Second Helpings (35 page)

The letter also clued Sara into all the bizarre Southern rituals shed have to know by heart before she attended the Freshman Induction Ceremony. According to Sandi, a white dress topped the list of must-brings. This was the required dress for the Proclamation Night ceremony. The details of said ceremony were kept very hush-hush, but Sandi Jones did say that it is a time-honored tradition, when all freshmen are initiated into the college. Apparently, they all wear white dresses (girls) and white shirts with red ties (guys) and walk in single file down a brick path thats lined on either side with identically dressed seniors, carrying candles.

That would creep me out, I said.

Why?

I mean, theres something very satanic about that.

Sara flipped me the bird.

Sara was expected to memorize a song before she arrived, to be sung along with the seniors.

Harrington, Harrington This is the song That will be sung

By you, its true Four years and forever Harrington

Are you sure you got accepted to a college and not a sorority? I asked.

Sara flipped me the bird. Again.

Still, as much as Sandi Joness letter scared me, I couldnt help but get a little jealous over Saras unadulterated excitement about the next four years of her life.

Im insanely jealous over everyones acceptance letters. Hope and RISD. Len and Cornell. Manda and Rutgers. Scotty and Lehigh. Bridget even heard from UCLA, which is really unfair because until she got the acceptance, she had insisted that she wasnt even going. But now that its here, guess what? She wants to go. Thats the great thing about being Bridget. Her mind is so uncomplicated that it doesnt take much to change it. Its great for her, but sucks for me because I was relying on her to be the one person who was not caught up in college excitement.

WHY HAVENT I HEARD FROM COLUMBIA YET????

the fifteenth

WHAT RECENTLY DUMPED BRAINIAC IS FUELING SAPPHIC RUMORS BY REJECTING THE MOST POPULAR, BEST LOOKING CLASS ATHLETES PROM INVITATION?

I hate the Mystery Muckracker. I really do. Why should my business be anyone elses business? This violation of my privacy pisses me off. Jesus, I wish I could write an editorial. Something along the lines of Gutless Gossip: Pinevile Low Author Finds Safety in Anonymity.

While Im hating people, I hate everyone who has been accepted to college.

I hate Mac and Paul Parlipiano for making me care so much about Columbia. I hate them for making me want this so much. Im much better off when I dont really want anything. Only then can I maintain the ironic detachment toward my whole life that keeps me from going certi-fiably insane.

Though this college thing has been a nice way to get my mind off of other things, like how Len and Manda are severely disappointing me by not breaking up. And how it kind of bothers me when Bridget isnt home to field my Columbia freak-out phone calls. And how Marcus has been more distant and silent than hes ever been.

the seventeenth

My Educational Options for Next Year

Since It Is Clear That Columbia Doesnt Want Me

(and I dont want to go to any of the other schools

Ive been accepted to)

HHHH1. Piedmont University. Room with Call Me Chantalle and major in Hobagitry. Ill just have to suck it up. (Ha. In more ways than one.)

HHHH2. Ringling Brothers Clown College. My moniker could be Dinky Dumbass.

HHHH3. McDonalds University. I am very familiar with their Dollar Value Menu.

the nineteenth

Ringling Brothers Clown College closed last year! DAMMIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

the twenty-third

The mailman is Satan.

the twenty-seventh

Why is it that Im never allowed to get excited about anything?

Ive been wired, wired, wiredso wound up that I couldnt even do sun salutations without feeling like I was going to snap into a bizillion pieces. My body has been buzzing with excess energy and I knew there was only way to get rid of it. I tried to ignore the urge through deep-breathing techniques and mini-meditations, but nothing, nothing could stop me today from doing the unthinkable.

I laced up my sneakers and went for a run. Thats right. Ive damned the downward dog to hell and have finally accepted the truth: I am not a yoga person. No one was home, so I figured no one would ever have to know. Even if I did get caught, who cared? It was too far into the track season for my father to insist I rejoin.

I hadnt run in about six months. And for the first few hundred steps, my body rebelled.

OM SHANTl!... OM SHANTI!!!!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?????

But I forced myself to keep going. By the time I was out of sight of the house, I fell into an old but familiar rhythm. I realized how much I missed doing this. Not the competitions, just this. For myself. This is who I am: a runner.

For the duration of my forty-five-minute run, I barely thought about the Answer to the Question or anything else. Little did I know that it would be waiting for me with clenched teeth, sweaty brows, and a lot of yelling.

WHATS GOING ON HERE? my father yelled as I walked through the door.

I felt like going running, I replied, assuming thats what he was freaking out about. After all, if I could run the streets of Pineville, I could certainly run circles around the track. But thats not what had incited this riot.

WHAT IS THIS? my father screamed while wildly waving an envelope in the air.

I grabbed it from him. A thick envelope from Columbia College, Columbia University.

Jessica Lynn Darling! What is this? my mother shouted.

It was already torn open.

Well, youve already violated my privacy by opening it, so why dont you tell me?

You are not going to school in New York City! they yelled in unison.

I pulled out the letter on top. It began, Congratulations! You have been offered a spot in the Columbia College Class of 2006.

Oh my God.

We apologize for the delay. The late mailings and website postings were the result of a technical error

OH. MY. GOD.

and we regret any inconvenience this might have caused.

Inconvenience, schminconvenience! The torture of waiting was nothing compared with the torture of getting accepted, as my parents reaction was about as awful and close-minded as I had imagined in my worst nightmares.

You are going to Piedmont on scholarship.

No Im not. That place sucks.

We are not paying for you to go to a school located near Ground Zero!

