Date: Thu, 1 Dec 2005 22:13:09 -0800 (PST) From: Robin Eagleson Subject: Luckiest Summer Part 9 The Luckiest Summer Robin Eagleson robineagleson@yahoo.com Part Nine Mom woke us up before ten. It was physically painful to get up after four hours of sleep; it meant you had just enough time to really sink into a deep sleep, and then right when reality couldn't have seemed more distant and your body surrendered to a total slumber, something wrenched you back into the world. The sensation was not unlike ripping a band-aid full force off a fresh wound. You could never manipulate Mom into letting you get a few extra minutes of sleep. Sometimes when you're woken up earlier than you'd like by someone, you can bide your time and go back to sleep even though you were supposed to be moving about and getting ready. This was not possible with Mom. She snatched the sheets off the bed and claimed she needed them for the laundry, and then shook our pillows out from under us to liberate them from their respective cases. And she talked all the while, going on and on in her energetic morning voice about how important it was we both get up this very instant because Robbie had to be dropped off before we ran her errands, and then I had my haircut. Even my loudest of groans couldn't drown her out. I threw on a t-shirt in my closet and sleepily stumbled into a pair of jean shorts, my eyes still not quite ready to stay fully open. Mom didn't make me take a shower, which to me indicated that we were really were kind of in a hurry. I was jealous of Robbie on the way to his house. Not only did he nod off in the car, but he would have the freedom of tossing himself into his waiting bed the second he got home, whereas I was going to be busy for the rest of the day. I was still a little uncomfortable in his presence. We weren't all that separated from my reckless exploration of his body, or of the creepy dream that followed it. He mumbled some kind of parting to me when we got to his house, and that was the only verbal interaction we had the entire morning. I hated him for a second watching him walk up the path to his front door. It was his fault I was so tired in the first place; why should he get to go back to sleep? I spent the next two hours in an assortment of stores while I followed Mom around like a zombie. I was sure that eventually I would stop feeling tired, but it hadn't happened yet. The good thing was that I was too asleep to be impatient with Mom, and she took that as a sign that I was behaving well and was constantly looking over at me with an appreciative, fond smile. She had tried to tame my hair with her hands before we got out to start our first errand, but gave up with a sigh when she saw it was hopeless. She told me she was glad that in a few hours it wouldn't be a problem anymore. I didn't think it was a problem now. She bought me more clothes first, although I didn't really pay attention to what she picked out. She had actually made pretty solid fashion choices for me historically, and I rarely fought her on things she bought for me to wear. She knew what I liked, and she knew what wouldn't get me laughed at in school, so I didn't pick out much for myself. The clothes were only a small part of the errands. She went to a few locations that were specifically for her, like the beauty store that sold things like nail polish and bath beads. Then we went to the grocery store, where she got irritated with me for not helping her put any groceries in the cart. We made a quick run to the house to put away the groceries, but before I could even think of napping on the sofa, she had grabbed my arm and yanked me back out to the garage. I spent the whole ride to my hair appointment staring at myself in the mirror. This was as long as I'd ever seen my hair get, and I had really started to get used to it. I knew it was no use trying to argue about getting it cut, so I kept my mouth shut even though I wanted badly to keep it. It was getting slightly long, but I knew some kids that had it longer. I think Mom expected me to voice some last minute complaints, and when I continued to hold my silence admirably, she reached over and patted my knee, assuring me we were almost done with our obligations for the day. Maybe the worst part about a hair appointment was having to put up with the goings-on of the barbershop. It was especially bad on Saturdays; it was packed with families and old ladies alike. Little kids were running about energetically, their hair freshly cut, waiting for their moms to be done so they could leave. There was the area in the corner where the ladies had their nails manicured and filed and whatever else you could have done to your nails. And there was the constant chit-chat between the employees, the conversations always so pointless that if you tried to listen to it longer than five minutes you'd explode, or at least go insane. I stared at myself glumly in the mirror as my barber chopped liberal amounts of hair off my head. Mom had told her to go "moderately short" with it, whatever that meant. I watched the pile of my hair grow on the floor below my feet, a lot of my slightly wavy brown hair