Pregnant Pause (10 page)

Like I said, I have no patience, so I'm about to jump out of my skin by the time Lam gets to the cabin. As usual, he looks tired.

Most nights he comes in, shakes his head, and says, "Man, I'm tired." Then before he can even pull off his shorts, he falls into bed and goes right to sleep.

He won't let me tell his parents how tired he is, but I'm kind of worried. He's lost weight and he has these dark bags under his eyes all the time. He hates waking up in the morning, and it takes lots of pushing and pulling from me to get him going.

Tonight I cut him off before he gives me his "I'm too tired to speak" speech. "Lam, we have to talk," I say.

He lets out this long sigh. "Now? I'm just so tired. What about? Can't we talk in the morning?"

"No, because you're even more tired in the morning. I really think you should tell your parents how you're feeling, you know? You shouldn't be this tired all the time."

Lam waves my comments away and shuffles over to the bed. He falls onto it face first and rolls over. "So what do you want to talk about? The baby? I'm thinking we should give it to my parents. I think that's the right thing to do." He puts his hands behind his head and closes his eyes as though saying, "End of discussion," when that's not even the discussion I'm wanting to have—but since he brought it up...

"With your parents? What, have they been pressuring you? Last time we talked, you wanted to keep it. Remember? You were talking about growing up and being responsible and crap. What's changed?"

Lam opens his eyes. I go over and climb onto the bed. He's smack in the middle of it, so I climb over him and squeeze myself up against the wall. He doesn't even move his elbow, which pokes out from the side of his head and covers half my pillow. While I'm doing this, he's talking. "What's changed is I've come to my senses. I want to make something of my life. Get out of this hellhole and see the world. How can I do that if I've got to start out having to take care of a baby and all?"

A baby and all? What does he mean by "and all"? Am I the "and all"?

"So what are you saying?"

He stares up at the rafters. "I'm saying that maybe I want a little more in my life than just being a father and a husband."

"Yeah, well, who's stopping you? Go get more. We're going to need you to be more just to survive, so who's stopping you? Don't you think I want more, too? Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life in a fat camp with my in-laws scowling over my shoulder all the day long? I don't think so!"

I feel so mad, and I don't know why. I guess it pisses me off the way he talks like he's got himself all figured out all of a sudden, and the way it sounds like his plans don't include me. I know, I know, just a couple of hours ago I was daydreaming about Ziggy and my plans sure didn't include Lam, but it hurts the way he's talking, and that's why I decide not to tell him about what happened in the counselors' hut. There's nothing to tell, anyway, really, and I don't want to hurt him. I sit up and think about this a second.

Lam notices and touches my arm. "You okay? Is it the baby?"

No, it's not the baby; it's me,
I want to say, but I don't say anything. It's just that it occurs to me that deciding not to hurt Lam feels so grown up. I feel so grown up all of a sudden. First, because I realized that the reason I was hot for Ziggy this afternoon was really because I was missing Lam; and second, be cause I realized that if I told Lam about my thoughts, it would hurt him; and third, because I decided not to hurt him, even though he had just hurt me. I smile to myself and look down at my belly. I rub it to comfort the baby. Tonight's a good night, so I feel like I want the baby. I want to take care of it and be a good mother to it, and I want Lam to love me and to make something of his life for the three of us.

"Eleanor?" Lam rubs my arm, and I lie back down and snuggle up to him, me and the baby.

"Lam, it's going to be all right, isn't it? You love me, don't you? And I love you. I'm going to be the best mother for this baby, and the best wife, and you know I have this idea about a teen pregnancy magazine—about creating one, with interviews and articles and, I don't know, real stuff, honest stuff, the stuff they don't tell teenagers. I'm not going to make it all pretty with pretty people and perfect kids and everything working out just perfectly, because that's not how it is, is it?"

Lam shifts away from me a bit so he can get a look at my face. "When did you decide all this?" he asks. He looks surprised and maybe, I don't know, jealous that he didn't come up with the idea.

"A couple of weeks ago—on our wedding night, I think."

"So, what, like you're going to have ugly people on the cover and tell all these horrible stories about what could go wrong and shit? Who's going to want to look at that?"

