Authors: Jenny Han
At dinner that night I don’t even look at Mama. But I do eat her chicken à la king. There’s corn pudding, too, and ice cream for dessert. Rocky road.
Elaine and I are sitting in science class when we hear the announcement. It’s the end of the day, and whoever’s on the PA system is going on and on about school spirit and picking up trash. No one pays attention until we hear the words “seventh-grade dance.” “Clementon Junior High will be having its annual seventh-grade dance this month. It will be held on the second Friday of the month. You’ll get more information in your gym class, where you will have a lovely dance unit. And girls and boys, please note that this is not a formal dance. Churchgoing attire will be just fine, and formal wear would be incredibly inappropriate. On that happy note, have a nice afternoon!” The bell rings and everyone makes a rush for the door.
A dance.
Mama tried to teach me how to dance when I was seven. Celia was eleven, and of course she already knew how. She was born dancing. It was after supper, and I was trying to watch cartoons. Mama suddenly got it into her head that I
simply had to learn how to dance
. It was all very life and death, and if I didn’t learn right that very minute, well, it would just be tragic for all concerned. She said that all Cavane women could dance. I said I’m not a Cavane, I’m a Wilcox, so it doesn’t matter.
She cranked the stereo up high, and Nina Simone’s growly voice filled the whole house. Mama dragged me off my feet and said we’ll fox-trot first. She danced me around the living room, and I just couldn’t get the hang of it. I couldn’t find my rhythm; I couldn’t hear the beat. I was just trying to keep up, and I couldn’t. Next we tried the waltz, and I couldn’t get that, either. It was the going backward part that messed me up the most. But Mama just kept whirling me around like she couldn’t hear me.
She had been drinking that night; of course she’d been drinking. Her breath was hot on my cheek when she said, “Two left feet, just like your daddy. You really are a Wilcox, Shug.” My eyes burned, and I snatched my hands away. I said, “I don’t want to dance with you anyway.”
Celia had been reading a book in the tatty old armchair, and when Mama said, “Celie baby, come dance with your mama!” she leaped up and danced like the Cavane she was. They did the Lindy Hop, and both of their feet moved just the way they were supposed to.
My feet don’t move the way they’re supposed to. How in sam hill am I supposed to go to a dance?
As Elaine and I walk to the bus loop, I say, “A dance sounds dumb.”
“Are you kidding me? A dance will be the funnest thing that’s ever happened in this town!”
Geez. I thought we’d had some pretty fun times too. “I don’t know. It’ll probably be lame. I doubt I’ll even go.”
“Don’t be crazy. Of course you’re going. You could ask Mark. It’ll be fantastic,” she says. Her eyes are glazed over, and I know she’s picturing herself in some strapless dress with a corsage on her wrist. “Your big chance for him to finally notice you.”
“Uh … I don’t know.” I don’t know if having Mark notice me is worth having to go to a dance. “Might not work.”
“Oh, it’ll work all right.” She puts her arm around me. “We’re gonna make you hot. He’ll fall all over himself when he sees you.”
Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. Sounds pretty good, actually.
Elaine volunteers to chair the decorations committee, and like a shot, Hugh says he’ll cochair it with her. Hadley’s in charge of refreshments with Mark, and Mairi’s heading up music with Kyle Montgomery. The dance committees read like a who’s who of Clementon Junior High. Guess who I am. Nobody. I’m not on any of the committees.
When I can’t fall asleep at night, I close my eyes and picture how I want the dance to go. We’re in the gym, and a slow song comes on. Maybe “Crazy Love” or “Unchained Melody” or “I Only Have Eyes for You.” Yeah, definitely “I Only Have Eyes for You.” He pushes his way through the crowd, and there I am, swaying to the music by myself. He says, “Annemarie, will you dance with me?” I say okay, and he takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor. And I put my arms around his neck, and then we’re swaying together. He’s holding me tight, and he keeps looking at me like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, what’s been right in front of him all along. Me, Annemarie Wilcox.
Mama’s missing.
Before I left the house this morning, I told Mama that I needed a ride home from school today because of French club elections. Normally I’d ask Celia to swing by and get me in Margaret’s car, but Celia’d gone away on a camping trip for the weekend. Anyway, Mama said no problem, she’d be there. She wasn’t there. Everyone else’s parents came to pick them up at 4:00. I stood at the bus circle, waiting for her, knowing she wasn’t coming, but waiting all the same.
