You'll Like It Here (Everybody Does) (15 page)

“No, but we have regular checkups, and we get vaccinations, and medication for whatever ails us. We're also advised about exercise and diet. The Fathers take care of the people.”

“But we haven't seen a single handicapped person. Are there none?” Mom goes on. “And what of serious diseases such as cancer, heart disease, stroke, Parkinson's—you know, really debilitating illnesses?”

“People who are too dysfunctional to contribute to our society are sent away to the hospital of the Fathers, where they are cured.”

“Completely cured?”

“Yes.”

“Then do they come back to their families?”

“Oh, no, they never come back.”

Gramps guffaws loudly. “Imagine that!” he says. “They never come back!”

“Why not?” Mom asks. “If they're cured, why can't they live normally?”

Gil obviously doesn't know how to answer Mom's question, and he seems irritated with Gramps, so he solves both problems by popping a Lotus.

“Praise the Fathers!” he says.

“For they are good,” Colin and Jennifer add automatically.

“And why must they be sent away to the hospital of the Fathers?” Mom persists. “Are there no hospitals here in Fashion City?”

“No, that would not be practical,” Gil says. “Hospitals are very expensive to run.”

“You mean too expensive for unimportant people like us?” Gramps asks.

“Quite right,” Gil says, totally missing the ridiculousness of Gramps's words. “Consider how much it would cost to have hospitals and doctors in all the cities.”

Though we have picked up bits and pieces of information about other cities, this is the first time the Gilmores have mentioned them. Gramps jumps onto that topic.

“What other cities are there?”

“I've heard there is a Food City, Auto City, Technology City, Furniture City, and … I don't know all of them. And oh, yeah, there's Warfare City. It's the most important one.”

“Indeed!” Gramps exclaims.

“Did all the cities have rebels involved in the insurrection?” Mom asks.

“Yes. All of them,” Gil says. “It was a well-coordinated revolt.”

“Are the other cities anything like Fashion City?” Gramps asks.

I wonder if Mom and Gramps are asking too many questions. Surely these facts are common knowledge in the Western Province, where we supposedly came from.

But Gil answers. “Exactly like it.”

“That's too bad,” Gramps mutters.

That's when Gil bristles. “Why don't you ever talk about the Western Province?”

“Yeah,” Colin joins in. “You've said next to nothing about your life there.”

“You question so many things in our society,” Gil says, “it makes me wonder if you were better off there.”

“Why did you come here?” Jennifer adds.

“Fair questions, but I'm sorry we can't answer them right now,” Mom says.

“Why not?” Gil persists.

“In time,” Gramps finally says without sarcasm, “perhaps we will be able to tell you of our lives there. But not now.”

“So it was not better than here?” Gil keeps pushing.

Nobody answers him.

“Never mind,” Gil says abruptly. “For whatever reason, it appears you're not entirely candid with us.”

“I could say the same about you, Gil, in regard to your wife,” Mom says. “I find it strange that you never mention her, or tell us what happened to her.”

It's Gil's turn to clam up.

“The children said she was sent away,” Gramps says. “What did she do?”

“It's okay,” Mom says softly. “I think we all have a right to our secrets.”

Only a few minutes later, the Gilmores call it a night and leave us.

The next evening, David, peeved that he didn't get to spend more time with Jennifer the night before, is determined not to let the same arguments come up again. In no time he has us in stitches with his impersonation of the crabby announcer on
The Family Hour
, whose name, we have learned, is Andrew Andrews.

“If it's yellow, let it mellow!” David says grumpily in his Andrew Andrews voice. “But if it's brown, flush it down!”

When we have stopped laughing, the Gilmores teach “Wild Hearts” to us. Then Gil sings “Bridge over Troubled Water” in his rich tenor voice. I have the feeling he's singing it to impress Mom, and I'm guessing she really likes it.

