All That's True (20 page)

Joshua is growing faster than a patch of weeds. He’s catching up with other babies his age and starting to pull himself up around furniture. He laughs and jabbers and gobbles up the baby food they give him. And he’s the cutest little guy. He looks like a miniature Alex. He has the same curly blonde hair and big brown eyes.

Tonight is extra exciting because I get to babysit all by myself for the very first time. My mother has four tickets to the theater and thought it would be nice for Jeffrey and Amy to have a night out. Let me rephrase that. A man my mother met at one of her meetings has four tickets to the theater and asked my mother if she’d like to go and bring some friends. Normally, this would upset me. It’s sort of like a date. But considering that my father is getting married and has no plans to come home, I’m excited for my mother. She claims it isn’t a date. But he is picking her up and taking her to the theater. That sounds very much like a date to me. His name is Vincent Armstrong. Let me correct myself. His full name is Dr. Vincent Armstrong. He’s a pediatrician. My mother’s first date and it’s with a doctor. He has his own practice. That should show my father. The only thing is my mother met him at an AA meeting. Bummer.

“Is he an alcoholic?”

“A recovering alcoholic,” my mother says. “He’s been in the program for over ten years.”

“And he’s stayed sober all that time?” I ask.

My mother nods her head.

“Why does that program work so well?”

“That’s a bit complicated,” my mother explains, “but the important thing is it works for people who believe in God and it works for people who don’t believe in God.”

“So it works for everyone?”

“Perhaps not for people who believe they are God,” she says.

***

Babysitting is a little more complicated than I figured it would be. Joshua is having a crying jag. I’ve checked his diaper, I’ve checked to see if any of his clothes are pinching him like they taught us in class. I’ve tried to feed him, and I’ve played peek-a-boo for twenty minutes. No dice. He just keeps crying. I’m about ready to call the theater when I decide to try the television. I read babies and small children are not to watch it. Something about it intervenes with their creative processes, but I’m desperate. Being Saturday night, I can’t find any cartoons on. Amy and Jeffrey only have basic cable. But I find a western, a rerun of
Bonanza
. There’s a lot of shooting going on in this episode and horses are causing quite a ruckus, too. Joshua loves it. He immediately stops crying and starts laughing. Can you believe it? I’ve tried everything to make him happy and one episode of
Bonanza
and he’s in baby heaven. I hope there’s an episode two following episode one. We settle in on the sofa with him on my lap. He’s chewing away on a teething ring I found in the freezer and his eyes are glued to the television. Then I realize that’s what might be wrong. He’s teething. Our instructor at the babysitting class says it can be very painful. Under those circumstances I personally don’t feel that the distraction of television is a bad thing. He’s not going to be doing anything creative anyway while he’s in pain.

After
Bonanza
’s over, Joshua is happy to take a bottle. I change him one more time and rock him to sleep. I’m very pleased with myself. I’ve managed to soothe a teething baby and keep him well occupied ’til bedtime. If I were my instructor I’d give myself an A+ or maybe an A−. I did fall asleep before midnight and one of the rules was to stay awake until at least twelve o’clock in case the baby or children if that’s the case need you.

I’m not sure how long I slept, but I got to meet my mother’s date when they got back from the theater. Jeffrey picked me up before Dr. Armstrong ever got to our house, so I could get reacquainted with Joshua while Amy got ready, so I never got to see him before he picked my mother up.

After the theater, they all went to a restaurant for dessert and coffee, so obviously the doctor and my mother are getting along really good.

“Andi, this is Dr. Armstrong,” my mother says. The doctor puts his hand out. He’s rather nice looking. He doesn’t have much hair, but he has blue eyes big as lakes.

“My daughter Andréa,” my mother says very proudly, like I’m her greatest accomplishment. Leave it to my mother. She always thinks the best of me.

I’m too sleepy to make much of an impression. I nod my head and try to smile, but my eyes are not fully open. I look like I’d been on a bender, which is probably not a good image to portray to a recovering alcoholic. My mother says alcoholics have three kinds of behavior: compulsive, impulsive, and when they are drinking, repulsive.

I’ll try to make a better impression next time. I hope there will be one for my mother’s sake. It would be nice for her to get interested in someone else, since my father is no longer interested in her.

School starts in two weeks. I’m kind of excited. This will be my second year of high school, but it’s a new school just opening, so everyone will be sort of brand new and just wandering around trying to find the rooms they’re supposed to be in. And that’s exactly what I’ll be doing, so at least I won’t stand out and look stupid.