decorating the tiles now. She wasn't even finished cutting and already I looked like a different person. I stopped staring into the mirror after that. The one good part about a haircut is getting your hair professionally washed. When she was done trimming the sides and back dangerously close to my scalp, she turned me around and tilted the chair back so my head was lying in the sink. I closed my eyes and almost fell asleep as she rinsed out my now outrageously short hair and then scrubbed my head carefully. The sensation of fingers gently scrubbing my scalp reminded me of how it felt when Brad had gelled my hair for me on those two occasions. Instantly I started wondering what he was doing right now, and I wished I was with him. Then my haircut was over. Mom thanked the lady, ran her hands through my soft, freshly cut hair, pronounced it to be much better, tipped the lady, and we left. "Well," she said when we were back inside the car. "You were very good today. And your hair looks so much better!" I was afraid to look at it in my mirror, so I just shrugged in half-hearted agreement. "Are we done now?" I asked, speaking for the first time in what felt like days. "We're done with the errands, yes," she said, and I gave her a suspicious look. "But there's still something else to do?" I ventured, believing myself to be an expert at picking up non-verbal cues from Mom. "Remember how we were supposed to eat out with your sister last weekend but she wasn't home? Well, we're going to try again today," she said, something in her voice leading me to believe there was more to the story than just meeting for a casual lunch. "Okay," I said doubtfully, but just the mention of food got my stomach rumbling. "Where?" "We're meeting her at the Olive Garden," Mom said distractedly. I waited patiently for more explanation, but she didn't elaborate anymore. "Where was she when she was gone all that time?" I asked timidly, watching her expression out of the corner of my eye. Since Jesse had come home a few days ago, I hadn't really seen either one of them. I had been with Brad the rest of the night, and then with Robbie the next night. I hadn't seen Jesse yesterday, probably because she had been working. "Never mind that," Mom said firmly, and I knew then that I was probably never going to hear the story unless Jesse herself wanted to tell me. "That's not really your business anyway, is it?" she asked. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to answer or not. "I just wondered," I grumbled. But I held my tongue after that, sensing any questions on the subject I asked would be left flatly unanswered. We drove the rest of the way in silence, the only sound coming from the radio, where Mom's music station was always playing a sappy love song. We got right in, and Jesse was already waiting for us. I watched Mom and Jesse carefully to see how they interacted, but I couldn't pick up anything. They didn't seem to avoiding eye contact or anything like that, and as I chugged the water they brought us all before we ordered, I listened to them talk. It seemed normal enough. I perused the menu and wondered if I hadn't been wrong in reading signs of tension over this arrangement in the car. Maybe it really would just be an ordinary meeting for lunch with the family. At least, with the three quarters of the family, anyway. No sooner had I ordered the three meat ravioli then Mom proved my initial fears to be valid. "I've been thinking about putting the house on the market," she said quietly as soon as the waiter left with our order. I took a sip of my full Dr. Pepper to stall, assuming this was news to Jesse as well as me. I was going to let Jesse speak first. But when I looked over at her, I saw that she was looking at me expectantly, along with Mom. Maybe they had already talked about it. "Why?" I asked. That was the best I could come up with. "We can't afford to stay there without your Dad's income," Mom answered directly, looking as though she had anticipated that for my first question. "I told you from the beginning we might have to move." "Where would we move?" I asked, trying not to sound angry. "Somewhere hundreds of miles away where I wouldn't recognize anything or anyone?" "Of course not," Mom said quickly. "We'd go somewhere as close to where we are now as possible. Somewhere in San Antonio, for sure." "But probably not in this school district," I finished for her glumly. "Probably not," she agreed. "We probably wouldn't stay in Leon Valley." "How come you're not saying anything?" I asked, turning to Jesse. "Don't you care?" "She already told me," Jesse said tonelessly. It sounded as though she, in fact, did not care. "Figures," I said into my drink. "I'm always the last to know everything. No one seems to ever think anything that happens is any of my business," I added, glaring at Mom as I said it. She gave me a sympathetic look and reached out to pat my arm. "I just told Jesse about this the other night," she said. "The night she came home." The part she added at the end sounded awkward, like she wasn't comfortable bringing up the topic of Jesse's strange disappearing act. "Why are you being so quiet?" I