Rosalind: Guess.
Me: Guess who you’re going out with?
Rosalind: Yeah.
Me: Somebody I know?
Rosalind: Could be.
Me: Donald Sheavers?
Rosalind: Are you crazy?
Me: Is it a guy? Not an elephant … !
Rosalind: LOL. It’s a guy.
Me: I give up.
Rosalind: Remember 0llie?
Me: Ollie???!!! The boy who was always trying to kiss us?
Rosalind: Kiss you, you mean! He remembers.
Me: Wow! What’s he like?
Rosalind: You want me to describe his kisses?
Me: Listen, we’ve got to get together.
Rosalind: Yeah. I’ve got a test to study for this week. After the first of the year, maybe? I’ll drop by the Melody Inn some Saturday, and we’ll have lunch. Mark your calendar.
After we had signed off, I sat smiling to myself. Ollie and Rosalind! Who would have thought? And he still remembered me. I wondered what he’d think of me now if he saw me with braces.
15
Truly Disgusting
A week before Christmas, two days before winter break, I woke up feeling dizzy. I thought maybe I’d just got up from bed too fast when my alarm went off, but by the time I got to the bathroom, I felt even worse. I had that queasy feeling you get when you might throw up, and it felt as though my intestines were rolling around inside me.
When you first realize you’re sick, you think of all the reasons you shouldn’t be. You can’t be. I had to turn in an English assignment; I wanted to wear my suede boots; Gwen was going to show me the bracelet she’d got from Joe Ortega—the guy she’d met at camp… .
I leaned over the toilet, but nothing happened. That’s an even worse feeling than going ahead and puking.
I made my way to the top of the stairs. “Dad?” I called feebly.
A chair scraped in the kitchen, and Dad came to the foot of the staircase. “Yes?”
“I don’t feel so good. I think I’d better stay home,” I told him.
“Really, Al?” He took a few steps more so he could see me better. “What’s wrong?”
“Stomach flu or something.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you take your temperature?” he asked.
I braced one hand against the wall, feeling dizzy again. “No, but I will. Could you ask Elizabeth to turn in my English assignment for me? It’s inside my three-ring binder on the coffee table.”
“All right,” Dad said. “Maybe I should stay home with you.”
“I’ll be okay,” I said, not feeling okay at all.
Dad seemed unsure. “Sylvia had to go in early this morning for a meeting, and I’ve got a new instructor to interview, but I could cancel… .”
“If I need you, I’ll call you at work, but I can get along by myself,” I said. “I just want to go back to bed.”
“Take your temperature first. If it’s as high as one hundred and one, I’m calling Dr. Beverly,” Dad said.
I found the thermometer and crawled back under the covers with it in my mouth. It was still there when Dad came into the room a few minutes later. “It’s just over one hundred,” he said, checking. “Can I bring you anything before I leave? Orange juice?”
I put one hand over my mouth. “Don’t even mention food. I just want to sleep.”
“I don’t know, Al… .”
“Karen and Brian and a lot of other kids at school had the flu last week. I’m sure that’s what this is,” I said.
“All right. I’ll drop by at noon and look in on you,” said Dad.
I pulled the blanket up under my chin. My mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls. “Don’t forget to give Liz my assignment,” I murmured.
“I’ll take it over right now,” Dad told me.
I woke up once to get a bucket from under the sink and put it beside the bed, just in case, but I didn’t throw up. I had the runs instead. I sat on the toilet and decided I would probably be there all day.
When I got off at last, I drank some water and went back to bed, but I’d only been there five minutes before I had to go again. I didn’t make it. I sat on the toilet, the room spinning around, and this time when I flushed, I left my soiled pajama bottoms in a heap in one corner and wobbled back to bed, so dizzy I was afraid I might fall over. I thought about calling Dad, but I felt if I could just get under the covers, I could sleep away the afternoon.
The pillow felt cool against my cheek, and I was pretty sure my temperature had gone up some more. I felt myself drifting off into an uneasy dream, as though I was going in and out of sleep.
