my skull, brain, body, house, and everything else in between. I wanted out of myself and fast.

I watched the local news every night with my mother and brother
, while we ate dinner at the table. Mom had dragged a TV in to the kitchen, so we could get updates on the murder and what parents were doing to make sure their kids remained safe. When they said safe, I always muttered prisoner, drawing looks from both Mom and Kent. I was dying. I even hated eating because that was all there was to do. So I sat and watched the updates on my jail sentence as I forked the veggies around on my plate.

When Grace’s story came on, Mom made a loud clanking noise with her fork as she set it down and I hung onto every word. It didn’t
feel real. They had buried her the day before and I thought maybe I would go to the cemetery just to... I don’t know. Say hi, maybe? People talked to gravestones. I saw it on television. It was so sad on those shows, so I tried to think of other ways I could tell her that I was sorry she had to die.

The days went by in true prison fashion. Breakfast, shower, dress, television, lunch, play games, snack, look out the window, dinner, television, and bed.

Hit repeat.

During the play games portion of the day, I acted as teacher with my stuffed toys. Mom had put a huge chalkboard on one wall of my bedroom so I lined all of my dolls and animals just as I gave them their math pop quiz. The groaning answer I got from my students was so annoying to me, the teacher.

I hung out in our basement a lot. It was cool and damp and far away from the woman who was set out to ruin my life for the unforeseeable future. Mom wouldn’t let me do anything outdoors. I couldn’t even go to the supermarket unless she was within eyesight of me.

I exhausted all of our old Atari games over and over. Pac Man, Asteroids, and Centipede weren’t as visually stimulating but they were hard to beat nonetheless. While everyone else had the newest PlayStation, Mom insisted Kent scarcely used the game console to begin with; therefore, constituting that it needed more wear. I rolled my eyes at her but covertly had a serious obsession with Kaboom. I treasured that game until I had beaten it so many times that I disconnected the whole system and put it in a box for our next garage sale.

Mom owed us that upgrade since the system was thoroughly played.
As I added the last of the wires to the box in the garage, I made a note to mention that at dinner that night so she knew that I couldn’t handle solitary confinement much longer. Not one to back down on what I thought was right for world peace, every day I begged Mom incessantly for Emmy or Angie to play. What was her repetitive response?

“We’ll see,” she proposed with a frown. Why not just yell no to my face? That would be some excitement for the day. I watched Kent mosey in and out of the house with Krysta or one of the Jason’s. I begged them to go for ice cream. I begged them to take
me for a five minute drive. I begged them until my sobbing, reddened face, and their pathetic apologies made me hate them forever.

Mom caved
in on the fourth day. I could play with chalk on the walkway leading up to the front door. I had to report anything suspicious because according to the evening news every night, Grace’s murderer still hadn’t been caught. They had a few people that they were looking into but no arrests had been made. My defense to my mother went something like this:

“Mom, I didn’t
even know the girl. She lives a town away. Grace was alone when she was taken. If I go to Emmy or Angie’s house, I won’t be alone. I will be safe there. I will watch out for any strangers who stalk the house. I will do whatever you want me to, but if I don’t get out of this house, I am going to hate you forever.” I confidently blasted into her face.

Her reply was not to have a reply.
Typical Mom
. Stone cold until she probably got behind the closed door to sigh and roll her eyes. Ignoring me and walking away to prove that my argument wasn’t up for discussion was more annoying than a fly that wouldn’t stop circling my head. I would smack at it only to miss. My mother was officially that annoying fly. I was too keyed up to take pleasure in soaking in the sun. I took the stupid plastic tub of chalk out to the driveway, not the walkway (thank you very much), and colored all of them down to the nub so that she could never suggest such a juvenile activity.

That night, I snuck phone calls to both girls after I knew their parents would be in bed for work. Sometimes I hated that my mother was a secretary librarian at school, allowing her the late nights and sleeping in. Their parents weren’t allowing them to do much either but Emmy did get to go to Wild World for a day with a cousin who was visiting. I secretly disliked her very much for that. It had been four days with minimal communication with my best friends. It was the longest, most agonizing time I had ever suffered. I felt like I was being starved. It was child abuse.
I threatened “red rum” regularly, hoping my drama would force my mother to give me my life back. She told me I was watching too many horror movies and to knock it off.

One morning, Mom called out to me while I was beginning the boxes of Hopscotch with the leftover nubs of chalk.

