Becoming Me (5 page)

Anyway, I know I’ve got all kinds of horribly wrong motives going on here, and the whole guilt thing is starting
to get to me a little, but I just can’t seem to help myself. Am I hopeless, or what? Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and I wonder what someone like Beanie Jacobs would say to me right now (that is if she was even talking to me, which she isn’t by the way). She’d probably accuse me of having sold my soul to the devil. To tell the truth, sometimes it almost feels like I did. But I didn’t. At least I’m pretty sure I didn’t. I don’t remember shaking hands or signing anything binding.…

Well, talk about your let-downs. I guess I should’ve known the night was doomed when my dad went ballistic the instant he saw me in my pink dress (did I mention it was strapless?). Well, my poor dad (too bad we didn’t have any tranquilizers on hand) just totally flipped out. “You’re not leaving the house in that—that slip!” I think you’d call it blustering. Anyway, he went on and on, his face growing redder by the moment and the veins visibly popping out in his neck (I was actually worried he was going to have an honest-to-goodness stroke and we’d have to take him to the hospital and I’d miss the dance altogether, which might not have been such a bad thing after all). Anyway, my mom couldn’t even calm him down. And of course, it didn’t help any when Benjamin threw in his two cents, saying that I looked like Marilyn Monroe (I mean, how does he even know who Marilyn Monroe is, or was?). And then just as my parents began getting into what sounded like a horrible fight over the whole thing, I saw Nathan’s car
pull up outside.

So I just waved good-bye and streaked out the door like a powder-pink flash. I explained to Nathan that my parents were in there going totally nuts and the safest thing was just to get away as quickly as possible. Of course, he thought I was joking and laughed.

Anyway, we went to the dance (and the decorations looked pretty good even if I do say so myself). We sat with Jenny and Josh and a bunch of other kids, and just when things started getting fun, Jenny said she felt sick and asked Josh to take her home. And—boom—they were gone. Suddenly, everything at the dance seemed to go totally flat for me, and I didn’t even care if I was there or not. But I tried to paste on a happy face for Nathan’s sake (I mean he’d brought me a wrist corsage and everything). It’s bad enough that I was using him, but at least I wanted him to think he was having a good time.

I can’t really remember too much about the evening after that—at least not until Nathan spilled a whole cup of red Hawaiian punch down the front of my dress. Well, needless to say, I wasn’t too happy about that (imagine pale pink streaked in bright red—it’s not a pretty picture). But just the same, I tried really hard not to make too big of a deal out of it. Then finally, I think Nathan suspected I wasn’t having all that much fun, and he suggested we might like to leave early, which I gladly agreed to.

Then as we were driving home, he asked if I wanted to join Josh and Jenny. Surprised, I said, “But I thought
josh took Jenny home because she was sick.” Nathan just laughed, and then explained how Josh and Jenny had gone to a hotel where Josh had reserved a room for the night. Apparently several other couples were doing the same thing. Well, I’d heard about kids doing stuff like this on prom night, but for some reason this kind of took me by surprise. So, feeling fed up with Nathan and everything else, I told him that I preferred to go home. (Home, to my flipped-out family was what I was thinking.) So, without saying much more, Nathan took me home. And I have a feeling we won’t be going out again. Which, I must admit, is something of a relief.

Fortunately, when I got home, my parents weren’t around. I wasn’t real eager for Mom to see that awful stain on my dress (which I doubt will ever come out). But somehow, I thought she might like to hear about how everything had gone. It’s not like I’d gotten home all that late or anything. Then I wondered if perhaps my parents had made up after their big fight and gone out to a movie or something. (They say that Benjamin is old enough to be left home alone now that he’s twelve, which I happen to think is totally ridiculous—that kid is more dangerous now than when he was seven!)

So I peeked in the garage to see that Dad’s car was gone. But then on my way to my room, I walked past my parents’ door and heard my mom in there—crying. I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but somehow I just couldn’t make myself do it. Maybe it was the awful stain on my dress—or maybe it was something more—like some
sort of childish denial where you want to believe that your parents are special, like they have some secret marriage formula that guarantees that they’ll never have problems, ever. But, of course, I know that’s not really true. I just don’t want to know anything more about it tonight. I mean, it’s already been a pretty rotten evening. Why make things worse?