I punch him in the chest, and he grunts and brings his knees up. "You're just jealous. Everybody's going to want to look at it, that's who. Everybody who's tired of reading all that phony-baloney stuff they've got in all the other parenting magazines.

"Oh, yeah? And what did you get in Language Arts this year on your report card?"

"Lam, shut up. Why are you shooting down my idea? Is it maybe because you're just all talk about making something of your life? Is it because you don't have a clue what you want to do, and I do? Huh? Is that it? Because if that's it, then you're just being mean, and even if it isn't, you're still being mean." I get up and crawl to the end of the bed and climb off. "I think it's a great idea, and so does Ziggy, so there. And, I'm thinking we should move to Boston as soon as we can afford it, because Boston is a great place to raise a kid."

Lam props himself on his elbows. "Well, screw you! I know exactly what I want to do," he says, then pauses and adds, "Ziggy? What's Ziggy got to do with it?"

"Oh, nothing," I say in this singsong voice. I go over to the windows and stare out at the dusky night and the campers parading past. There's a line of them heading up to the main cabin for their weekly weigh-in. Most campers weigh in in the morning, but the older campers check their weight at night because it keeps them eating light at mealtimes. If you lose even an ounce you get points for your cabin, and the cabin with the most points each week gets a special trip out of the camp. If you've gained weight, your cabin loses points and everybody hates you for ruining their chances.

"What do you mean by, 'Oh, nothing'?" Lam asks. He comes over to the windows and stands with his arms folded across his chest like a genie granting a wish. Maybe he can blink his eyes and make himself disappear, because I can feel where this argument is heading.

"What the hell does Ziggy have to do with it? And why do you suddenly want to move to Boston? Isn't that where Ziggy lives? What's all this with Ziggy?"

I turn on Lam. "Nothing! Nothing at all. Only he's around to talk to, and you never are, are you? And he listens and thinks my ideas are good ones, and he thinks I'm smart."

"Who says you're not smart? I've told you a thousand times that I think you're smart. Everybody thinks your smart. You've always got your face in some book. You're a real bookworm. I mean, who else in the world has read that big fat book you read on ants? You're just lazy about school."

"Lazy? I've never been lazy a day in my life! Just because I skipped school a lot does not make me lazy. If you recall, I was skipping to meet you. I did everything for you. I'm the one who snuck out of the house all the time to meet
you
in
your
basement. I'm the one who stole the car twice so I could be with you and we could go up to the cabins and be alone. I'm the one who brokei nto—"

"All right! All right! You're not lazy. Wrong choice of words. Forget it, anyway. Let's just forget it, okay? Go ahead and do your dumb magazine. What do I care? I've got my own plans."

"Dumb? Dumb? Just wait and see, and anyway, what's your great idea, Mr. Genius?"

Lam backs away. "Oh, I've got one, all right. I'm just not ready to talk about it, because all my ideas aren't fully formed. I don't just blurt out anything that pops into my head the way you do, and then act like it's a great idea."

I turn away from the window and watch Lam crawl back into the bed. "You know what? Just shut up, okay?" I say. "Don't say another word, because I swear, if you do, we're finished. And anyway, I hate the way we are now. Before we were married, we couldn't get enough of each other and we had all kinds of fun ideas, like running away to Hawaii, or hiking our way around Europe, but now—well ... Lam?" I take a couple of steps toward the bed. Lam's eyes are closed, and he's breathing deeply. "Lam? Are you awake?"

HALEY WAS FINE again for a day or two, and I was off the hook. I just assisted the ballet class, which meant I went around poking the girls here and there when their butts stuck out too far or they weren't standing up straight. I also spent a lot of time standing by the CD player putting on whatever music Haley wanted. But then Haley got sick again, and it's been three days in a row that I'm teaching her class, and the kids are getting bored with my classes. They're tired of doing the same dumb dances in every class. I'm so embarrassed that I just want to melt into the floor. There are fewer girls every day. I've got some new kids, too, but still there aren't as many as the first class I taught, and I don't know what to do, because I feel like I'm making a total fool out of myself. Ashley Wilson keeps coming, and I think she just wants to look smug and see what stupid thing I'll do next.

So, we're all in a circle the way we usually are in the beginning of my classes, and I'm about to call, "Skip to the center," the way I always do, but then I see Ashley's disgusted expression and feel like picking on her, so instead I call out, "Ashley Wilson to the center," and she says, "What?" She looks trapped, and all her smugness just falls away.

