Ruby on the Outside (9 page)

Chapter Twenty

Right now, while Matoo and
I are waiting at table sixteen, I can see there are three little kids in the children's center: two little girls, and a boy who looks like he's about five years old. They are coloring and playing games because they don't understand.

Maybe one of them will try and ask the corrections officer to let her take her mother home. Maybe that little girl thinks today is soon enough. Today she's waited for so long, and she's been so good, done everything everyone told her. So why isn't her mother coming home with her?

To cook her dinner. To tuck her into bed. To tell her she's good and pretty and loved. Help her with her homework. And tell her that everything's going to be okay.

Life is unfair. Everybody knows that. Teachers and parents say it all the time. But if everyone knows it, why do they let it happen?

Why doesn't somebody do something about it?

Life wouldn't be so unfair if people did something about it.

I know that what my mother did was a lot worse than throwing a pencil. She left her daughter alone in an apartment and went with her husband to hold up a store, because he asked her to, and someone who didn't deserve to, someone who was totally innocent, lost their life.

No, some
one
didn't lose their life that day.

Two people did.

Josh Tipps. And me. I lost the life I was supposed to have that day too.

Maybe if she hadn't gone, Nick wouldn't have gone. Maybe if she had just been a little stronger and said,
No, this isn't right
, he wouldn't have done it. At least not that night, not the night that Margalit's brother, Josh, was working behind the counter.

Maybe if my mother had loved me more than she wanted Nick to love her, none of this would have happened at all. If my mother loved me at all, she wouldn't have let this happen.

I hate her now for not loving me enough. I hate myself for not being lovable enough.

I hear that sound, the door cranking open. And there she is, walking in through the door behind the big desk where Officer Rubins is sitting, the big desk with the paper chimney.

I am angry. I am so angry. It's not going to work.

My mother ruined my life and it's only going to get worse. The first best friend I've ever had is going to find out who I really am. She's going to find out what my mother did. Sooner or later she's bound to find out.

And then she'll hate me forever and I didn't even do anything.

And even if Margalit never finds out,
I'll
know. I'll know that I'm lying to my best friend every day.

My mother doesn't see us right away. She walks into the visitors' room and I watch her looking all around. She is, of course, in green, all green. Visitors are not allowed to wear green, but that's not a problem for me. I've made sure I don't own one green thing. Not a shirt, or a sweater, a sweatshirt, or pants. Not even green socks.

My mother's hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail. She looks young, I think. Younger than other moms I've seen at school. I've only ever seen her this way. Her hair up or her hair down. Sometimes she wears a little makeup. Sometimes none at all. But always in green. She doesn't seem to get older. But I have.

She hasn't seen us yet, because usually I call out her name and start waving from my seat. Today I can't. My inside and my outside are colliding. Everything is about to spill over the top, making a mess on the stovetop.

And I make a little sound, that same little gasp that came out of Larissa's mouth when she saw her mom come into the room. It comes from a place that is so deep, so old, and so wounded. It just escapes from your heart without your consent. Like finding a piece of your own body that was broken off and now, there you see it. It's so close. There it is.

My mom sees us.

I can tell by the look on her face, even from this far across the whole room: recognition. She knows me.

I am her daughter.

And she is my mother.

And Rebecca? Where is she now? She didn't keep anything inside and look where that got her. Look how it hurt her. I imagine her on the streets somewhere, all alone. Just standing there, waiting. Except no one knows where she, is so she's waiting for nothing.

My mother is walking this way. She has a big smile on her face.

And Tevin?

I do miss Tevin. He was always so hopeful. It was infectious, like he would never give up and he never had to. Not in my mind, where he lives now. In my mind, he will always believe in soon.

My mother must not see the hard, steely expression on my face because she bends down and hugs me just like it's any other regular visiting day. Just like nothing has changed. Because for her, nothing has. But for me, everything has changed.

“Oh, my sweetie. My sweetheart. My Ruby heart,” my mother says.

I try and tell my outside to stiffen up and protect me, but my inside doesn't listen and when my mother's arms are all the way around me, my inside breaks into a million little pieces.

“What's wrong, baby?” my mother is saying. She doesn't let go. She holds me tighter. “What is it? You can tell me. Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me what's wrong.”