I’m not sure how long I lay there, but I could hear footsteps moving softly around in the hallway. I figured it must be noon at least, maybe one o’clock. It was comforting to know that Dad was there watching over me. Once I felt, or dreamed that I felt, his hand on my forehead, but I didn’t even open my eyes. Finally, when I woke completely, it was two forty-five, and I could hear rustling from downstairs. I figured that Dad had taken the rest of the day off.
There was a tall glass of water on my nightstand, and I drank half of it, but that was a mistake, I guess. I got up and hurried to the bathroom, realizing I was now wearing the tops of my pajamas and nothing on below. I sat on the toilet seat again, holding my head in my hands, and finally, when I flushed, I saw that my dirty pajama bottoms were gone.
Yuck! I thought. Dad had got the job of dealing with them. I rinsed out my mouth, wrapped a bath towel around me in case I met Dad in the hall, and opened the bathroom door. I came face-to-face with Sylvia, coming up the stairs.
“Oh!” I said, embarrassed.
“Ben called me at school to tell me you were sick, and I told him we had assembly this afternoon, so I could take care of you. Mr. Ormand’s got my sixth-period class. How are you, sweetheart?”
How was I? I didn’t feel like anyone’s sweetheart, that’s for sure. I stood there holding a towel around me, wondering whether I looked even worse than I smelled.
“Awful,” I mumbled. “I’ve been running to the bathroom all day.” And then I realized it was Sylvia who had found my soiled pajama bottoms! I couldn’t stand it. I stumbled on into my room and crawled under the covers, still holding the towel around me.
She came in, wearing jeans and a sweater and loafers, and sat on the edge of my bed. Placing one hand on my forehead, she said, “I called the doctor, and he told me you have the same classic symptoms he’s been seeing all week. I know that doesn’t make you feel any better, but he said the worst is usually over in twenty-four hours.”
“I’m a mess,” I said.
“You’re supposed to be! That’s what sick’s all about,” she said.
What a weird way to put it. Like I was doing what I was supposed to do! Look and smell disgusting!
“When you think you might like a little ginger ale, I’ll bring some up,” she said. “I’m going to fix you an ice bag, too. That might feel good against your cheek. Sleep now, if you can.”
I was glad she left so I could get up and put on some underpants. Then I slept for several hours, and when I woke, there was an ice bag next to my face, a glass of ginger ale on the nightstand, and down at the foot of my bed, my pajama bottoms, all clean and folded, still slightly warm from the dryer.
The first call I got, strangely, was from Penny. When Dad came home, he placed the hall phone beside my bed so I wouldn’t have to get up to talk. Other families, see, have cordless phones and cell phones, but we’re still back in the Dark Ages. A phone upstairs, a phone down, and Dad thinks we’re big time.
“Hi,” Penny said. “I’ll bet you feel as awful as I did last week.”
“I didn’t know you’d been sick too.”
“It was over the weekend, so I didn’t miss any school. How you doing?” she asked.
“Pretty yucky. Sick at both ends,” I told her.
“Isn’t that the worst? Everyone was asking about you today, and Liz said she turned in your E
nglish assignment. If we get any assignments tomorrow, we’ll get them to you, but seeing that it’s the last day before vacation, I don’t think that’ll happen.”
“Hope not,” I said.
“Well, you’ll be okay in a day or two. I was, anyway. Have a great Christmas!” she told me.
“Thanks. Hope you have a good one too,” I said. Was it possible that we weren’t pretending anymore? I wondered. That, if we weren’t close friends, we were at least friends?
I had just put the phone down when Liz called. “How’re you feeling?” she asked.
“Putrid,” I said. “Somebody ought to put a ‘Caution: Blasting Zone’ sign near my rear end.”
She laughed. “Patrick asked about you.”
“Good for Patrick,” I said.
“Everyone’s afraid to call in case you’re sleeping.”
