Two or Three Things I Forgot to Tell You (12 page)

7.

TINK QUOTE OF THE WEEK

“I'd like to be your friend—but only if you promise not to ever, ever count on me.”

8.

“GAMMA GOBLIN”

Tink surprised us, as well as our gym instructor, Ms. Svala, one day, performing on the parallel bars like—almost!—a trained gymnast.

With an air of sudden inspiration, having watched other girls perform, or try to perform, Tink bounded onto the mat between the bars and lifted herself with a look of frowning concentration into a handstand, which she managed to hold for several precarious seconds, her legs and small feet quivering with strain over her head.

For weeks Tink had been sulky and rebellious in gym class—she hated, she said, “physical” things—even more, “organized physical things.” It wouldn't have been far-fetched for Tink and Ms. Svala to get along well—they were both high-energy, impatient people—but somehow it never happened, for Tink bridled against authority: “Nothing pisses me like being told what to do. Even when I want to do it.”

And nothing annoyed Ms. Svala like girls who resisted her cheery good nature. Girls who, when she called out her high-voltage greeting, only just mumbled in response, or scowled instead of smiling.

“Bloody Gestapo,” Tink said. “What if somebody doesn't
want
to be happy?”

So one day when she suddenly took a turn on the parallel bars, as if she'd wakened from a trance, we were taken by surprise, and we clapped as our unpredictable friend swung swift and double-jointed as a monkey; then dropped to the mat, executed several perfect somersaults, leapt up, pivoted on one foot, and somersaulted back—all with a look of intense concentration, biting her lower lip.

Then suddenly—Tink was sweaty, and tired. Wiping her flushed face with the backs of both her hands.

We all wore short white gym shorts and T-shirts, except for Tink, who alone was allowed to wear long sleeves. You could see—you could glimpse—that there were marks—(scars?)—on Tink's wrists.

We whispered together, “Do you think that Tink has cut herself?”

(There was a rumor that, at one of her former schools, which had been a boarding school, Tink Traumer had left suddenly after she tried to “harm herself” in some mysterious way. But now that we were Tink's close friends, we hated such rumors and never listened to them.)

Hannah said, “It could be that Tink has some kind of—I don't know—medical treatment? Like, my uncle goes to the hospital every month for a blood infusion—there's something wrong with his white blood cells and he has to have gamma goblin. . . .”

“Gamma
goblin
?”

We laughed at this. Hannah laughed. What was she trying to say?

Another girl was lifting herself on the parallel bars, on tremulous arms. Unlike Tink, this girl wasn't small-boned and sinewy but of average weight, with a little belly and soft, fleshy thighs—not a gymnast's body, and not very interesting to watch.

Tink was approaching us, lifting her long hair off the back of her neck. Though she pretended to dislike attention, she'd been pleased that we'd applauded her performance—but she didn't like it that we were talking about her in an undertone.

We didn't want to think of Tink having any kind of medical treatment, ever. We wanted to think of her as the girl we'd have liked to have been if we hadn't been born the girls we were.

“Good work, Tink! Next time, we'll take it slower.”

Ms. Svala was impressed with Tink, too. But Ms. Svala understood that you couldn't push Tink, you'd always be disappointed if you expected something of her.

9.

A TINK TALE: “BAILING OUT”

There was no reason.

There were many reasons.

There came the razor blade between my fingers.

There came the current like electricity through my arm—through my fingers—directing the blade into the soft, yielding flesh of the inside forearm.

Why
doesn't matter.

How
requires precision.

 

Big Moms had hope for me, she said. As she had hope, still, for herself.

Hel-lo! I am Veronica Traumer and this is my little daughter, Katrina. Say hello, Katrina, c'mon, let's see that dazzling smile.

Oh, where is that dazzling smile?

(
That goddamned dazzling smile—WHERE IS IT?
)

It was a fact: There were secrets in Veronica Traumer's life—and in her daughter's life as well. Rumors of “health issues”—physical? mental?—of which Veronica spoke mysteriously and with an air of stoic melancholy.