"Do something into the center and out again, and we'll all imitate you."

"Oh," she says, and thinks a second. "Okay, I've got something." Now she's smug again. She does this 1eap-turn thing and lands on one foot with her other leg in back of her and pointing in the air. I don't know what she just did, but I'm pregnant, so luckily I don't have to copy her. The other girls try to do the leap-turn thing, and some do it and some don't, but they just laugh at themselves, except for Banner, who looks like she's about to cry, but what else is new?

"Let's do that again," I call out, and the girls try another leap-turn-arabesquey, as I decide to call it. "Do the leap-turn-arabesquey!" I shout, and Ashley says in this snotty voice, "It's called a
tour jeté.
"

"I know," I say, "but in English it's called a leap-lurn-arabesquey. Come on, everybody, do the leap-turn-arabesquey!" I shout again, and the girls spread out all over the room trying their best to copy Ashley. Then Ashley Wilson does some other fancy step, some kind of spin around on one leg, and the girls try that out. Then, before Ashley's head gets too big, I ask someone else to take a turn. "It doesn't have to be a real step. Make one up. Let's see how
creative
you can be. Everybody try to come up with a new step, and then we'll all take turns learning them," I say.

Everybody except Banner is trying to do some variation of the
tour jeté.

I go over to where she's standing with her head down and her eyes peering out from her wall of hair. "Hey, come on, Banner," I say. "Why aren't you trying anything?"

"You know why. I'll look stupid, and they'll make fun of me."

"But everybody looks stupid. Really, you've just
got
to get over yourself." I lean over. "Check out Ashley Ryan. What's she trying to do? She looks like a duck trying to take off into the air. Look at her arms."

Banner giggles and wipes her eyes at the same time, like there were tears there, even though they look dry. I think she's so used to crying, she just automatically wipes her eyes, just in case.

"Go on," I say. "Give it a try. See how goofy you can make it."

She gets this upset look on her face again. "Goofy? It has to be goofy?" Her voice trembles, and I want to kick her. I do. I really do.

"No," I say, exasperated. "No, it can be anything you want. Come on, Banner, just walk across the room or something, anything. Just move."

Okay, now here she goes. She's crying and wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry I'm upsetting you," she says.

"Banner, you're not upsetting me except that you're upset, so that makes me upset, so stop being upset and I won't be upset, okay?"

She nods and wipes her eyes some more. I decide to ignore her and just get back to the class, even though ignoring her makes me feel like a total failure. I know Leo would do something to make her feel wonderful, but I'm not Leo, and I don't know what else to do.

"Okay, everybody," I shout. "Who wants to go first? Who has something for us to imitate?"

Girls raise their hands, and I pick SuSun Kew. She does her step, but it's more than a step, it's a bunch of steps that we all have to learn. The girls seem to like this a lot, and that gives me another idea. If I get stuck teaching this class on my own another day, I'm going to have them make up whole dances, in groups, and then they can perform them for each other. I don't tell them my idea right away, though. I let each girl take a turn teaching something. Some of them are really goofy, and we all laugh and have fun with these steps. I check out Banner to see if she's laughing, and she's at least sort of smiling, but she keeps in the back of the room behind all the other girls.

When we get through all the different steps and mini-dances, the class is almost over, and I'm just about to announce my idea for next time, when Ashley Wilson says in her snotty voice, "But Banner didn't take a turn. It's Banner's turn."

What a big mouth!

Everyone looks at Banner, and one girl shouts out, "Come on, Banner, you snifflepuss," and then they all start chanting, "Banner—Banner—Banner!" and she looks so frightened I think she's going to faint. I'm trying to decide which excuse to use for her—she has cramps, or we've run out of time—when Banner comes to the center, pauses, then lets her front foot slide forward, more and more, and she's getting lower and lower, and her legs are getting farther and farther apart from each other, and then she's in a split. She's doing a full-out split! All the other girls start trying the splits, and most of them get about halfway. Ashley Wilson gets the closest, but there's a bend in her back leg. I can't help it. I have to point this out. "Your back leg is still bent, Ashley Wilson. Banner's back leg is straight."