Something Right Behind Her (14 page)

“I don’t live
with my dad,” George said. “But I’ve stayed with him a few times, and the dude
is always in his undershirt and boxers at home. He’s not hairy, but he has a
tattoo of dragon on his right arm. He’s buff as hell. He used to be a cop, but
now he owns a bar in New Jersey. It’s kind of a biker place. They’re like
dad-biker types.”

George and I
were still staring off at the large white house past the pond where my sister
Milly was probably lying in bed whispering in some silly ten year old girl way
to her friend. A dog barked from somewhere further down the road and another
dog answered. The sky was oddly light, with a full moon glowing behind some
light gray clouds. It made the sky seem almost like the daytime sky, and it was
odd to feel connected like that, to daytime, when I was out there with George
doing the sorts of things kids do at night.

I was about to
ask him where his dad’s bar was, since I knew a bit about Jersey, when he
turned to me and placed his hand under my chin and lifted my face so I was looking
directly into his eyes. His eyes were a pale blue, slightly reddened from the
pot. His cheekbones were high and broad and he had a full mouth. He looked at
me in a dreamy sort of way and smiled. “Your eyes are really cool-looking, like
stones under water,” he said and he kissed my cheek, and then my mouth. I
wondered where he got that line, if he’d heard it in some song.

When we got back
to my house, George walked me back to the kitchen door, and then hugged me real
tight. I asked him if he wanted to come in and watch some more TV, but he said
no, he had to go. We kissed good night and he walked around to the driveway
where he left his beat up old Dirtbag car.

The house was
dark and quiet. I went upstairs and switched on my light. I looked pretty
crappy, and didn’t blame George for wanting to get out of there. I took off my
jeans and changed into my favorite sweatpants and this nasty black cardigan my
Mom got me a century ago. The sleeves are way too short, but it’s my favorite
and I always put it on at night while I watch old TV shows. I didn’t really
feel like watching anything, though, and I definitely didn’t feel like checking
my phone or Facebook. I didn’t want to know what everyone was doing, or
planning for the next night. Gayle was having that party since her parents were
going out of town, but for now I just wanted to chill and not have to worry
about anything.

I wondered how
Thanksgiving had been for Eve and Doug. I hadn’t seen Eve for almost two weeks.
It was weird how if I didn’t call I didn’t hear anything from the O’Meara’s.
The last time I saw Eve she’d been in good spirits, at least until the Gayle
episode, but the whole breathing thing did not seem great. I had been reading
on line about ALS and asking Randy stuff. I knew now how ALS patients usually
died. It wasn’t that they had trouble getting oxygen to their brains. That’s
what the breathing tubes were for. What people eventually died from, what would
probably kill Eve, was carbon dioxide poisoning, the build up of carbon dioxide
in the brain. She wouldn’t be able to exhale fully, and with each breath more
carbon dioxide would build up. First, she would get real sleepy and out-of-it.
Then, she wouldn’t wake up.

The strange
thing was just going along with my own life knowing this. I tried not to
picture Eve lying there with tubes coming out her nose. I tried not to think
about Douglas, and how he might be feeling about Eve, or about me. What he’d
said that night in the car still confused me, still felt incomplete, but I knew
I had to let it go, that no good could ever come of thinking about him. Given
the options, focusing on George didn’t seem that random. I could still sort of
taste George’s kisses - his bitter, smoky taste mixed with something sweet,
like berry-flavored toothpaste.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I woke up early
on Saturday morning thanks to Milly. Her buddy had a morning ballet class, so
she was banging around in her room at like eight. That put me in a foul mood
since I had planned on sleeping late, and not really having to talk to anyone
until about lunchtime. Now I was awake, and the sun was streaming in through
the blinds and there was no way I was getting back to sleep. I hadn’t woken up
moaning or crying like I usually do after one of my nightmares, but something
about my dream had unsettled me. It was like out of the corner of my eye, I
could see Eve’s face, her peachy skin, the staring eye. I had been trying to
explain something to her, but I couldn’t remember what. I recalled searching
for words, like I’d been speaking a foreign language, but not Spanish. It was a
language Eve knew and I didn’t.