asked Jesse impatiently. I didn't want to be the only one upset by this news. I wanted Jesse to help persuade Mom into staying. I wasn't that good at talking Mom into things; I never knew the right words to use. Jesse could be much more persuasive, and I needed her to back me up here. Instead she was almost acting the part of a spectator, which was uncharacteristic of her, and it was very frustrating. "Shut up, Zach," she groaned. "What do you want me to do? Scream and tip the table over? It's not like there's anything else Mom can do about it." "Well, she could wait a little longer!" I nearly yelled, lowering my voice just enough to keep others from turning and looking at us. "You could at least wait a few more months, couldn't you?" I asked, turning back to Mom. "I could," Mom agreed patiently. "But the situation won't be changing any. All waiting around would accomplish is letting you start the school year here. Then you'd have to start at a new school with the year already in progress. Wouldn't that be worse? Besides, even if I do put the house on the market now, there's no telling how long it would take to sell it. Even if we did this now, it still could take a while." I didn't say anything to that. Instead I steamed inwardly, taking refuge once again in my soda, which I slowly but methodically drained without ever taking my mouth off the straw. On instinct I found my hand reaching up to tousle my hair, but when it got there I was reminded that I didn't really have enough hair to tousle now. That only pissed me off more. "Why can't you just try and wait and see if you and Dad can get back together?" I blurted out suddenly, breaking an awkward silence that had fallen over us. Even Jesse seemed taken aback by my question. Mom looked downright uncomfortable, but I didn't care. "I just don't see that happening, Zach," she said softly. "How do you know?" I demanded. "You guys seemed to be talking quite a bit when Jesse was missing." "I wasn't `missing', you little jerk," Jesse interrupted. "What did you tell him, Mom?" she asked, turning accusingly towards her. "I didn't tell him anything," Mom responded tiredly. I could tell the lunch was not going as well as she'd hoped. Based on the way she'd been acting before we got here, her expectations weren't too high in the first place, but now it was going even worse than planned. "No, she definitely didn't tell me anything," I agreed angrily. "And don't worry about it. I don't care where you were, anyway." "Don't be hateful, Zach," Mom warned me. "There's something else you need to know, too," she said immediately afterwards, and I gritted my teeth, waiting for the next piece of stellar news. "Jesse, why don't you tell him, since it's your idea?" "You agreed to it," Jesse muttered, sounding as though she didn't really want to bear the responsibility of telling me this bit of information. "I'm going to move in with Dad," she said shortly, crisply. She left it at that, and once again both pairs of eyes were on me. "No wonder you didn't care we're moving," I said simply, keeping my response just as short as her announcement had been. "It's not necessarily a permanent thing," Mom cut in awkwardly. "It has nothing to do with divorce arrangements or anything like that. For now, though, Jesse is going to be living with your Dad. It'll be an indefinite thing." "Dad's living in a motel," I said, my voice low and bland. "How is that supposed to work?" Mom fidgeted again, looking at Jesse briefly before looking back to me. "He's found an apartment now, actually," she said. "We've been talking about this situation with Jesse for a while, and he got a two bedroom apartment not too far from us." Great. Another piece of information they were kind enough to finally let me know about. "Oh," was all I bothered to say now. I didn't really feel like talking anymore. I just wanted to get my food so I could pretend to be busy eating it, even though my appetite was pretty much gone. "I'm sorry to dump all this on you at once, sweetie," Mom said apologetically. "No, it's fine," I replied coldly. "I'm glad to see the family is officially being broken apart and no one bothered to tell me until now." "God, Zach," Jesse said, "why do you have to be such a brat about everything? Can't you be a little more understanding?" "He can react however he wants," Mom said quickly, but not quickly enough to keep me from exploding. "I'm not the one who disappears for days without telling anyone where I am!" I shouted at her, wanting to throw my empty cup in her direction. It wasn't fair for her to make it sound like I was being selfish when she'd done far worse in my opinion. "You don't even know what happened, asshole!" Jesse fired back. "Enough!" Mom said, raising her voice significantly. We hadn't caused a public scene yet, but it wasn't far off. Our waiter appeared by our table just as the argument died off. Completely oblivious to our squabbling, he cheerfully set our respective lunches in front of us, asking how everything was going for us. "Fantastic!" I said to him sarcastically, drawing looks of surprise from both Jesse and Mom. After the initial surprise at my rare scathing