Yet the child had a “career”—a high-paying career, in fact.

Though not always able to work, for mysterious reasons.

(Was she away somewhere? Was she living with the estranged/unidentified father? )

(No one knew. No one dared ask Veronica.)

(Though to the child she would speak bitterly.
You! I think you came between us. Not your fault—you didn't ask to be born
—
your so-called father is not the marrying kind, and he is not the daddy kind, and as for child support—the bastard is definitely NOT THAT KIND.
)

 

“Trina?
Trina!
”

The doorknob was frantically rattling. Big Moms's perfume penetrated the locked door. I wanted to shout at her,
Go away! Go away! You weren't supposed to come home until tomorrow.

But I was too weak. And instead lay very still in the lukewarm bathwater as it stained red.

 

The bathroom door was never unlocked. The door was removed from its hinges—“unhinged”—by Mr. Leo and one of his young assistants. Big Moms was screaming—unless it was a siren screaming. Someone covered me—my skinny, sickly-pale naked body—as I was lifted onto a stretcher and borne away. And now there was a siren—I was inside the siren. Like a wild, high laughter it was, but I don't think that the sound was me. I was fourteen then. I didn't think that I would ever be older, but I am older now, and I promise I will not make that mistake again.

10.

SECRET

It wasn't like Tink had not warned us.

It wasn't like Tink had not prepared us.

We'd known that something was wrong—those last several months of her life, when she seemed always to be missing school, or hadn't much time for her friends, or was “away” somewhere mysterious.

“She's seeing a shrink in Manhattan.”

“She's auditioning for a new TV series in L.A.”

“She's visiting with her father—somewhere.”

(No one knew the smallest particle of any fact about Tink's father—it was the one subject you would never, ever bring up with Tink. So this was pure conjecture.)

It seemed too ordinary to suggest that if Tink stayed out of school as others did, it was for the same reason—she was sick with a bad cold, or flu.

Or she hadn't finished a paper, or hadn't studied enough for an exam. Or, just maybe, she was feeling rebellious, or depressed—“Some days are just not
school days
,” as Tink said.

 

After Tink d**d, it would be revealed that she'd missed sixteen school days out of approximately seventy in the 2010–2011 school term. The Quaker Heights Day School would release to the press only the fact—(assuming it was a fact)—that Katrina Traumer's absences had all been explained and had been considered
legitimate
.

When Tink missed school, she didn't return our text messages except to say

TINK IS AWAY & TINK WILL RETURN. LOVE YOU.

Mr. Trocchi said mysteriously, as if he had some special connection with Tink or maybe with her glamorous actress-mother, “Tink Traumer is no ordinary student, you know. Her destiny is elsewhere.”

“Movies? Hollywood?”

“A play in New York?”

“A new TV series?”

(Though we knew that Tink had “retired” from acting, she'd told us and told us, yet somehow we wanted to believe that our friend might change her mind.)

(Though we want our friends to be just like us, and to not be superior to us, we take pride in having “famous” friends—we even like them a little better if they are “famous,” and yet our friends.)

In an undertone, so Mr. Trocchi wouldn't hear, Anita Chang said severely, “Tink Traumer is
suicidal
. Her destiny might be
nowhere
.”

 

We hated Anita for saying such a thing. We did not—we DID NOT—want to believe that Tink, who was our friend, was
suicidal
.

11.

“SURPRISE, TINK!”

We'd planned a surprise party for Tink.

Is this a good idea?
—we weren't absolutely certain.

Tink had spoken admiringly of “wild, crazy surprise” parties on the “set”—(meaning the TV set, we gathered)—and not all of these were birthday parties. Could just be a
party-party
, to surprise somebody you liked who was maybe feeling a little blue.

We always did something for our birthdays, but we'd never yet had any party for Tink, who was new in our lives but who had come to feel like our oldest friend.