What’s more exciting is that my mother has agreed to let me go to visit Bridget!

I leave in three days. And I get to stay three days. My mother said that is long enough for a visit or the hostess will feel that I’ve overextended my welcome. By hostess, she means Bridget’s Aunt Ellen. Bridget would love for me to stay forever.

Beth received word that she has been accepted to law school at Emory. Her classes start next week. Right now she is visiting with a girlfriend from high school that she reconnected with over the summer. Her name is Adrienne. She’s a missionary and is leaving for a place in the Congo called Zaire. Beth is in awe. My mother and I are, too. You can tell by looking at Adrienne that she is a tomboy and probably has been all her growing-up life. She’s wearing a pale blue button-down shirt and white jeans with loafers and no socks. Surely where she is going she’ll have to start wearing socks. Most likely there are snakes and lizards and all sorts of creepy-crawly things where she is headed. It doesn’t seem to me like she and Beth would have much in common. Beth has always been what my father refers to as a girly-girl. They are a strange pair, these two, but seem to get along very well. The reason they got reacquainted is that Adrienne saw the article in the newspaper where Beth auctioned off all her wedding gifts and gave the money to charity. The next thing you know, Adrienne was on the phone telling Beth what a wonderful idea and they should get together and she had some exciting news, which is the fact she’s a missionary. So there you have it. They’re like best friends now and talk on the phone every day. Adrienne leaves next week. Zaire is not a good place to be going to. That part of the world is always cutting each other’s heads off. I looked up Zaire at the library. The librarian was very helpful in pointing out articles of interest. Apparently Zaire’s leader, President Mobutu, is very unpopular, and a lot of people want to oust him. But he doesn’t care. He says he’s not going anywhere. This is making a lot of people mad, especially parts of the military that have access to heavy artillery. There is one man who has been against Mobutu for twenty-two years. His name is Mr. Mungul Diaka. I can’t pronounce it. He says the entire opposition has been fighting to remove President Mobutu. A lot of good it has done them. Mobutu is still in power. Mr. Mungul Diaka is also upset, he says, because the Western countries have stopped giving economic aid just when they need it the most.

One magazine article quoted him. “During twenty-six years your respective governments have supported Mobutu’s regime. Now that the Zairian people are fighting to obtain democracy, the West leaves.”

There’s a picture of him next to the quote. He has his hand over his head and is raising his fist. He’s pretty mad. Both sides are probably at a boiling point. I can’t imagine why this friend of Beth’s would want to travel to a place that is full of danger. What if they don’t like her being over there? What if one side decides to cut off her head?

Adrienne is staying for dinner. While Rosa is busy in the kitchen preparing our meal, Beth and I are visiting with Adrienne in the library. She looks very ordinary—other than the fact she dresses sort of like a man. She has short brown hair, cut pixie-style and light blue eyes—but here she is ready to do an unbelievable thing, travel to a dangerous country to bring God’s word.

“Aren’t you scared?” I ask.

“I’ll be working in the refugee camps and won’t be in any immediate danger,” she says. “There are over four hundred thousand refugees in need of help.”

“I’m sure they have plenty of people over there doing their job. Couldn’t you find another place to go to?” I say.

“Almost half of Zaire’s population is under the age of fifteen,” she says. “I need to be there to help these children.”

Beth says it’s an extraordinary thing to do and gets up off the sofa. She goes to the window in the library and looks out at our garden. It’s always very peaceful there. Maybe she’s thinking it’s the last peaceful image her friend will ever see. Nothing against all those children under fifteen that need help, but I think someone older that’s already had a life should help them. Adrienne is twenty-two years old, like Beth. Her real life has barely begun.

“You know, Andi,” Adrienne says, “There’s so much turmoil there and the birth rate is ridiculous. The fertility rate is estimated to be six-point-one children born per woman. We need to educate them in birth control. Someone has to do it. Why not me?”

I don’t have a good answer for that question.

“So it’s settled,” she says. “I’m going. You can pray for me.”

This girl is very determined. I doubt anyone could possibly change her mind. She’s going to be an aid worker and a missionary in Zaire and that’s that. This could be the last time we ever see her. I think of the meal Rosa is preparing. Sort of like a last supper.

I turn to Adrienne. “It really doesn’t seem like a good place to be right now, is all.”

“Oh, people go over there all the time and they’re fine.” She pats my hand and smiles brightly.

