Zigzag (22 page)

What I thought was,
Maybe if they stopped spending money on junk they didn't need, they could
afford
the private school.

“Hi, Dad. It's me.
I thought I ought to check in and let you know where we are.” I was calling from a pay phone in the lobby of the Big Steer so Iris wouldn't be able to critique the call later on.

“Good to hear from you, Robin.” There seemed to be a lot of noise in the background.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“No, not at all. David is just complaining about eating his vegetables. Nothing new about that.” He laughed fondly, a laugh I didn't remember ever hearing before. A laugh that had never been directed at me.

“If you're, uh, eating, I can call back . . .”

“Nonsense. Dinner hour is not a sacred ritual in this house.
Where are you by now?”

“Texas.”

“Texas! You guys really are going around your thumb to get to your finger.” I thought I heard Allison laughing in the background. Laughing at me?

“Yeah, you know, Dory wants to see everything. So, anyway, tomorrow we're finally heading west. Dory wants to spend four or five days in New Mexico so we can see some Indian pueblos. I guess there's lots to do around Santa Fe.”

“I guess so. I've never been there.”

“You haven't?”

“I've never been much of a traveler. Kind of a homebody, I guess. So we should expect you in about a week, then? At Dory's pace?”

“Um, yeah.” I was still puzzling over the fact that my father considered himself a
homebody.
“I'll call you again the day before we arrive. Okay?”

“Sure. We're all ready for you. Whenever.”

“Thanks, Dad. I'm looking forward to seeing your house and everything.” How lame. I sounded about seven years old. To tell you the truth, I
felt
about seven years old.

“Don't get your hopes up. We don't live in a palace or anything.” He laughed good-naturedly.

“I know. I just meant . . .”

“Plain old suburban ranch house.”

“I
know.
I just want to
see
it.” I sounded desperate, even to myself.

Neither of us knew what to say then. Fortunately, his other child intervened and got us off the hook. I could hear the clatter and crying behind him.

“Oh, my, David just knocked Allison's plate off the table. I think I'll have to get off here and help get things under control.”

“Sure. Okay. I'll talk to you soon, Dad.”

“Bye, Robin.”

I sat in the phone booth for a few minutes after I hung up, imagining what was going on in that ranch-house kitchen in suburban Phoenix, Arizona. The life that was my brother's childhood.

T
he letter had been slipped under the door of the room I was sharing with Iris. She'd gone in first and tromped right on top of it, but when I came in and picked it up, she said, “God, is that another letter for
you
?” She'd probably have opened it and read it if she'd realized what it was.

“Why don't you go try on your new shoes?” I said, then disappeared into the bathroom with the blue airmail envelope.

“Hey, I need to use the bathroom!” she hollered.

“Use your mother's,” I said, closing the toilet lid and plopping down. I deserved a
little
privacy, didn't I? Three pages fell out of the ripped open envelope into my lap.
Three whole pages of Chris.

Dear Robin,

Hey! I just got your letter today! I'm glad you're not mad at me anymore because that means my life is now totally perfect. I LOVE being here. Rome is not only amazing to see and to learn about—it's also FUN!

Last night a whole bunch of us went to a bar together. Bars in Italy aren't like bars in Iowa, full of pool tables and old guys guzzling beer. For one thing, there's no drinking age here, but also there are lots
of bars where kids our age hang out and dance. For some reason teenagers seem older and more sophisticated over here. Maybe that's because I am from Hicksville, Iowa, but I don't think so. Most of the American kids are a little bit shocked, although, of course, the kids from New York and Washington, D.C. (like my roommate Rob), pretend not to be.

Anyway, about eight kids from my dorm all went barhopping together last night. Charlie and Giacomo and Dante—I told you about them—and some girls, too. Yes, there are girls in my dorm, but you don't have to worry about them or be jealous. Not that they aren't pretty and fun to hang out with. Gabriella is an Italian girl from Verona, which is where Romeo and Juliet lived, supposedly. She's really smart and she's helping me with my Italian. Then there are three American girls we like, too: Julie, Kate, and Delphine (whose mother is actually French, hence the name). So we all went to this bar called Caffe Enrico, which is right near Piazza Navona. It was a great place, but then Gabriella (who's been to Rome before) remembered this other little place that was down closer to the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, by the river, and that place was great, too.

The wine over here is so good you can just keep drinking it and drinking it. We didn't have to drive anywhere so we let ourselves get sort of blotto. The DJ was spinning amazing tunes and we danced so much we were soaked with sweat. I guess that sounds gross, but it was so much fun. It was like we all
bonded
or something. We walked back to the dorm with our arms around each other, singing and laughing. It's hard to explain on paper what it meant to me. Am I making any sense? I wish you were here to be part of this with me.

What else? The work is hard, but I'm learning so much. I'm really looking forward to the last four weeks when we get to travel around—we're all going together so it will really be great. We'll be going through Verona so Gabriella can show us around there.

I just reread your letter. Wow, the Moonlight Motel in Blue Earth,
Minnesota, really does sound like hell. I'm sorry your trip isn't going to be that much fun. Your cousins sound awful. And your aunt is kind of a kook, too, huh? Too bad. At least you'll get to visit your dad.

I do remember our trip to the state fair last year. It seems like ages ago, doesn't it? Next year we'll take a
real
trip together.