“I'm so mad at you,” I yell. I think I yell. It sounds like a yell inside my head. I say it again and I wait for the whole world to fall apart but instead I feel my mother's strong arms around my shoulders, pressing my whole body into hers. Her voice is my mother's voice, will always be my mother's voice. Her skin is her skin, is her skin is her hair, is my skin and my hair, and her eyes and her hands, and my heart and her heart.

And now all I can do is cry.

They make me leave the visitors' room. They don't allow outbursts of excessive emotion. I guess it's like a yawn. It can trigger everyone else to start yawning. Or sobbing, as the case may be. I make a beeline for the bathrooms just past the first set of doors.

I'm outside now. I can't go back in without going through all those procedures.

And then, Matoo is sitting in the bathroom with me.

Just thinking about how awful my mother feels right now, because of me, makes me sick to my stomach. The scene I made, she was powerless to prevent, powerless to help, powerless to even stay and wait for me to calm down. They will take her away now. They will put hours, days, weeks of metal bars between us, all because I couldn't control myself.

I
can't
control myself.

“I'm going to be sick, Matoo,” I say.

“It's okay. Here.” She walks me into the stall, pushing open the door with one hand and holding back my hair with the other.

I puke. I mean I really puke.

“It's okay,” Matoo says when I am finished. “Rinse up. Splash some water on your face.” She walks me over to the sinks.

My mother is gone.

She's gone. There nothing and no power on earth or in heaven that's going let me see my mother again today. I sent her away. I did that. I hurt my mother. I know she's a mess now, wondering what's wrong with me and not being able to do anything about it. She'll want to call, but she can't just use the phone whenever she wants to.

I know she'll want to.

I start sobbing all over again and now I feel like I'm going to throw up a second time. I am thinking about my mother and Margalit, and Josh Tipps. And Margalit's mother, who will hate me forever. How could she not?

She should.

I hate myself.

And if, by some miracle, she didn't hate me, she'd never be able to look at me the same.

It's all ruined. I've lost my best friend and I've lost my mother.

“Breathe,” Matoo says. “Try and calm down. Then tell me what's going on.”

I don't throw up again, but I feel my legs getting weaker. My knees give out and my whole body slides down along the wall until I am sitting on the floor.

I can see it in Matoo's face:
Oh, that dirty floor. That dirty wall.

Ruby,
she wants to say,
what's the matter with you? It's filthy in here. Straighten yourself up. Stand up. Pull yourself together.

Get over it. Put it lid on it.

But she doesn't.

I watch as Matoo slithers down, her back against the wall, until she slides right next to me. She doesn't let her bottom touch, but instead she kind of balances on the heels of her shoes.

“Tell me, Ruby. What's going on?”

Chapter Twenty-One

Once upon a time, a
long time ago, before I was born, there were two sisters who lived in an apartment alone with their mother; just three weeks earlier their dad had run off with another woman. So now it was just the three of them, and because the mom started spending a lot of time in bed, the older sister had to do a lot, like making meals and making beds and making sure the two sisters got to school on time.

And the mother kept sleeping a lot.

And then one morning the mother didn't wake up forever.

Since their dad was nowhere to be found and their mom was now gone, the two sisters went to live with strangers but at least they got to stay together. Things in that house of strangers were not always nice. But still, the older sister tried to keep things as normal as she could, as tight as she could, as controlled as she could. She vowed she would always take care of her little sister.

But the world around them was out of control.

And then the two sisters grew up. One stayed as close to the rules and limits as she could, pushing only the buttons she knew would work. The other sister, the younger one, kept running around, edging close to the limits, peeking over the top, pushing any button she could, as if she was trying to find the one that would wake up their mother that morning and make everything safe again.

“That was my mother?” I ask Matoo. “The younger sister?”

“Yes, sweetheart. That was your mother.” Matoo is still crouching with me on the bathroom floor. A few people have come and gone. They take one look at us, do their business, wash their hands and leave. No one seems to think it's strange.

Here, nothing is strange. No one is judged because everyone has been judged already.

“And then after your real father—may God rest his soul.”

“My real father is dead?”