remark to a perfect stranger, I noticed Mom biting her lip to keep from laughing. Jesse noticed too, and quickly broke into a fit of snickering, which set Mom off. I was the last to join in, but keeping a serious face was impossible after watching them both break up so badly. Mom dabbed at her moist eyes with a napkin, her shoulders still shaking from the comic relief. "Let's eat," she said, shaking her head in amazement at the turbulent events of an innocent lunch. I spent the rest of the evening with Dad. We talked about all the things Mom, Jesse, and I had discussed at the Olive Garden, including the probability of us moving. He drove us by the apartments he was about to move into so I could see them, and then he surprised me by taking me out to play tennis. Mom had told him of my newfound hobby, and since he had at one point been a pretty regular player, he thought we might have a little father son bonding time on the court. Playing Dad was different from playing Brad in so many ways. Firstly, he wasn't as good, although he was still a lot better than me. The main difference was that I could tell Dad wasn't trying his hardest. He let me win several times without telling me so, whereas Brad would sooner die than let me beat him. He was also much more instructive, giving me advice on footwork. Brad was full of pointers when we weren't playing, but while our games went on I was mostly on my own, aside from the occasional vague reminder when I got overly frustrated. Dad helped me add a little more force to my serve by showing me I could get a more downward angle on it if I left my feet slightly. He also taught me how to better position myself when returning serves. When we played for real, I worked both sides of the net relentlessly. My shots were soft, because if I tried to hit the ball too hard it never worked, but in a way the fact that all my shots were returnable made it harder for Dad. He was working extra hard to get to all the balls I hit, and before long my continual alternating of sides was wearing him out. I smiled inwardly, a mean streak running through me that said he was getting what he deserved for smoking so much lately. Before long he couldn't go anymore and he made us quit and get dinner. I was still full from the Olive Garden, where I had eaten more than I thought I would, so I didn't eat much. He had me home by nine, and Jesse was getting a lot of her things together when I came back in the house. She wasn't putting up her necessities just yet, but she told me as soon as Dad had finished the paperwork on the apartment she would be moving in there with him. I went and sat on the living room couch, staring blankly at the TV. It was obvious Mom had been watching it last, because it was still on CNN. I changed it to a movie channel and watched without actually watching, fiddling with my shorts and casually playing with myself just out of habit. I stopped quickly when I saw Mom come into the room out of my peripheral vision. She leaned in over the back of the couch and gave me a kiss on the top of my head. "What did you do and your dad do tonight?" she asked cheerfully. "Nothing," I said distantly. "Played tennis and ate dinner, mostly." "Did you talk about everything we talked about earlier?" she probed, now running a couple of her fingers soothingly through my hair. I think she was just relieved it was short again. "Yeah." "Good," she said. "I'm sorry if you feel left out of all this, honey. I'm not trying to keep anything from you. I just don't want to tell you something until I know it's going to happen." "I know." "Try not to be too mad at me, alright?" she asked, giving me another kiss, an even quicker one this time, entirely out of motherly obligation. "I'm going to bed," she announced. "Good night, buddy." She was still calling me that. It didn't sting anymore, but I didn't appreciate it. That wasn't her word. "Good night," I returned softly, listening to her footsteps down the hallway. She poked her head into Jesse's room, told her good night, too, and then moments later her door shut quietly behind her. I turned the volume down lower on the TV and sunk into the couch, wondering how it was possible to wake up feeling so exhausted and then finding yourself completely awake that same night after a full day of activity. It was like my body had forgotten I had deprived it of sleep last night. My mind wandered off to Brad again as my eyes continued to focus half-heartedly on the TV. I wanted so badly to tell him about everything that happened today, but I didn't think he'd be home now, and even if he was, I didn't want to bother him on a Saturday night. I decided I would be lazy tomorrow and sleep in as late as possible. Then I would mow the backyard, swim for a while, and spend the rest of the day playing video games. On Monday I would bother Brad and make him listen to every little thing that had happened to me since the last time I saw him. I didn't notice my grip loosening on the remote control that I hadn't even put down because I had meant to flip through the channels and see if anything good was on. My eyelids fluttered momentarily, and then the fatigue that had