Franny is going out with Des Sanders? Wow. I didn't know she even knew him. Does he still have that goofy haircut? Of course, Franny would probably like that about him. When I think about it, they're probably a pretty good couple—both a little crazy.

The Spanish Steps are these huge outdoor stairs near the Villa Borghese (a big park). They're always full of people lounging around, talking, or eating ice cream or something. They're called the Spanish Steps because they end up in the Piazza di Spagna, where the Spanish Embassy is—even though the money to build them came from the French! Apparently in the eighteenth century all the most beautiful men and women would gather on the steps hoping to be chosen as an artist's model. There's a fountain by Bernini, the sculptor, in the middle of the piazza, and Keats, the poet, died in a house right at the bottom of the steps.

Ciao! Miss you a lot!

Love, Chris

By the time I got to the end of the letter I was holding the sheets by the tips of my fingers, as if they were filthy or rotten or something. I let go of the third sheet and it floated to the floor.
Well,
I thought,
I guess it's a good thing I'm
not
in Rome. If I was, Chris, the world traveler, might die at the bottom of those stupid steps, too. After I pushed him down them.

What kind of horrible letter was that to write to your girlfriend?
My life is perfect. Gabriella, a beautiful, smart, sophisticated Italian girl, shows me around and sweats all over me. We have bonded like Romeo and Juliet. I am visiting all sorts of Villas and
Piazzas you've never even heard of and I know all about them. Too bad you're having a crappy time. Bye!

He sounded like some bratty show-off who didn't care about anybody but himself. He certainly wasn't thinking about my feelings. If I'd had my notebook in the bathroom with me I'd have immediately written a scathing letter right back to him.

Dear Asshole,

Here I am in Hicksville, Texas. We've been doing nothing but playing pool and guzzling beer for days. (The beer here is so good you can just keep drinking it and drinking it.) Sure hope you and Juliet have had more chances to get blotto down by the river—that sounds so educational. Yes, I understand exactly what you mean—I bonded to a cowboy in Wyoming, and Iris bonded to a horse—they both had great perspiration. We're staying at the Big Steer Resort in Texas. Apparently in the eighteenth century all the most beautiful cows hung out here hoping to get chosen by the Big Steer. Today we saw Cadillac Ranch where in the twentieth century cars came to be buried by famous artists. Am I making any sense? Hope not!

However, I knew Iris was right outside the door, and I didn't want her to know there was anything wrong with the letter. If she was still in her lousy mood, she'd smirk and laugh and get a big kick out of my anger. And if she was in a talkative mood, she'd want me to tell her all about it so we could have a big discussion. Which was not going to happen.

The more I thought about it, I decided I wouldn't answer this letter at all. I'd pretend I hadn't gotten it yet and write him a letter about what a great time
I'd
been having out here in the great American West. Which wasn't even a lie. As crazy as my relatives were, I was glad to be here with them, discovering things I never knew about my own country. Maybe even about myself.

Dinner at the Big Steer was just that: a side of underdone cow that had probably turned more than one diner into a vegetarian. I know I was considering it strongly. Iris hardly touched her meat, but I couldn't really fault her for it—she ate the baked potato and green beans.

Dory wanted to go to some kind of corny Wild West show, that advertised “audience participation” as if that was a good thing. The show featured saloon girls and gunslingers, but I wasn't up for watching stereotypes tonight—I wanted to stay in and write my letter. Marsh was willing to go along. Iris, of course, didn't want to go, but then decided she would, anyway.

“It's too boring just sitting around a hotel room with Robin,” she said, but it occurred to me she might be vacating the premises so I could be alone to answer my letter. It was unusual for Iris to consider anybody else's feelings, but, on the other hand, watching the locally staged shoot-out didn't seem like her kind of evening either. I decided to give her thoughtful impulse the benefit of the doubt.

I was glad to see them poke their cowboy hats on their heads and head off, Dory promising ice cream (or anything else their hearts desired) after the performance. The Big Steer Resort had great stationery, too, tan paper with a big bull head at the top.

Dear Chris,

Things have certainly gotten better on this trip! I wish you were here with us to see the amazing scenery: the sky that goes on forever, the Rocky Mountains in the distance, and the Garden of the Gods. What a place that is! It's just south of Denver (which is a great city—remind me to tell you about the museum and the Botanic Gardens sometime)! Anyway, when you walk through the Garden of the Gods you start to feel like nature is the only truly great artist. It's awe inspiring.

Speaking of artists, my young cousin Marshall (who's only ten) is so talented! I've sort of taken him under my wing and we've become buddies—he shows me his drawings even though he won't show anyone else. And the drawings are amazing—I really think he'll be famous someday. I'm getting along so well with my aunt and cousins now. They're troubled, of course, by their husband/father's death, but they're such interesting people once you get to know them. Iris and I have long girl talks before bed each night, and Dory has begun to confide in me, too. Maybe I should be a social worker or something!

I guess the best days we've had so far were on the dude ranch. There were lots of young cowboys there for Iris and me to hang out with. (Don't be jealous—they're very good-looking, but we're all just friends.) They took us on trail rides and danced with us at the square dance and walked us home after the rodeo. It's great to meet new people, isn't it? You've probably met some kids you like in Italy, too.

Anyway, this trip has been eye-opening for me. There's a big world out there and I want to be part of it! We leave Texas tomorrow and head west for New Mexico. Dory says we'll see an Indian pueblo where people have lived for a thousand years. I can't wait—this trip is a real adventure!