“Everyone’s afraid I’ll be on the john, that’s why,” I corrected her. “Oops! Got to go again.”
“Bye,” she said quickly, and hung up.
Dad brought up the Post comics when I returned to bed. “Sylvia has to be at school tomorrow, but I can be here all day,” he said.
“You won’t have to, because I know I’ll be better,” I told him.
I slept through the dinner hour, and when I woke, my pillow was damp with perspiration, but I did feel better. I went to the bathroom again, then came back and sat on the edge of my bed, drinking the ginger ale and contemplating my clean pajama bottoms, wondering if I dared put them on. When I put the glass back down, I saw Lester standing in the doorway looking at me.
“Lester!” I scolded, scooting back under the blanket.
“I couldn’t tell if it was a girl in her underpants or one of the witches out of Macbeth,” he said. “Do you feel as bad as you look?”
“You’re not helping,” I said. “Go away.”
“Just came by to see what you wanted for Christmas, actually,” he said. “Bedpan? Pajamas, maybe? A jug of Listerine?”
“Just go away!” I repeated. “Besides, I’m probably contagious.”
“Why do you think I’m standing twenty feet off?” he said. “But seriously, what do you want for Christmas? Within reason, of course.”
“What I would really like won’t cost you a cent,” I told him.
“That’s my kind of present!” said Lester.
“You won’t even have to wrap it,” I said.
“Sounds better all the time.”
“Well, now that you mention it, it’s a gift of time.”
Lester stopped smiling. “Do not ask me to take Pamela out because she’s feeling depressed lately.”
“No. I want you to teach me to drive.”
“Arrrrrrggggggghhhhhh!” said Lester, clutching his head.
“A gift has to be cheerfully given, Lester, or it’s no gift at all,” I said. I suddenly felt the urge to go to the bathroom again and sprang out of bed.
Lester backed away. “Don’t contaminate me! I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”
This time after I’d used the toilet, I brushed my teeth, then my hair. My face looked all flushed, and there were pillow creases on my cheek. I tried to smile at myself in the mirror to be sure it was me. My braces gleamed back at me. It was me, all right. But in five more months I’d be driving, I told myself. In five more months I’d have my license. And suddenly I felt a whole lot better.
By nine that evening I felt good enough to sit at my computer for twenty minutes and answer e-mails. There was a message from Pamela, another from Patrick, both telling me they hoped I was feeling better. Karen, of course, had to tell me the latest news, and I was surprised to hear that Lori and Leslie were back together.
Me: How did it happen?
Karen: Leslie wanted to test herself one last time, she told Lori. See if she had any feelings for boys.
Me: And?
Karen: She said that if ever a guy was going to appeal to her, this guy was it.
Me: So did he put the moves on her or what?
Karen: No, but all the while she was out with him, she was thinking of Lori. When she’s with Lori, she said, she’s “home.”
When Dad came upstairs again, I told him about Lori and Leslie.
“If I turned out to be a lesbian, would you be upset?” I asked him.
He didn’t answer right away. “My first thought would be that you might have a pretty rough road ahead of you. I’d want to be sure that you weren’t just mixed up about your sexuality or that something hadn’t happened to turn you off boys. But I wouldn’t try to change you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I smiled up at him. “How did you get to be so wise?”
He smiled back. “Wise has nothing to do with it. When you were born, I knew I was going to love you just the way you are, however you turned out to be.”
“Even though I can’t carry a tune?”
“Even that,” he said, and grinned.
I knew I couldn’t go to school the next day because my insides still felt unsettled, and I sure didn’t want to have an embarrassing accident there. It was sort of nice in a way to have the house to myself for a whole day. I took a shower, washed my hair, and even polished my nails, Rusty Rose, just as they’d been for the wedding.
By noon I felt well enough to eat some soup Sylvia had left for me. And when that didn’t send me to the bathroom, I ate a banana and some crackers, then lay down on the couch to listen to a new CD Dad had brought me from the store. I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, the music was over, and someone was tapping on the window.