I pulled on my
rotten little cardigan sweater and went downstairs. Milly was down there with
Mom and Dad. They were all sitting around the table eating breakfast. Milly had
on her pajama pants and a sweater, which, I guessed, was how she came home that
morning. She was eating a big bowl of oatmeal with berries and bananas. Dad
made a real big deal about my early appearance, since I am not usually a
breakfast person.

“Andy, come have
a seat! Mom made us a lovely breakfast!” He made it sound like a nasty bowl of
oatmeal was just about the most awesome thing a person could hope for.

“Looks great,
Dad, but I think I’ll pass,” I said, and got a cup out of the cabinet. All I
really want is some milk.”

He kept at it,
though, and then Milly joined in. “It’s delicious,” she said, “Just the way you
like it! But maybe Andy’s not hungry, because she’s too in love to eat!”

Apparently, Mom
and Dad had been talking about my “date” the night before, and now Milly had
some idea that I was in love with George the Dirtbag. I don’t know what annoyed
me more, the idea that they had been talking about my personal stuff, or that
Milly was so innocent that she thought if you went out with a guy and made out
with him you were “in love,” and not just wasting time, or trying to forget
some other fucked up, train-wreck of a situation. It made me feel sick. The
stupidity of it all came crashing down on me and made me really hate Milly,
with her little bowl of fruit and oatmeal, sitting there next to Dad, laughing
and cozy, thinking about how I was in love, and how one day she would be too,
when all of that was untrue.

“You don’t know
shit about what I feel, Milly, so just shut your fat, bratty little mouth!” I
turned to attack Milly so fast I spilled my milk across the counter. Mom and
Dad stopped what they were doing and stared at me. Mom had her hair all piled
up on her head and Dad had on his glasses. They looked like birds, frozen in
fear at a sound they had heard. Then they jumped on me. Dad, literally, jumped
out of his chair and grabbed me and turned me back toward the stairs. Dad is
not one to lose his cool real fast, but when he does, he’s pretty frightening.
“Get upstairs! Get upstairs and come down when you can be a civilized person.
Maybe in about five years!” He had taken his glasses off and stood there with
his hands folded across his chest. I wondered why he always did then when he
got angry - maybe he steamed his glasses up when he yelled. My Mom watched me walk
up the stairs with a really worried expression on her face.

Now that I had
lost it on Milly, my fury at her lifted and I felt bad for screaming at her. It
wasn’t her fault she was just a little kid. Most of the time, I actually liked
her. She wasn’t one of those snotty little girls who try to act like they’re
older than they are.

I didn’t exactly
want to face Milly or my parents for a while, so I stayed up in my room messing
around. I wrote a little in my journal, but I couldn’t write more than a few
sentences. Randy had suggested I keep a record of my thoughts and feelings, but
all I felt was an angry blankness.

After an hour or
so, Mom knocked on the door. I could always tell my Mom’s knock because it was
kind of soft, like she wasn’t sure whether she should knock, or just walk in,
like she always did when I was younger.

She was all
dressed now with lipstick on. She had on jeans and a mauve turtleneck sweater
and black boots. The boots were unusual for mom on a Saturday. She was usually
a sneakers or clogs mom around the house.

“Where are you
going?” I asked. I wondered if she came upstairs to lecture me or drag me off
somewhere.

“I need to go
downtown to pick up a dress I ordered last week at Kimi’s.” Kimi’s was my Mom’s
favorite store in town. Actually, it was everyone’s favorite store. “I need a
smaller size in that black dress I liked for the trip.” Mom and Dad suddenly
got this idea in their heads that it’d be cool to go someplace warm for
Christmas. Grandma and Grandpa were coming too. I was against the trip from the
first mention of it, although I couldn’t explain why. I guess I was worried
about Eve and what might happen while I was away. It seemed disloyal to go sit
in the sun somewhere while she was here, getting worse. But at Christmas,
especially with Eve sick, the O’Meara’s house would be filled with family, and
it wouldn’t be easy for me to go over there in the middle of all that. Maybe
going to the Caribbean was a better idea than I first thought. Maybe it’d be
nice to get a little sun.