I don't know how to feel about Mom and Gil. It's like two parts of me are struggling with each other. First there's the part of me that doesn't want to share Mom with anybody else, and then there's the part that remembers her crying for Dad on the porch in North Carolina when she thought I was asleep. If Mom learned to love Gil back, could he heal her sadness? And would she forget Dad? I don't
want
her to forget Dad.

“The moon is almost full,” Gil says to her when he has
finished singing and has laid his guitar aside, “but there are so many clouds we don't get all of its lovely light.”

By that pale moonlight we can see him take one of Mom's hands in his. “I have a serious question to ask you in private,” he says to her in a low voice. “Perhaps you will go inside with me for a moment?”

“No, no, I …” Mom obviously has no good excuse, so she just says “No” again, then removes her hand from his.

“Very well, then I'll ask you here,” Gil declares. “I would like to marry you.”

Total silence falls over our group. I feel sorry for Mom, but even sorrier for Gil. He'll be rejected in front of his kids. But Mom says nothing right away.

“Our children get along well,” he continues, “and I'm sure we can move to larger quarters in a nicer sector. Gramps, of course, is welcome to live with us. It would be pleasant for all of us.”

“No, I can't do that,” Mom says, then adds kindly, “but I do appreciate your offer.”

It's obvious that Gil did not expect a refusal. He seems stunned.

“But why not?” he wants to know. “Give me one good reason!”

“I don't
want
to marry again,” Mom states simply.

“What's wrong with you!” he blurts out.

“Nothing's wrong with me,” Mom responds. “Am I not free to make that choice?”

“For a short period of time, yes,” Gil admits. “But you're young and healthy. The Fathers won't allow you to stay single. You should jump at this chance, as you
don't know what kind of man you'll be forced to accept later on.”

“No offense to you, Gil,” Mom says calmly, “but do you know how absurd that sounds?”

“Absurd?” Gil says. “I don't understand you. It seemed we were moving in that direction. I thought we were getting along so well—I mean, not counting last night.”

“We do get along, and I enjoy your company,” Mom says. “We all enjoy being with you and your family. It makes the days bearable. And I value your friendship.”

“But you won't marry me?” he says sadly.

“That's right. We want to remain friends with you and your family, but marriage is out of the question. Please accept my decision.”

“Of course,” Gil says softly. “I don't want to lose your friendship.”

And it seems the matter is settled.

T
he day after Gil's embarrassing proposal to Mom, a policeman stops Meggie while we're out walking.

“Grossly unique,” he says, and points to her shoes.

Uh-oh. He has spotted the purple laces with gold stars.

“Oh,” Meggie says, seeming uncertain what to say or do. “Well, I won't wear them again.”

The policeman is persistent. He holds out a hand. “Give them to me.”

“You want me to take them out now?” Meggie says.

“Yes.”

Meggie glances at Colin, but he looks away. She turns to me.

“How's she going to keep her shoes on her feet without laces?” I ask.

“That's her problem,” the cop replies.

There's nothing to do but obey. Meggie sits down on the curb, removes the laces from her shoes, and hands them to the cop. He stuffs them into his pocket and walks away without another word.

“He'll probably keep them for his own kid,” Meggie blurts out.

“Shut up!” Colin says rudely, and glances at the retreating back of the policeman. “If he hears, you'll
really
be in trouble.”

Now Meggie is not only mad, but also hurt at Colin's harsh words. She's silent all the way home as she shuffles along behind the rest of us, trying to keep her feet inside her shoes. Yeah, I know I wasn't very supportive with the cop thing, but what could I do without getting myself in trouble?

When we return, Meggie goes to her room, but I go to the Gilmores'. Colin brings out soft drinks, and the three of us settle onto the couches.

“The sun gave me a headache,” Colin says.

“Take it for a headache or a heartache,” Jennifer says, imitating the commercial, and tosses a Lotus pill to her brother. Then she turns to me. “Want one, David?”

For the first time I consider it. What harm could one pill do? The way people are popping them right and left, they're obviously not that strong. They're not illegal, and they make you feel good. Mom and Gramps won't be home for another hour, so …

“Sure, why not?” I find myself saying. “Just one.”

