Maggie help me.
So Maggie, Tyler, and I swing by his house to pick him up. Here’s what we see:
His whole family’s lined up outside the house, along with neighbors and their pets. To see the star, of course. Brendan is so embarrassed. He apologizes like crazy.
Tyler’s cool. He just waves back. “You get used to it,” he says.
We have a laugh about last night. Then the boys start yakking away about baseball and cars and stuff. (This is how guys get to know each other, Nbook. It’s not who you are or how you feel,
but how many statistics you know.) Anyway, just as I’m about to fall asleep from boredom, Tyler asks Brendan what he’s doing for the summer.
And Brendan says he’s going to camp.
For seven weeks.
In western Massachusetts.
Yes, you heard me right.
I believe it’s somewhere around here.
Yeah, OK, I knew he was going to camp. I just didn’t know where. I guess we never discussed that.
What kid goes to summer camp clear across the continent?
Someone who used to live back East, that’s who. (Nbook, why do people say “back East” but
“out West”? I find it offensive. I don’t know why, I just do.)
Brendan talks about how his parents used to drive him five hours from New Jersey to camp every summer, and now he can’t imagine not going, because he’s a CIT, yada yada yada. And I have no idea what a CIT is (“Coastally Insane Traveler”?), plus he doesn’t seem the least bit … I don’t know … thoughtful or doubtful or
SAD.
GUILTY.
BROKEN UP.
DEVASTATED NOT TO SEE ME FOR ALMOST TWO WHOLE MONTHS WHILE I SIT
AROUND HERE WITH NOTHING TO DO.
There.
I got it out of my system.
It’s really not that big a deal.
It’s a free country. He can do whatever he wants.
Sunday night
Just a little wired
10:57
Today, around noon, Maggie calls me and asks if I’m OK. She says I looked “upset” yesterday.
(Am I the worst actor, Nbook? Am I so obvious?)
“I’m not upset,” I lie.
“Don’t worry, maybe you can visit him.”
“In western Massachusetts? Do planes actually fly that far?”
She laughs and tells me she’ll be right over. She says I need company.
Actually, I don’t. I feel like being alone. (Obviously I don’t tell her that.)
There’s a pause. I can hear yelling in the background.
Maggie’s voice drops to a whisper. “Um, I’ll … be right over,” she says again.
“Why? What hap — ?”
Click.
About half an hour later, Maggie’s limo is pulling up. When she steps out, she’s carrying a duffel bag, and she’s probably in tears. “What happened?” I ask.
“I. Can’t. Live. With. Them.”
I calm her down and invite her inside. As we sit on the living room sofa, she tells me the news: Her mom’s drinking has gotten out of control. Mr. Blume wants her to go to the Betty Ford Clinic — but when he suggested it, she went ballistic.
Maggie asks if she can stay the night.
Of course I say yes.
All my little problems fly away, Nbook. I feel so bad for her.
I run out back. Mami and Papi are reading on the deck. When I tell them what happened, they agree to let Maggie stay. Mami suggests we borrow her bike and take a ride. Maybe that’ll calm Maggie down.
Soon Maggie and I are heading to Las Palmas County Park. We sit on a bench and watch a pickup soccer game. A couple of families have spread out blankets and are eating a late lunch.
“You know the worst part?” she says. “Zeke. He’s got this shell around him. He’s, like, eleven going on thirty. Today he tells Mom to grow up. Right to her face. Dad starts screaming at him.
Then Mom starts screaming at both of them. Then Dad screams at Mom. …”
“I thought she was getting better.”
Maggie shrugs. “She was. Until the day Dad announced he had to go to Italy, on location. That set her off.”
“Why can’t he take her?” I ask.
“He offered, but she refuses to go. I can’t understand her. No one can when she gets like this.
Anyway, when Dad brought up the idea of the
So Maggie, Tyler, and I swing by his house to pick him up. Here’s what we see:
His whole family’s lined up outside the house, along with neighbors and their pets. To see the star, of course. Brendan is so embarrassed. He apologizes like crazy.
Tyler’s cool. He just waves back. “You get used to it,” he says.
We have a laugh about last night. Then the boys start yakking away about baseball and cars and stuff. (This is how guys get to know each other, Nbook. It’s not who you are or how you feel,
but how many statistics you know.) Anyway, just as I’m about to fall asleep from boredom, Tyler asks Brendan what he’s doing for the summer.
And Brendan says he’s going to camp.
For seven weeks.
In western Massachusetts.
Yes, you heard me right.
I believe it’s somewhere around here.
Yeah, OK, I knew he was going to camp. I just didn’t know where. I guess we never discussed that.
What kid goes to summer camp clear across the continent?
Someone who used to live back East, that’s who. (Nbook, why do people say “back East” but
“out West”? I find it offensive. I don’t know why, I just do.)
Brendan talks about how his parents used to drive him five hours from New Jersey to camp every summer, and now he can’t imagine not going, because he’s a CIT, yada yada yada. And I have no idea what a CIT is (“Coastally Insane Traveler”?), plus he doesn’t seem the least bit … I don’t know … thoughtful or doubtful or
SAD.
GUILTY.
BROKEN UP.
DEVASTATED NOT TO SEE ME FOR ALMOST TWO WHOLE MONTHS WHILE I SIT
AROUND HERE WITH NOTHING TO DO.
There.
I got it out of my system.
It’s really not that big a deal.
It’s a free country. He can do whatever he wants.
Sunday night
Just a little wired
10:57
Today, around noon, Maggie calls me and asks if I’m OK. She says I looked “upset” yesterday.
(Am I the worst actor, Nbook? Am I so obvious?)
“I’m not upset,” I lie.
“Don’t worry, maybe you can visit him.”
“In western Massachusetts? Do planes actually fly that far?”
She laughs and tells me she’ll be right over. She says I need company.
Actually, I don’t. I feel like being alone. (Obviously I don’t tell her that.)
There’s a pause. I can hear yelling in the background.
Maggie’s voice drops to a whisper. “Um, I’ll … be right over,” she says again.
“Why? What hap — ?”
Click.
About half an hour later, Maggie’s limo is pulling up. When she steps out, she’s carrying a duffel bag, and she’s probably in tears. “What happened?” I ask.
“I. Can’t. Live. With. Them.”
I calm her down and invite her inside. As we sit on the living room sofa, she tells me the news: Her mom’s drinking has gotten out of control. Mr. Blume wants her to go to the Betty Ford Clinic — but when he suggested it, she went ballistic.
Maggie asks if she can stay the night.
Of course I say yes.
All my little problems fly away, Nbook. I feel so bad for her.
I run out back. Mami and Papi are reading on the deck. When I tell them what happened, they agree to let Maggie stay. Mami suggests we borrow her bike and take a ride. Maybe that’ll calm Maggie down.
Soon Maggie and I are heading to Las Palmas County Park. We sit on a bench and watch a pickup soccer game. A couple of families have spread out blankets and are eating a late lunch.
“You know the worst part?” she says. “Zeke. He’s got this shell around him. He’s, like, eleven going on thirty. Today he tells Mom to grow up. Right to her face. Dad starts screaming at him.
Then Mom starts screaming at both of them. Then Dad screams at Mom. …”
“I thought she was getting better.”
Maggie shrugs. “She was. Until the day Dad announced he had to go to Italy, on location. That set her off.”
“Why can’t he take her?” I ask.
“He offered, but she refuses to go. I can’t understand her. No one can when she gets like this.
Anyway, when Dad brought up the idea of the
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