The pretense was: Chloe's mother was going to be away, and so Chloe had asked Tink to spend the night with her; the rest of us would be waiting when Tink came in, and we'd surprise her.

We'd made funny cards. Tink had referred to
non-birthday cards
so we made them.

Chloe's mom was divorced; Chloe had no sisters or brothers. So her mother was often involved in her life, and in the case of the surprise party for Tink, Chloe's mother helped plan every step of it and insisted upon preparing most of the food, though we came over to help. (Tink's favorite foods—vegetarian lasagna; ginger carrots and nutmeg spinach; arugula salad tossed with Italian dressing, raisins, and sunflower seeds.) Mrs. Zimmer even baked a cake—devil's food with egg-white frosting spelling out
HAPPY NON-BIRTHDAY TINK!

And then, Tink didn't come.

She must have guessed that something was planned that revolved around her, and it wasn't going to be just a night with Chloe but with others. So, she didn't come.

We should have known. Tink hated
fuss
.

Chloe was upset. Mrs. Zimmer was hurt.

Chloe texted Tink and called her—no answer.

“She must have overheard us. Must have guessed something. Maybe she was afraid we were going to play old TV videos of her show. She's
weird.
”

“Oh no, it's our fault. With Tink, you can't
presume
.”

Nadia said, “I feel so bad. I feel like this was my idea.”

Merissa said, “I think it was my idea. I feel terrible.”

Hannah said, “Do you think she's angry at us? Some people just don't like surprise parties.”

Martine said, “Tink wants to be the one in charge of surprises. Tink doesn't want to be
surprised
.”

We gave up texting and calling Tink and decided to have dinner ourselves and to enjoy Tink's non-birthday party without her. Chloe's mother drifted away upstairs with the excuse of a migraine.

Chloe said, “This was all my idea. I can't imagine why I thought it would be a good one.”

Merissa said, “The fact is—Tink warned us.”

“Warned us how?”

“She's always said, ‘I'd like to be your friend—but only if you promise never, ever to count on me.'”

Merissa was right. We just hadn't wanted to remember.

Then, as we were preparing to leave for our homes, at about nine p.m., Chloe's cell phone rang: It was Tink.

“Hey, guys—it's me. Bet you had a great time without me.”

“But how did you know?” Chloe was baffled.

“It's a ‘surprise' party, right? Don't ask me how I knew.”

“Did someone tell you?”

“No! But I could guess, around you guys. I knew something was up and I figured . . .”

Chloe held the phone up for us to hear. We were all talking and laughing at once.

Tink said she was sorry she hadn't been able to come. She'd wanted to, she said. But she hadn't been able to.

We told her it was okay. We understood.

We passed the little phone around. We talked to Tink, and laughed with her, and Tink sounded like her usual self, that low, scratchy, funny voice, and something edgy and sad beneath.

“You could still come over,” Chloe said hopefully. “It isn't so late. We have lots of cake. My mother made the most delicious devil's food cake. . . .”

“Oh God. Your mother . . .”

“Mom really wanted to, Tink. She had a great time. She loves to cook, and the dinner turned out really well—vegetarian lasagna. We can save some for you, in fact. Mom was hoping—”

At the other end, Tink began to cry.

“Tell your mother I'm sorry. I'm really s-sorry. I never even thought about your m-mother! It's just that I couldn't come. I wanted to, but I—I couldn't come. I love you guys, but—”

We listened in shocked silence. Tink appeared to be laughing, but it was obvious that she was still crying, too.

Tink asked if she could speak to Chloe's mother, and Chloe said sure, she'd take the phone upstairs to her mom; and when Chloe went upstairs we looked at one another, and we'd stopped laughing. And Hannah said, “I wish there was something we could do to make Tink like herself better.”

This was a surprising remark. But we knew Hannah was right. We tried to think. What could we do? What could girlfriends
do
?

“Just be really nice to Tink. If she lets us down, if she's weird sometimes—just ignore it, and love her.
Just love her
.”