When it started to get dark, I gave up and walked home. It’s a long walk when it’s just you and your thoughts. I was really steaming by the time I finally got home, planning out how I was gonna yell at her, how I was
gonna make her sorry. But then I saw that Mama’s car wasn’t in the driveway.
For two hours I paced the living room floor, watching the clock. Ever since I was little, I had a fear that Mama might get into a car accident and never come back home. An irrational fear, Mama calls it. Doesn’t seem so irrational to me. There’ve been times when she had a little too much to drink and she still drove anyway. Nothing stops her when she gets it in her mind to do something.
It’s late now, and I’m not mad anymore. I’m just scared.
With Celia on a camping trip, the only person I can call is Mrs. Findley. She’d help me. She’d know exactly what to do. But Mama would hate her knowing our business, and to be honest, I’m not too keen on the idea either. Maybe before, it would’ve been okay, but not anymore. It’s not that I don’t trust Mrs. Findley, because I do, maybe more than any other adult I know, but I don’t want her thinking badly of Mama. Or of me.
There’s only one thing I can do. I’ve gotta call Daddy. Mama could be hurt somewhere. And if she’s not hurt, if she’s off having fun, then maybe she deserves to get in trouble. I could’ve been kidnapped or run over or worse. It would’ve been all Mama’s fault. I almost wish I was kidnapped or run over or worse; that way she’d feel awful.
Like the worst mother in the world.
I dial the numbers slowly, giving myself one last chance to back out. I tell myself maybe she’s called him already, and everything’s fine.
He picks up on the third ring. “Bill Wilcox,” he says.
“Hi, Daddy. It’s me, Annemarie.” Your daughter.
“What’s going on, Shug?” He sounds busy, distracted.
So Mama hasn’t called him. This could be good or it could be really, really bad.
“Nothing …”
“Good, good. Listen, I’m on another call, so I can’t talk just now. We’ll talk when I come home next week, okay?”
“You were supposed to come home today.”
“Change of plans. There was a meeting I couldn’t get out of. Didn’t your mother tell you?”
“She must have forgotten.”
“Ah, well. We’ll have us a good visit when I come home next week. I’ll bring you something extra special. Listen, I’ve really got to get back to work, Shug. Give Celia and your mama kisses for me. And one for you, too.”
“Okay … Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Daddy, Mama hasn’t come home yet.”
Silence. “What do you mean, she hasn’t come home yet?
Is she still at work?”
“No … She was supposed to pick me up after school, but she never came. I’m worried, Daddy.”
He sighs and says, “Annemarie, I’m sure she’s fine. She probably just got caught up somewhere. You know how your mother is.”
“Daddy, she could be hurt. She was supposed to pick me up hours ago.” I am waiting, waiting for him to say sit tight, I’m on my way.
He doesn’t say it. He says, “Where’s your sister?”
“On a camping trip. Daddy, maybe you should come home. Something could be really wrong.” I pause carefully. “She could’ve had an accident or something. A car accident.”
Daddy curses under his breath. “That woman …”
I wait. I’ve planted the seed; he’s worried now. Even though he’s mad, he’s worried, too.
“Sit tight, Annemarie,” he says at last. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
It takes about three hours to get from Atlanta to Clementon. Daddy makes it home in just over two. Mama still hasn’t come back. We sit on the couch and wait.
“It’s just like your mama to pull something like this,”
Daddy says, twisting his tie loose.
I’m starting to regret this already. “She might be hurt somewhere, Daddy.”
He just shakes his head.
Mama comes home around 2:30 a.m. She is drunk. When she sees Daddy sitting on the couch, her happy smile fades. She looks confused. “What in the world are you doin’ home, Billy?”
“I’m home because our daughter called me,” Daddy says. He’s so angry, his voice shakes. “Annemarie was worried sick.”
“Gail and I had a drink after work,” Mama says, her hand fluttering to her forehead. The confusion is gone, and defensiveness is starting to creep into her voice. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. Annemarie, I told you I’d be home late tonight. Why did you go calling your daddy?” She looks at me like I’ve betrayed her, like I’m not her daughter anymore.
My mouth is dry. Licking my lips, I say, “I-I guess I forgot.”
Daddy stands up and strides over to Mama in two big steps. He looks like he wants to shake her, like he’s
going
to shake her. “She walked home from school in the dark! You were supposed to pick her up from school! Do you know
what can happen to a child in the dark, Grace?
Do you?
Do you even care?”
Mama looks at Daddy like he’s slapped her. “Of course I care!” She looks at me then, eyes pleading. “Shug, babydoll, I’m sorry. I just forgot.”