been suppressed all day hit me full force and I passed out in my low position on the couch, the remote control slipping out of my grasp and falling with a thud to the carpet. I ended up getting sidetracked for the first few days of the week, though, and my plans to bug Brad were delayed. On Monday I slept late and went outside to hit tennis balls off the garage, hoping to be out there when Brad got back from work. But his car never appeared, and I went inside and forgot about it. I spent the rest the evening with Dad again. Apparently he was still too sore from Saturday, because he didn't even so much as utter the word "tennis" the whole time. Instead he just took me to a movie, where he wouldn't have to do any running at all. He got his apartment on Tuesday, and I rode over there with Jesse to look at it while she moved all her stuff in. It was nice; small, but cozy and in good condition. Jesse's room was about half the size of her current one, but I guess she was willing to make sacrifices. So it wasn't until the middle of the week that I finally made it over to Brad's. It was around seven on Wednesday, a hot, muggy evening as I left my house and walked barefoot across the grass, crossing over the boundary where my yard became Brad's yard. I rang the doorbell, bracing myself inwardly for another awkward interaction with Brad's father. But I had not braced myself for the person who did answer the door. It wasn't Brad, and it definitely wasn't his dad, either. Tyler was back. "Hey, Zach," he chirped. "You cut your hair." "Yeah," I said, my heart sinking. It had been so nice having Brad to myself these past several weeks. Now this little shit was going to make sure I didn't get another second alone with Brad the rest of the summer. After that Brad would go back home, I would move to a different neighborhood altogether, and for all I knew my life would never be good again. The rest of my life might have been ruined, and it was all because Tyler was standing in front of me in the doorway. "Were you looking for Brad?" he asked when I just stood there in silence. "He's not here," he said, answering his own question. "He's out somewhere with some girl. I got home this weekend and I've hardly seen him since." I would be gone as much as I could if I lived with you, too, I thought bitterly. "Oh," I said, even more disappointed now. "Okay." I started to turn away, but he called out for me to wait. I turned back and looked at him. "I got a new Xbox game," he informed me, as if that was newsworthy. I'm sure he got a new Xbox game every day. "NCAA Football '06. You wanna come inside and play it with me?" I didn't, but I hadn't thought up a very good excuse. "Brad will probably come home soon," he added, and on that note I shrugged and came inside. I studied him inside the foyer. Amazingly, he was taller than the last time I saw him. I had been a few inches taller than him before, but now he had closed the gap to maybe half an inch. Granted, I was going to be probably one of the smallest eighth graders at school, but it was still weird standing eye to eye with a kid going into sixth grade. He was surprisingly tan from summer camp, too. He had been almost comically pale earlier in the summer, and from the looks of his complexion back then I didn't think he was the sort of person who could get tan. His curly brown hair was as mop-like and unkempt as ever, but it was so abundant it was kind of cool, and I was jealous, once again resenting having my locks shorn recently. "What've you been up to?" he asked me good-naturedly, not sounding quite as bratty as I remembered him. "Nothing much," I admitted. "Swimming and video games." "Awesome," he laughed. "Do you want a drink or anything?" I declined and followed him down the hall into his room, neglecting to tell him that I'd slept in his bed a few times and spent my share of time on his Xbox while he was away. I had done my best to take his place as Brad's little brother, but now here he was, back from summer camp to foil my plans. I had to admit he was acting a lot cooler so far. I figured the insufferable part of him would come back out as soon as we starting playing video games, though. It didn't. He played pretty poorly, especially for his standards. He made sure I understood he was still learning the game, but since I was too, I didn't think that was a very good excuse. We played a few games, and each time I was able to triumph over his treasured Longhorns with a combination of Kansas State and Colorado, respectively. He put up with losing surprisingly well, and he actually made several humorous comments over the course of our games. Slowly I dropped the guard I had always kept up around him and began to talk to him normally, and by the time we had finished our second game I was beginning to wonder if maybe I should stop hating him. We transitioned smoothly from video games in his bedroom to drinking soda and watching TV in the living room. He flipped through the channels, stopped briefly on the Astros game, and then kept flipping. Seeing the Astros brought a funny feeling along with it these days. On one hand, I still hated baseball and everything about