My dad never did come home last night, and this morning we didn’t even go to church (which didn’t bother me in the least). My mom slept in and when she got up she had these dark circles under her eyes. And I felt really sorry for her. I think Ben did too, because he actually managed to keep his big mouth shut for the most part. In the afternoon, when I just couldn’t stand the silence anymore, I sat down next to her in the living room (where she had been sitting on the sofa for the last hour or so, still wearing her robe) and I asked her what was going on. She just waved her hand and said, “Oh, it’s really nothing.” So, without beating around the bush, I asked her why Dad never came home last night. And she said they’d had a little spat, but not to worry, everything would be okay, and that she was probably just having a bad case of PMS. Nice try, Mom.

But then suddenly it hits me and I totally realize what is going on here. They are fighting over me! And now I feel absolutely miserable. Of course, it all makes sense, lately I’ve become so self-centered with my new friends
and popularity, and I started dating (against my dad’s wishes) and then I wear this expensive and what my dad considers “indecent” dress. I can see now I’ve pitted my parents against each other and I feel really bad about it. So, I throw my arms around my mom and tell her how sorry I am, and how everything is going to get better—just wait and see!

I know this unexpected display surprised my mom a little, but she did seem comforted by my concern. Anyway, I decided not to say too much about it just yet. My plan is to wait and talk to my dad directly. Unfortunately, he hasn’t come home at all today, which does have me a little worried, but I know if I can only talk to him for a little while, and tell him I’m sorry, and how I want to stick to his no-dating rule and everything—then I’m absolutely certain that everything will get back to normal around here. And the truth is, I don’t really care whether I ever date again—well, at least not for a long, long time.

Okay, I guess, that is, unless Josh and Jenny should somehow break up, which isn’t at all likely considering what they were up to last night (something I’d really rather not think about). No, I seriously doubt that they’ll be breaking up anytime real soon. And all of a sudden, I wonder what Beanie Baby is up to these days. And I’m even thinking about giving her a call!

Right now I’m so furious, so totally angry (#@!!#!) I can hardly hold this pen straight in my hand to write all this down! First off, my dad never did come home. Mom said he’d called her to tell her he was okay, but that he just wanted to take a little time away to figure things out. And actually, Mom seemed slightly better about everything too. But I
really
wanted to talk to Dad and explain how I wasn’t going to date anymore, and how sorry I was that I came between my parents like that. So after school, I asked Jenny if she could drop me by his office today (he works in this big ad agency downtown). Anyway, she didn’t mind at all.

Now, of course, that meant I had to sit there and listen to her go on and on about how wonderful it had been with Josh the other night (when they went to that stupid hotel!). I mean, I just wanted to scream at her to shut up about the whole moronic thing! Is she so clueless as to not understand that I have absolutely no desire to hear about it—and I don’t care if it was her first time to do it. I just tried to block out all of her words and to stare out the window, and somehow I managed to keep my mouth closed and to control myself from telling her that I thought she was being incredibly stupid, and that she’d be lucky not to get some horrible STD, or worse yet, even pregnant! Because, I reminded myself, she was after all giving me a free ride.

And so there I sat as we drove through the business
section, politely ignoring her constant babbling, letting her words float right over me, and focusing my thoughts on how sad and hopeless my mom had looked on Sunday when my dad didn’t come home. I told myself I was on a mission of mercy to save my family, and if that meant subjecting myself to Jenny’s blathering on about Josh (the boy I’d thought I loved) then it was just the price I had to pay for having been such a complete idiot in the first place.

And finally, we were there, and I thanked her and told her that I’d catch a ride home with my dad. Even though I really wished I could talk to someone, I haven’t told Jenny anything about my parents’ recent marital problems. Somehow I just don’t think she’d care all that much, especially now that she’s so wrapped up in her new and exciting sex life with Josh Miller!

So, there I was riding the elevator up to my dad’s office, rehearsing my little repentance speech, and imagining my dad’s relief to see me and hear how sorry I am about all this. But, of course, he’s in a meeting. I guess I should’ve known, that man’s always in meetings.