Columbia is nowhere near Ground Zero! Its more than a hundred blocks away!

You know why? my father asked. Because the terrorists wouldnt bother bombing Harlem! Its already a demilitarized zone!

The fighting stopped only when wed all screamed ourselves into laryngitis.

I am not backing down. No way. I dont care if I have to take a bizil-lion dollars in loans, work a thousand minimum-wage jobs. The struggle will be worth it. I just know it.

the twenty-eighth

I thought bridal showers were the most excruciating custom in modern society, what with all the paper-plate bow hat traditions and break-a-ribbon, make-a-baby superstitions.

But today I discovered that there is one thing worse.

Baby showers.

No one likes them, especially the mama-to-be, whose sweaty tumes-cence was extremely disconcerting to me but didnt seem to bother anyone else. Bethany couldnt unwrap more than three presents in a row without having to waddle to the ladies room to pee. This made the already slow and excruciating ordeal even slower and more excruciating.

As if the shower didnt suck enough, my mother was putting on her super-dee-duper nicey-nice tone to cover up the fact that she is still supremely pissed off about Columbia. Whenever a great-aunt or a second cousin or anyone else with whom I am blood related (but barely know) asked me the Question, my mother singsonged the same annoying response.

Jessie got accepted to every school she applied to! shed say, putting her arm around my shoulder, squeezing a bit tighter than necessary. Shes still undecided. Well let you know as soon as she considers her offers.

And I would just stand there smiling a wax dummys frozen, artificial smile.

Finally, Gladdie came to my rescue.

J.D.! Park yourself over here!

She was wearing a baby-blue pantsuit with a baby-pink beret. Her walker was still St. Patricks Day green, which really bothered me. Couldnt someone at Silver Meadows help her stay color-coordinated if she couldnt do it herself anymore ?

Whatsa matter, J.D.? Gladdie asked. Your face is all screwy.

Oh, I hate stuff like this, I said, plopping down in the seat next to her.

Why? Whatcha got against showers?

Bethany opened up a box wrapped in alphabet wrapping paper. BOTTLE WARMER! she announced to the crowd.

Gladdie squinted at her Baby Shower Bingo card. Does this have bottle warmer on it?

Yes, I replied, pointing to the upper-left-hand-corner box. Right here.

Bottle warmer! she roared, crossing off that box on her grid. Hot damn!

Anyway, I continued, I just hate all these stupid rituals. These big events are supposed to be fun and memorable but are really boring.

People need rituals, Gladdie said.

DIAPER GENIE! Bethany announced.

Gladdie scanned her card. Do you see diaper genie on here, J.D.? I cant see so good.

No, I said.

Crooks! Gladdie yelled to no one in particular, then turned her attention back to me. This is the stuff that gives people something to look forward to.

BABY MONITOR!

Gladdie pushed the card toward me, and I crossed off baby monitor.

Were gonna win this thing, J.D.!

I sighed, my head not in the game. I never look forward to anything.

And why is that?

Because whenever I look forward to anything, it ends up sucking. The buildup inevitably leads to a letdown. Its safer to lowball my way through life.

BUMPER SET!

Gladdie put her hand on mine, and the contrast was striking. Minelarge, smooth, unblemished. Hersshrunken, wrinkled, spotty and mottled, bumpy and blue-veined. Ancient hands. And how happy has this made you?

Not very, I admitted.

ONESIES! my mom yelled, since my sister was taking another potty break.

I crossed off onesies.

Aint ya looking forward to takin a bite out of the Big Apple?

Well, my parents probably wont let me go, I replied.

You gotta do what you want to do. If New York is what you want, you gotta go for it. If Ive learned anything in my ninety-one years, its that you definitely wont get happy going through life kowtowing to every Tom, Dick, and Harry.

Its not so easy, Gladdie, I replied. You know how your son is.

Hes a hothead, she replied. He got it from his father, God bless his soul.

Then I realized that this conversation shouldnt have been happening at all, that Gladdie wasnt supposed to know anything about Columbia. It must have suddenly dawned on her, too.

CAR SEAT!

Car seat, sweetie? Gladdie asked, innocently.

Dont change the subject, I snapped. How did you know about Columbia? The question, of course, was moot, as I already knew the answer.

Jeez Louise, Gladdie said, wringing her hands. Tutti Flutie only told me cause I asked.

He had no business telling you. He wasnt even supposed to know. Hes always doing this. Butting in where he doesnt belong.

Dont use this as another excuse to push Tutti Flutie away. How many hoops you gonna make him jump through? Whens the dog and pony show gonna end?

Huh?

Dont lowball this one, J.D. Hes a sure shot.

NIPPLES!

I checked off another box as Bethany waddled back to her seat.

But hes not interested, I said, completely flustered. You said he wasnt interested.

Hes more than interested, J.D. Even a half-blind old broad like me can see that. But I knew that youre just like me in that you dont like anything that comes too easy. You should see what I made your grandfather, God rest his soul, go through when we were courting. And Moe? That poor man still doesnt know what hit him!

BREAST PUMP!

Another box.

So I only told ya he wasnt interested to get you all fired up.

Well, it worked, I said, sweaty, red, and burning up with the news, not sure how I could cool myself down.

No it didnt, she replied. You aint together, are ya?

Uh no.

And why not? Because youre scared of what will happen? Dont be a fool, J.D. You gotta take chances in this life or youre already dead.

Before I could respond, Bethany yelled, STROLLER!

I crossed off a box that completed the middle horizontal row on the grid and held it up for my grandmother to see.