it, but I associated the Astros with Brad so closely now that seeing them on TV for the first time in a while gave me a longing feeling almost like homesickness. I wondered if they were still playing well or if they had gone back to losing everything like they were at first. On cue, the garage door opened, and my heart sped up happily. Seconds later the door opened forcefully and Brad walked in, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and a pair of gym shorts. I wondered if he'd been playing tennis without me. "Hey, bud," he said when he saw I was sitting in the recliner chair. "What's up?" It was funny. When Mom called me "bud" or "buddy", it was almost offensive, because I was so used to Dad calling me that. But hearing Brad call me it was anything but offensive. Rather, it was like music to my ears. "Nothing," I said shyly. I was happy to see him, but I didn't really know how to show it, so I stayed quiet. "Where were you?" I asked him shyly. "Out with Sara. Then I went to work out. Scoot," he said to Tyler as a greeting, smacking his knee with the back of his hand. Tyler gave him a scornful look and eventually obliged him by moving over on the couch to give Brad his customary seat against the right arm of the sofa. "And I don't need to tell you what channel you're going to put it on," he added, leaning back comfortably as though it was a given that his word was final. "Sorry," Tyler said defiantly. "Me and Zach were here first, and we don't want to watch the Astros. You're overruled." "Fuck that," Brad said, groping at Tyler's arm for the remote. Tyler pulled away with a giggle, but could only resist for so long before Brad overpowered him. "This is most certainly not a democratic society, and even if it were, my vote would count for at least three." Without taking his eyes off the TV, Brad felt around the coffee table for his bag of sunflower seeds. He finally found them and pulled them into his lap, holding them out to Tyler before dumping a handful into his palm. The beginning of the summer flashed quickly in my mind as I watched this familiar scene, and I felt a surge of affection for them both. There's no telling how horrible my summer might have been were it not for Brad, and I suppose Tyler should get some credit, too, since he's the one who hit the ball over the fence in the first place. "Clemens is pitching," I observed, seeing a large fellow on the mound that I recognized from one of Brad's previous lectures on the Houston roster. Brad looked at me with pride. "Hey, you're making progress. And you're damn right he's pitching. If they can just hold this lead for him, he might actually win for a change. I'm sick of them forgetting to score whenever he pitches. It's not fair how much they've screwed him over this year." "Who cares?" Tyler yawned. "He's old and fat, and baseball sucks." He got up and left the room, and I giggled a little at his remark. Brad shot him a disapproving look as he left. "He's been different since he got back," Brad said quietly. "I can hear you!" Tyler called, and I heard the bathroom door click shut behind him. "So quit eavesdropping!" Brad yelled back. "Anyway," he went on with a roll of his eyes, "apparently he made a bunch of friends at camp. He's been hanging out with a lot of new people. He's gone almost as much as I am. I think he's actually not a dork now." He paused to watch the game. "But until he likes baseball, I'm still not admitting we're related," he smiled. "I like baseball," I blurted without thinking. As soon as I said it I blushed. He probably wouldn't take me seriously, anyway. He knew I didn't really like watching the Astros play. "There might be hope for you," he said with the slightest of grins. Of course, there wasn't really hope for me. Baseball was the most boring sport on earth, but I figured watching it was a small price to pay to be with Brad. Tyler came out of the bathroom and pounced on me, knocking me to the floor. He had pinned me to the ground within seconds. "You're really easy to tackle for a thirteen-year-old," he observed, looking down at me on the ground. Staring straight up into his face like I was, I could see a certain resemblance in his face and Brad's, mostly in their noses. They both had those button noses that were just slightly upturned. "Don't waste your time trying to get him to wrestle," Brad said as he stuffed a handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth and stored them in his cheek. "He doesn't fight back." "That's boring," Tyler said, digging his knees harder into my chest. "Why are you so boring, Zach?" "He's not boring," Brad defended me. "He's just passive. Leave him alone. Not everyone likes to drink sugar in their water." "I only did that once!" Tyler giggled. "And it was after I saw Men in Black." He relented and rolled off me when he had discovered that I really wasn't going to try and displace him from on top of me. "Come on," he said, motioning for me to get up. "Let's go play Counter-Strike." I jumped off the floor and ran after Tyler instantly, without a moment's hesitation. I could always soak up time with Brad later, when the Astros weren't playing anymore.