“You can wait in his office, dear,” says old Mrs. Greenly, smiling just as pleasantly as ever. (My mom says that she takes happy pills, because no matter how chaotic things get at the office, she somehow keeps every gray hair perfectly in place, and nothing at all ever seems to disturb her.) So anyway, I go into my dad’s office (and it occurs to me that I haven’t been here for at least a couple of years) and I sit in his black leather
chair and lean back, pretending like I’m some big highlevel executive, running a multimillion dollar fashion corporation. Who knows, it could happen. Everything in my dad’s office is either black or gray or chrome—very uptown and classy. Image is everything, they say in the advertising world, and I suppose in some ways I’ve fallen victim to that same sort of thinking. But after waiting for about twenty minutes, my stomach begins to rumble (I still have difficulty eating in front of Jenny and her friends at school) and suddenly I’m wondering if Dad still keeps a supply of Snickers bars hidden somewhere in his desk, and I eagerly begin to search through his orderly desk drawers. And that’s when I find it.

At first when I see the long narrow velvet box (obviously from a fairly nice jewelry store), I think it must be something for Mom, probably an “I’m sorry” sort of Valentine’s Day gift (which is tomorrow by the way). But then I see a white envelope just beneath it—and the name on the envelope doesn’t say “Karen” (my mom’s name) but the name “Belinda” is written neatly on it (in Dad’s precise handwriting)! What in the world is this about, I’m wondering, afraid to even consider the ramifications of something like this. So, I figure as long as I’ve gone this far, I decide I might as well open the box—and inside I see this delicate gold bracelet with what I suspect to be some real diamonds (even if they are somewhat small). I snap the box closed, my heart pounding in my throat. I can’t believe it! Does my dad have a girlfriend? Then I glance quickly over to the still open door,
certain that I’ll be caught snooping.

But no one is watching, so I pick up the smooth white envelope to discover that the back isn’t properly sealed (stupid move, Dad). And even though I know it’s wrong to look, I also need to know the truth. Of course, it’s this totally sappy, lovesick Valentine poem, obviously a feeble attempt for Dad to proclaim his “love and devotion” to this Belinda person—
not my mother
! With totally shaking hands, I stuff the stupid card back into the envelope and shove both these detestable objects back into his lower desk drawer. I don’t even do it very carefully. Why should I care if he thinks someone saw it—I mean, he’s the one who’s got a problem here!!!

Now, all I can think of is that I’ve got to get out of here—and fast! I do not want to see my dad! And when Mrs. Greenly asks why I’m leaving so soon, I can’t even answer, and so she just nods and says, “Well then, goodbye, dear, have a nice day,” just as if my entire world wasn’t crashing down all around me!

And so I ride the elevator back down, certain that I’m going to puke all over the gray carpeting, but somehow I make it back outside where a cold wind is starting to blow and cuts right through my thin jacket like a steel blade that’s slicing right into my heart. And suddenly I feel the tears nearly freezing right on my cheeks. But I keep walking away from the office building, until I finally reach the bus stop a couple blocks down the street. And then I sit down on the cold metal bench and cry.

I’ve never ridden the bus from downtown like that,
but somehow I managed to do it all just right, and after I got off I only had to walk about eight more blocks to get home. (It’s actually a pretty decent transit system we have in this town.) Then I go straight to my room and cry some more. And that’s where I’ve been all night. I never even went down for dinner. I told Mom I was having really bad cramps (the best I could come up with). I can’t stand to look into her eyes right now. I mean, how can I possibly keep a secret like this away from her? Yet how can I possibly tell her? I am so utterly miserable.

I can’t believe it. Here, I was ready to take all the blame for my parents’ problems. I thought their little spat was totally my fault. Now I wish that it were. Oh, if only it were.

It feels like
my entire life is falling apart—on absolutely every level. For starters there’s this awful thing with my parents. (I’ve managed to avoid my mom since yesterday, but how long can that possibly last?) And now she’s down in the kitchen fixing this big special dinner, thinking that my dad’s going to come home and everything’s going to be just fine. Oh brother! And yet, what if he DOES come home? What will I say to him? How can I pretend that I don’t know something is going on with him and that Belinda person?