“Maybe I could
come down there with you?” I asked Mom.

“That’s what I
was thinking. I thought you could get a bathing suit or two. Then maybe we
could get some lunch together.”

Mom and Dad must
have had one of those “let’s-cut-the-kid-some-slack” conversations about me.
Mom didn’t bring up the scene at breakfast at all.

We went out to
the car and she asked me if I wanted to drive. “Not right now,” I said. In
fact, I hadn’t even thought about driving. If she had mentioned getting me to
drive, I would have declined the whole invitation. Mom let out a little sigh as
she got behind the wheel. I could tell that she was disappointed in not “making
some progress” with me, since she and Dad both thought I needed to practice my
driving skills. They seemed to think driving with one of them in the car would
give them an opportunity to give me some pointers. At least if I drove she
could claim that victory with my Dad. As it was, she was taking me out shopping
after I’d been a bitch to Milly, which couldn’t make Dad real pleased.

The salesgirl at
Kimi’s was this girl who graduated with Douglas last year. She didn’t go away
to college, so she was stuck here selling clothes to high school girls and
their trendy moms. I guessed maybe she was going to the community college or
waiting it out until some dude with a lot of dough happened her way. This girl
- Suzy or Suzannah - something like that - was drop-dead gorgeous. She was one
of those tall blondes who make me feel like a pile of dirt because I’m so dark
and my hair is such a rats’ nest. I was still wearing the rag of a sweater I
had practically slept in.

Ostensibly, Mom
and I were there to pick up this dress she bought, and to get me some stuff for
this trip to, as it turns out, The Dominican Republic. Mom filled me in on the
way downtown about how Dad’s partner took his family to this all-inclusive deal
a couple years ago and how there’s great activities for kids to do. I was
hoping when she mentioned kid’s activities she was thinking about Milly, not
me.

Our town is the
sort of place that would have a ladies’ boutique that stocks a lot of summer
stuff in the middle of the winter. They call it “cruise-wear,” but they should
call it “Jews’ wear” cause that’s who’s snapping all this stuff up to wear on
their Caribbean jaunts while everyone else stays home and opens presents and
sips hot chocolate. I guessed Mom and Dad decided this year we would be walking
clichés - Suburban Jews wearing Fashionable New Clothes On Caribbean Vacation.
Whatever. I was glad Grandma and Grandpa were at least going away with us.
Otherwise, it’d just be some really indulgent trip with no family holiday thing
going on at all.

I tried on a
couple of bathing suits. I was kind of cheered by slipping into a bikini after
running all that cross country this fall. At least I wouldn’t be a fatty
basking in the sun in the middle of December. We were getting ready to have
Suzy check us out when I spotted this really sweet leather jacket. It was lying
on top of a pile of stuff Suzy was getting ready to price. Suzy saw me looking
and said ‘Isn’t this the cutest jacket ever? You’ve got to try it on – it
just came in this morning, and it will fly out that door.” Suzy was really
convincing, like she herself was dying for this jacket.

I slipped the
jacket on and knew right away this was my destiny. It was a black motorcycle
jacket, but heavier and the leather was super soft. I looked in the mirror and
even with my jeans and just a lousy black sweater, I looked sharp. Some things
look really good with a lot of curly black hair, and I must admit, I did the
jacket justice, without it looking too flashy. Mom was impressed. “Andy, that
is gorgeous.” She nodded her head in a way that let me know the jacket was
mine. “Something like that, you can keep forever,” she said, convincing herself,
no doubt, that it was worth the price.

Suzy’s eyes
widened. You could see she was getting excited about the sale she was about to
make. “It’s actually totally reasonable!” She was practically shouting. “With
the economy the way it is, designers are really pricing stuff to sell. Let me
see, with the discount you have, for, you know, being a regular customer, I can
give you the jacket for $490.”

“I suppose you
don’t need a new phone anytime soon?” Mom looked over with her credit card in
hand. I’m not really a gadgets girl, but I am, I was beginning to see, a
leather jacket girl. “Happy holidays,” Mom said, to no one in particular, as
she signed the credit card slip. I could feel my gloomy mood starting to lift.