Before I can speak, Daddy says harshly, “You’re pathetic.”
Jumping up from the couch, I shout, “Don’t say that to her! Don’t you say that to her!”
“Annemarie, go to your room,” Daddy says, in a low voice. It is an order.
“No,” I say. My fists are clenched at my sides. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I told you to go to your room,” he says. Every word is clipped, precise. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
He’s so angry, I’m scared. Scared of my own daddy. But I don’t move. “Why should I? I can hear you two up there, too, you know.”
“Annemarie,” he warns. The muscle in his jaw is twitching.
“Go on, Shug,” Mama says. “I mean it; go upstairs. This is between me and your daddy.”
I look at her then, really look at her. To her I say, “You know what? You’re both pathetic.”
Then I run upstairs and slam my door. As soon as the
door closes, I start to cry. I went and told on Mama. Now everything’s wrong.
They fight for a long time. I lay there in the dark, listening for as long as I can. I hear Mama say, “If you hate your life here so much, you should just stay gone.”
I don’t move. I wait to hear what he’ll say next.
(Don’t go, don’t go.)
Daddy says, “Darlin’, I’m not the one who hates her life. That’s you. You’re the one who can’t stand to be here.”
That’s about all I can take. I reach for the headphones on my nightstand and turn my music up loud. I fall asleep and dream and dream.
Daddy’s gone when I wake up. It’s like he was never here at all.
After school Elaine and I are in my bedroom doing homework, and she says, “So Mairi invited us to sleep over on Friday. Do you want to go?” She fingers the lace edge on the quilt Grandma Shirley made me when I was born.
I look up from my math worksheet. “She invited us or you?”
“She invited both of us.”
“Who else did she invite?”
Elaine ticks the names off her fingers. “It’s gonna be me, you, Jo Jo Washington, and Hadley.” Jo Jo Washington was the queen bee at Lincoln Elementary, and Mairi has deemed her cool enough to hang with us. I think Jo Jo is a dumb name, almost as dumb as Jo Jo
herself.
“Have fun,” I say.
“Come on, Annemarie. Do you want to go or not?”
“Not.”
Elaine sighs. “Mairi’s really not so bad when you get to know her.”
“How would you know? You’re the one who doesn’t know her. I’ve known her my whole life, Elaine. Don’t tell me I don’t know Mairi Stevenson.”
“Fine. Forget it.”
“You go. I’ll be busy anyway.”
“Busy doing what?”
Busy picking hair up off the carpet. Busy de-ticking Meeks. Busy counting my freckles. Busy feeling sorry for myself.
“Celia and me are doing something.”
“Annemarie, you’re a lousy liar. Come on. Let’s just go. Please? I don’t want to go without you.”
I don’t want her to go without me either. But.
Being the girl at the slumber party no one wants around is a terrible thing. She’s the one the mom has to befriend. She’s the one no one wants to sit with at dinner, or split the last piece of pizza with. She’s the one the other girls whisper about when she goes to brush her teeth. (“She’s so
annoying … No offense, Annemarie.”) She used to be Sherilyn, and I can’t let her be me.
If I go to Mairi’s sleepover, I know that I’ll be the one shunted off to Siberia, sleeping on the cot while everyone else doubles up on Mairi’s twin beds. I know because once upon a time, Sherilyn slept on the cot while I got to sleep under Mairi’s patchwork quilt. And the worst part is that I didn’t even care that Sherilyn was all alone. You can’t afford to care; you’ve just got to enjoy your time at the fair and be glad. I was glad I wasn’t the one on the cot; I was glad I wasn’t the one who didn’t have someone to whisper with as we fell asleep.
But what will happen if Elaine goes to the sleepover without me? What if they seduce her with their sparkly nail polish and their Truth or Dare? Then I’ll be the one left behind. I’ll be Sherilyn.
“Fine. I’ll go. But I’m telling you, it won’t be fun.”
Mairi Stevenson is adopted. Not a lot of people know this. I only know because Mama told me. Mairi sure lucked out when she got Cal and Lindy Stevenson for parents—the Stevensons are rich folk. They’re richer than anybody I know. Ever since we were little, Mairi talked about her debutante party, and how she was going to have her gown flown in from Paris. How there would be a band, how she would wear silk stockings, how everyone would be jealous because her debutante party would be the grandest party Clementon ever saw. How only the prettiest and most popular girls would be invited. She said that if I promised to buy a nice dress and curl my hair, I could come too. I promised. We were seven then.