I’m not so sure. But it is not up to us to make decisions for other people. Otherwise I would definitely make the decision that my father would be returning to my mother.

When Adrienne leaves I turn to Beth. “Aren’t you afraid for her?”

Beth gathers up two of her law school books that are sitting on my father’s desk. She is using his desk now like it’s hers. “A little,” she says. “Most of all I’d admire her for her choices.”

Beth sets the books down and comes over to me. She brushes the hair out of my eyes and cups my face in her hands.

“We all have to make choices, sweetie,” she says. “Regardless of what has transpired in our life, the future is always up to us.”

She makes it sound so easy, but I don’t care right now that she does. She has never been so tender to me and it makes me want to cry. And I just want to hug her. I think of what she’s gone through this past year and she never even complained. She just moved on. I guess she’s truly grown-up. In a way that makes me very sad. I’ve lost my father and now I’ll be losing Beth. She’s bound to move away before long. Still, I’m a bit hopeful. Since there is a future out there for her, then maybe there is one out there for me.

***

My mother is going out again with Dr. Armstrong. He’s picking her up at eight. They’re having a quiet dinner and then, if they like, they might go see a movie.

“
The Crying Game
is playing at Cinema Eight,” she says. “I’d love to see it.”

The description in the paper sounds very depressing. “Why don’t you see
Home Alone 2,
” I say, “or how about
My Cousin Vinny
? Something funny.”

My mother doesn’t answer. She just smiles and nods her head. I’m glad she’s making new friends. I was worried that she’d start drinking again. I’m very proud of her. She goes to her meetings regularly and talks to Alice, her sponsor, every day. And now she’s seeing Dr. Armstrong. Life is getting back to being just about perfect.

That means something’s bound to happen to screw it up.

I’m flying back from Charlotte and there’s a woman on the plane next to me that is too big to be sitting in one seat and part of me wants to say, “Excuse me, ma’am, but you’re taking up half my seat,” and there is another part that wants to just scrunch myself up and forget it. Like maybe she can’t help it she’s fat. Maybe she diets all the time and it’s no use; it’s in her genes or something to be fat, so that part of me wins out, the part that shuts up and smiles and doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, look at the sky,” she says, and leans over and nearly suffocates me. I look out the window and it takes your breath away, and I’m not sure if it’s because the sky is so beautiful or if she has succeeded in crushing my lungs. Regardless, the view is breathtaking. It’s like you’re standing on top of heaven and all that’s beneath you are white clouds cushioning all the angels.

Bridget and I had the best time. Well, we had the best time, other than the time we had to spend with her aunt’s family who are really weird people. Her husband tells jokes all the time. The first night he said he had two new ones.

“What do you get if you cross an elephant with a kangaroo? Give up? Big holes in Australia.”

Bridget and I are hoping he’s done, but oh no, he has another.

“What do you get if you cross poison ivy with a four-leaf clover?” He doesn’t even wait for us to guess. “A rash of good luck. Get it, a rash of good luck!”

“Oh, Edward,” Bridget’s Aunt Ellen says. “That’s so funny! Ha ha ha,” she goes.

But if you ask me it’s really stupid. Bridget and I just sit there and roll our eyes. Adam starts laughing like a hyena. He’s eight. That’s one of Ashley’s brothers. She has two. But he’s really sort of cute, so he’s not so bad. The other one is a mess. His name is Abner and he’s twelve. He’s mostly a jerk. He walks around the house sniffing his armpits. I’m serious. I saw him doing that twice.

“You didn’t tell me you had two boy cousins,” I tell Bridget.

“No,” she whispers, “I never got past Ashley. It’s pure hell.”

Ashley is very annoying. She wanted to see what was in my suitcase so she just started unpacking it. Gross.

“Want to see my frog collection?” she says. Oh boy, that’s exactly why I flew five hundred miles.

“Maybe later,” I tell her. Bridget escorts her out the bedroom door and closes it.

Ashley knocks twice and opens it right back up. “Can I come in?”

Bridget has just shown her out of the room. Does that tell you what a problem this kid is, or what? Not that I’m not willing to give her a chance, but I only have three days. I’m not willing to waste them on Ashley, who cried at the airport because her mother wouldn’t let her sit in the back seat with me and Bridget. And then at dinner she insisted that she sit between us and Bridget’s Aunt Ellen said it would be okay. So, I’m thinking that Ashley’s trying hard to muscle in on our time together, which makes me mad, because it’s very limited. Plus, Bridget doesn’t much like her either, so Ashley is hardly going to be on my good side. She whines a lot when she doesn’t get her way. Bridget suggested instead of cooking that we go to McDonald’s for dinner the next night.