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. Someone was on the porch, rapping on the window behind my head! I wanted to roll off the couch and go crawl under the dining-room table on my hands and knees, but I knew that whoever it was had seen me. Swinging my legs off the couch, I glanced around, and there was Sam Mayer from school.
He grinned through the glass and held up a copy of The Edge, just off the press, our last issue before winter break. I had no choice but to go to the door and let him in—me in an old pair of flannel pajamas. I hadn’t even brushed my teeth after eating and probably had cracker crumbs stuck in my braces.
Sliding my tongue over my teeth, I walked out into the hall and opened the door a crack.
“I’m contagious as anything,” I said, covering my mouth with one hand.
He just grinned and poked his head inside. “I’m immune. Had it last week. How you feeling?”
“A little better.”
“Can I come in for a few minutes? I just wanted to bring you a copy of the paper.”
“Thanks, Sam. I look a mess,” I said, but I opened the door for him, and he followed me into the living room. I grabbed my robe from off a chair and threw it around me.
“You’re not planning to be sick at Christmas, are you?” he joked.
“Ha! I’ll still be wrapping presents Christmas morning, I’ll bet,” I told him. “It sure put a damper on shopping.”
He looked around. “No tree?”
“We’re going to get ours tonight. Dad will, anyway.”
We sat down on opposite ends of the couch. “Last year, when I was going with Jennifer, she invited me over on Christmas Eve, when her family opens their presents,” Sam said. “There were piles of presents! Stacks of presents! And they opened them one at a time. I almost fell asleep. It took the whole evening!”
I laughed.
“Hanukkah’s a lot easier,” he said. “One present per kid per night.”
“How did the paper come out this time?” I asked, reaching for it and giving each page a quick glance. “Tony wanted to draw a sports cartoon for each issue. Was it any good?”
In answer, Sam pointed to the last page. In a box near the bottom there was a drawing of a heap of football players, all piled on top of each other. And off to one side a small quarterback was holding the football and saying, “You guys looking for something?”
I studied the cartoon, then looked at Sam. He was grinning again. ??
?Yeah, that’s what we thought,” he said. “Tony’s got to get better than that or we’re going to have to pull it.” He reached over and jiggled my knee with his hand. “Miss Ames said she’d like to see more in-depth articles by the staff, and she particularly mentioned that three-part series you did last spring on being part of the stage crew for Fiddler. What did you call it? ‘Behind the Scenes of a School Production’ or something? So Jayne asked each of us to come up with a half-page article on any subject we wanted. She may not use them all, but it’s our next assignment.”
“Could be interesting!” I said. “What are you going to write about?”
“I don’t know. How it feels to break up with someone, maybe.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t make it personal. I wouldn’t mention Jennifer or anything. Just how it feels to end a relationship. Lost love, Romeo and Juliet, that sort of thing.” He smiled and stood up. “Hope you’re feeling better in a few days.”
“Thanks, Sam.” I followed him to the door. “And if I don’t see you before January, Happy New Year.”
He brushed my cheek with one hand. “Take care,” he said, and went out.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go with us?” Sylvia asked me that night when she and Dad were discussing where to buy our tree.
“I think I’d better stay in. I still feel rumblings,” I said. But I was pleased I’d been invited.
“Then what kind of tree shall we get?” Sylvia asked, pulling on a fake fur hat that looked like a white halo around her face. “Your choice.”
“Well, I’ve always wanted a white tree. One that looks like it’s covered with snow,” I told her.
“Then a white tree we shall have!” said Sylvia, looking at Dad. “We can stop at the hardware store on the way back and pick up a couple cans of that snow flocking.”
I don’t know if they liked my idea or not. Dad likes the natural look of things, but I figured I ought to have some say in Christmas, even though it was their first as husband and wife.
While they were gone, I made a big pot of hot chocolate and microwaved some popcorn that I kept warm in the oven. I cleaned out the corner in the living room where we usually put the tree and got down the decorations from the storage cupboard.