“All right!” Colin says with a big grin as Jennifer unwraps the pill and pops it into my mouth.

It has a sweet taste, and it's a bit chewy, like caramel, but they tell me I have to swallow it to get the full effect. I swallow.

“Since it's your first time, you're really gonna feel it,” Jennifer tells me. “We need to have a couple to feel anything.”

“Yeah, Jennifer,” Colin says. “Throw me another.”

I expect to get slaphappy and loopy—you know, like the guys from
Dumb and Dumber
—but I don't. I just get really, really relaxed.

“I was supposed to go to the store today,” I say lazily, “but you know what? I'm sick of doing what I'm supposed to do all the time. Besides, I'm sure we have enough food to last one more day.”

I am fixated on one spot—Jennifer's left earlobe.

“That's the most beautiful ear I've ever seen,” I tell her.

She and Colin crack up.

But this is really serious. Somebody—maybe Gramps—should do a painting of that ear. It would become as famous as the
Mona Lisa
.

“Everything's beautiful when you're in Lotus land,” Colin says.

“I know what you mean, jelly bean,” I come back.

They crack up again.

“What's a jelly bean?” asks Jennifer.

“Never mind. Not important. Don't sweat it. Let's pake a bizza,” I say. “I mean … bake a pizza.”

“You're speaking nonsense,” Colin says.

“Oh, I forgot,” I mutter. “This place is so bass-ackwards, you don't even know what a pizza is.”

They don't smile at that.

“Maybe you'll inform us,” Jennifer says coolly.

I'm suddenly very irritated, and I don't even want to deal with anybody so ignorant that they don't know what pizza and jelly beans are.

I manage to get to my feet; I wobble around a bit, then say with a sneer, “Behold your typical Fashion City teenagers!”

When I go into our apartment, Meggie is still in her room. I slip into my own room and fall across the bed in a daze. I hear Mom and Gramps come in, but nobody disturbs me. I drift away to the sound of their voices in the kitchen. The next thing I know, Gramps is knocking on my door.

“Dinner, David. Come and eat.”

At the table I'm quiet. I wonder if my pupils are dilated. I try not to meet anybody's eyes. Meggie starts telling Mom and Gramps about the cop taking her shoelaces, and they become absorbed in her story.

“Not to worry, sweetie,” Mom says to Meggie. “I have an extra pair for you.”

“But Kitty picked out those shoelaces for me,” Meggie says. “They can't be replaced.”

Gramps speaks up. “Meggie B., I promise to buy you the gaudiest, brightest-colored shoelaces in the universe when we get out of this place.”

It's disgusting how they treat her. Like she's the little princess.

“Is something wrong, David?” Mom says to me.

“No. Why do you ask, Mother dear?”

“I don't know. You don't seem like yourself.”

“Who else would I be?”

Meggie is eyeing me. Does she know? Yeah, maybe little baby girl knows. But she won't tell. The moment passes, and I think I'm home free.

Then Mom says, “David, last night before we went to bed, I reminded you to get milk, and now I see there's none in the refrigerator.”

“Oh, the milk,” I say. “I guess I forgot.”

“Did you go to the store at all?”

I shake my head.

“We don't have a thing for breakfast,” she says irritably. “We're also out of fruit. Did you waste the whole day?”

I shrug and avoid her eyes.

“David, I don't ask much of you, but—”

“All right! All right!” I cry, and jump up from the table. “I'll go! Just get a grip, will ya?”

I can see the shock on Mom's face, and Meggie's eyes go wide.

“Apologize to your mother,” Gramps says to me, his face and his tone, for once, stern and serious.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I'll go now.”

“But they'll soon be closing,” Mom says, “and—”

I bolt out the door without a backward glance, before she can finish her sentence.

One Lotus for a difference you'll notice? I notice, all right, but it's not the kind of difference I expected. There's a nice breeze outside, and I think my head might clear up. In front of the other buildings, young kids are
playing on the sidewalks, trying to catch the last bit of daylight.