“Both Emily and Angela are on their way over. I will sit outside with you girls with lemonade and a book. All the parents have discussed it and every day you girls can have two hours at each other’s houses. Tomorrow, you can go to Angela’s,” she declared.

I sprinted to her and hugged her so tight that I knew she was flinching. She hooted at me and I pulled away. I kissed her cheek, ran inside for a couple of board games, and headed out to the warm green grass to wait for their cars. I started to notice dandelions and butterflies. Nature had color once again and I couldn’t be more enthralled
with life that day.

Angie was first to arrive and we squeezed one another like we hadn’t seen each other in years. Emmy showed up in the middle of the hug and we had a five minute group hug as we jumped up and down. I noticed we had all dressed in the requisite
best friend attire. Solid colored tank top from Old Navy, khaki short shorts, and the Tevas we had all grown to love. They were all the same design, of course. We were the triplets. We made sure that everyone knew it just by the way we coordinated our outfits. We no longer needed the phone call the night before. We just managed to do it somehow. I laughed at the familiarity of our friendship and was instantly content. I pointed to the blanket Mom had put out and where the board games lay.

“Payday?
Or do you guys wanna play Hopscotch” I asked with excitement in my voice. My friends were actually here. It was glorious.

“Hopscotch,” they answered in unison and it made me giggle.
My friends. I was so happy. We searched the front yard for stones as we talked about camp and how we all wished we were still there hanging out in our cabin.

“Frank sent me a postcard the day before yesterday. It has his number on it but I don’t think I will call,” I twisted my lip into a frown.

“Why not?” Emmy asked. She threw her rock and started to hop.

“I don’t know. When am I really going to see him? I only get two hour supervised visits with you.” I made a groan
ing angry sound that I had been using quite a bit. I was learning the art of being angry.

“True,” Angie said with a shrug. “I don’t care much about seeing or talking to Kevin either.”

We all let out an exhale and moved on to the topic of starting Junior High in the fall. That conversation took up the rest of the two hours and as I waved goodbye to both of my friends, I thought about how much I wished Grace’s murderer would get arrested already. He was ruining the lives of all children in the area.

That same night there was a small knock on my door. I muted a rerun of “The Wonder Years” and called for whomever to come in. Krysta hesitantly stepped through the room with a board game in her hands. I looked at her puzzled.

“What’s up? Are you here to pity the little sister?” I was finished with niceties. She smirked at me and shook her head.

“This was mine,” she addressed a game box as she handed it over to me. The box read
OUIJA in big bold letters. “I thought maybe you and the girls could play it when... you know, things are over. I played it with my friends when I was twelve and we had a pretty entertaining time with it.”

“OW
-EH-JA?” I asked looking up to her with a perplexed expression. I had never heard of it before.

“WEE
-GEE,” she laughingly answered.

“That is not proper English. Who comes up with these words?” I asked as I slid my hand over the worn box top.

“No idea. But try it out. It’s fun. It’s a board and you basically call in ghosts,” she smiled with a tinge of sarcasm as she air quoted ghosts.

I was instantly interested. I sat up and forward with my eyes wide.

“Really, like what do you do?” I asked. I opened the box and saw a sun and a moon, yes and no, the alphabet, and the words GOOD BYE in big font.

“You and someone else or whoever can fit their fingers on this thing,” she said pulling out a triangular pointed plastic piece. “You ask it questions and you try not to move your fingers but somehow, probably like how trees sway or something, it moves to different places on the board.”

I looked at it with rapt fascination. “Can we try?” I asked looking up to her, begging with my eyes. She shrugged her shoulders and we got on the floor and positioned the board and the pointer. Krysta asked it what year Kent and she would get married. I rolled my eyes but kept my fingers very still. It didn’t do anything. It just sat there. And so did we, for like twenty minutes. She asked the same question over and over, increasingly irritated each time. Finally I popped my fingers off and got up. With my butt now asleep and my interest totally lost, I frowned.

“I guess it doesn’t work with me,” I lied, kind of thinking that they would never get married. Krysta let out a breath and popped the game and pointer back into the box.

“Well, it’s yours now, Jules. Have fun with it, if it even works for you,” she said, flinging her blond hair behind her back. I watched her walk out of the room, quietly closing the door. I felt bad for her in that moment and yelled out a thank you.

I pressed the mute button and laid back to watch Kevin and Winnie walking down the street, hand in hand.