“I have no idea, and neither does your mother. I'm just saying that out of disrespect.”

“Oh.”

Matoo went on. “Anyway, after your biological father left, and your mother met Nick, well, we all thought things were going to be better for her. For both of you. Well,
I
never thought that. Your mother did. She was looking for a dream, Ruby, you have to understand. Nick was like her mother and father all rolled into one. He built things and planted things and took care of the house. And he brought her cups of tea with honey and cream. No one ever did anything like that for her before. She was afraid to lose him.”

I look at Matoo. I know no one ever did anything like that for her, either.

“So I understand why she went with him that night,” Matoo said.

“But she left me,” I say.

“I know, Ruby. She made a terrible mistake. I don't think your mother ever understood how important she was to you. She didn't think she was important to anyone. She felt worthless, and so to her, leaving you alone for what she thought would be a few minutes didn't seem that important. I know it doesn't make sense.”

It did. I know what it's like to think you are not important, not special. To think that what you do doesn't matter or make a difference.

“But Nick was dangerous,” I prompted her.

“He was. And your mother knew it, right from the start. But it was like he was offering a drink of water and she was so terribly thirsty. She had been walking in the desert all her life.”

“But the water was poison.”

“It was.”

We are both quiet for a while. I never really studied the underside of a row of industrial sinks before. It's not real pretty.

“I think we should go, Matoo,” I say.

“Are you ready?”

“Just one more thing.”

“Of course.”

“The boy that died that night. Josh. Josh Tipps,” I begin.

“Yes?”

“His family would hate my mother, wouldn't they? They wouldn't care about that story, about being thirsty or living with strangers or your mother dying, would they? They would just hate us.”

Matoo stands up. I can tell her legs are stiff and aching. She's always complaining about her bones, her back and the pain that runs down her arm. But I think there are other aches that she doesn't ever talk about that are her real pain.

“I don't know, they might. They might not. But what made you think about them? How do you even know that name?”

I'm staying on the floor. It seems safer down here. I feel smaller. I wish I were little again, when I didn't know any of this.

I answer her. “I've heard you say that name and then I found it on the Internet. I read about the whole thing. About the boy who got shot. About the trial. About everything. It's so awful, Matoo. My mother is responsible for Margalit's brother dying, being killed.”

Before I can feel sick again, Matoo is right next to me again. She groans a little but she crouches back down.

“Ruby, what are you talking about?” Matoo is saying. “What does any of this have to do with Margalit? Josh Tipps's parents don't even live around here. They live in Virginia. Well, the father does. The mother is in Utah or something like that.”

There is a kind of buzzing in my ear and the tip of my nose. “What?”

“We've been in touch with them, Ruby. Your mother writes them letters all the time. We just didn't think you'd want to hear about that. Not yet. Josh's father even came to visit your mother once.”

“Josh Tipps is not Margalit's brother?” I ask.

The buzzing is getting louder and moving into my whole face. My heart is thumping out of my control. My whole face is numb.

“Margalit's brother? No, why? Is her last name Tipps?”

“Yes,” I say.

“And she has a brother who was killed?”

Yes, I mean. I don't know. He died somehow. I think . . . so I just thought . . .”

Now Matoo starts crying a little too. “You thought the Josh Tipps from that night was Margalit's brother who died?”

I nod.

“Oh, baby girl. No wonder you've been so upset. No, Ruby. You don't have to worry about that. We've got enough to worry about.”

I am still a little confused. “Are you sure?”

“What, sweetie?

“Are you sure there's another Josh Tipps?”

“Yes, Ruby. I'm positive. I saw the Tippses at the trial. Every day for months, and I've met Margalit's parents. They are not the same people. It's just one of those crazy things. It's just a name.”

“It's just a name,” I repeat.

So my life is not ruined. Not completely. Not yet. Not at all.

“Let's go home now, okay? Maybe your mother will be able to call and we can straighten this all out.”

“Okay.”

I get up first, so I can help Matoo. My legs are pretty stiff now too. I rub my bottom. It's so cold from the tile floor, but I feel better than I've felt in a lot of days. Like a thousand pounds have been taken off my chest, my back, my shoulders, and my head, which is pretty good considering there's another thousand still there, but it's better than it was before.