“Pig out on some junk food for once. You’re always cooking us nutritional meals so it probably won’t hurt,” Bridget points out.

And her Aunt Ellen says, “That’s true.”

And Ashley stomps her feet and says, “I want to go to Golden Krust!”

Golden Krust it is. Bridget’s Aunt Ellen is always giving in to Ashley. At least the food’s good. They have hamburger wraps filled with seasoned meat, sort of Jamaican style, and a lot of other stuff to choose from, like curly-Q fries and cheese nuggets. But the point is Ashley gets what Ashley wants and that part is annoying.

After dinner we play Sorry. Ashley cries whenever she’s losing, which is almost every other throw of the dice. Finally Bridget says, “Look, either keep playing and be a good sport or just quit!”

Her Aunt Ellen comes into the room and says, “What’s going on?” Bridget does her best to explain that Ashley is being a poor sport. Aunt Ellen says, “Well, she hasn’t had much practice at this game. You need to give her a few extra turns until she gets the hang of it.”

So you see what I mean about Ashley. Her mother is a big enabler for most everything that’s wrong with her. But do you think she looks at it like that? Forget it, she thinks Ashley is perfect. This is the main reason I don’t like Bridget’s Aunt Ellen. She plays favorites. Now the boys, that’s a different matter altogether. Take when they were brushing their teeth. Mostly they were just spitting on each other’s head, but still they shouldn’t have to go to bed and not watch television. That’s just boy stuff, but Ellen comes up and sees what’s going on and sends them straight to bed. Ashley could spit on her father and Ellen would say, “Don’t worry, darling, it’s just a phase.” She’d kiss the top of Ashley’s head and give her second helpings of pizza.

One of the things we did that was really fun was play miniature golf at this course that has waterfalls, Zuma Fun Center. Ashley had a meltdown every time she hit the ball. For the most part, she knocked it into the next hole. Well, not in the hole, but in the playing field for that hole. Her father tried to explain that she was swinging the club too hard, but do you think that helped? Take one guess. So the entire time the rest of us are having fun trying to get our ball into the hole with the least strokes possible—and not doing that good of a job of it I might add—Ashley is crying and carrying on that there’s something wrong with her club or her ball.

“This isn’t fair!” she says. “I can’t play with this club.”

“Let me see that club,” Ellen says. She takes it from Ashley and gives it a good shake. “You know,” she says, “I think Ashley’s right. It’s out of balance or something.” She hands the club back to Ashley. “Just do the best you can, honey, and don’t worry about the score. We won’t count the ones that go over par by more than two. How’s that?”

It must be fine, because Ashley doesn’t complain for the rest of the game. But you can see that her mother is the big problem here, and all that means in the future is big trouble. Like maybe Ashley is turning into a serial killer. When she’s fully grown, I can hear her mother, “Are you sure darling? You just have to kill her? Well, okay, then, sweetie, chop away, but I’m just going to pretend I didn’t see it, okay?”

We could be talking lethal injection here. But Bridget’s Aunt Ellen doesn’t see it that way. Bottom line, Ashley’s a pain and her mother is useless. The boys aren’t so bad. In fact, they’re doing fine on miniature golf. Actually, they’re not playing that well, but it doesn’t bother them, they just keep swinging and laughing and their father marks down the number of swings they take and we move on to the next hole, which is how the game should be played, without any complaints.

We hit the bumper cars next. Abner is tall enough to operate one on his own, but Adam rides with me. Bridget and Ashley ride in another, which is too bad. I really want to crash into Ashley, which means I’ll get Bridget at the same time. It turns out I don’t have to worry about that. Abner is very good at bumper cars. I spend all my time just trying to stay away from him, but he always manages to bash right into us. Adam thinks it’s hysterical, but the truth is my neck is starting to hurt and my hands are numb from hanging on to the wheel so tight. I’m glad when our time is up. We got half an hour. The batting cage is our last stop. Bridget and I missed a lot of the balls pitched at us, but managed to slam a few good ones. It’s kind of addictive. The more times you swing the more times you want to. We had a great time. Except for the part where Ashley missed all the balls pitched to her and had another meltdown—which, of course, did not surprise me. Ashley spent the whole day being Ashley, but the boys were real good sports and lots of fun to be around. It’s like they came from a different family.