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Authors: Deb Caletti
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convention or the big hand of fate will reach down and grab your Mercedes and
your flat-screen TV. And convention tells you what to be, because certain
professions ease and trickle and embed themselves viruslike into the kids at
school at certain times. Three years ago, everyone was going to study
psychology. Then they were all going to be pediatricians, and this year it's
marine biology. So many of Melanie's friends want to be marine biologists that
there is practically going to be a one-to-one ratio of fish to
fish-studier.
"And I thought you only made the waiting list
for UC Santa Barbara. You know I love you, but shouldn't you be looking at other
options?" Let's just say that when it came to taking the SATs, poor Melanie
hadn't been able to bring along all of her tutors.
"Did you come over just to give me crap about
my future? My parents will work out something," she says. "Now shut up and let's
watch the movie."
I do and we do. I sit patiently through all the
scary-movie essentials: (1) Girl gets creepy caller on telephone when her
parents are away. (2) Girl hears noise--oh my God!--but, alas, it's only the
family cat. (3) Girl does some incredibly stupid thing, like hunting around the
front yard for creepy caller. (4) Girl finds out creepy caller is actually in
her own house. (5) Girl tries to get away but her car won't start, and no one
has AAA in these movies. (6) Phone lines are down by storm, so girl can't call
AAA even if she
58
had it. (7) Girl stabs creepy caller with
kitchen knife. (8) Creepy caller appears dead after girl makes him into sushi,
but he's not dead after all. (9) Girl summons inhuman strength and reaches the
knife before he does and then administers the death blow.
"I swear, I've seen that before," I say when
it's over.
"I am never, and I mean never, going to stay at
home alone," Melanie says.
I gather my shoes. They're still in a line with
the others, so I guess they were playing nice. I get into Mom's car, with its
oil change reminder sticker on the windshield, the date listed so far past that
it's when I used to watch cartoons and wear stretch pants. I'm relieved to be
back in the car again, but also there's this edgy sense of what might be
disappointment. I think of what Melanie said--My parents will work out
something --and I know she's right. It's what I most like and what pisses me
off about being part of Melanie's world--that there are no questions here. That
money makes everything decided and possible.
Here, weeds are not allowed.
59
4
"Mom. God, it's not raining anymore," I
say.
"Oh! Right," she says, and flicks off her
windshield wipers.
Mom drops me off at Carrera's on her way to
work. I was able to work before school and not just on weekends because I had
all my graduation credits and could have first and second period free. So Mom
and I "carpooled" the few miles downtown to the cafe, and from there she went on
to Dr. Kaninski's office in Seattle. Right then, Mom's trying to balance a
coffee cup between her knees as she shifts, which is a recipe for disaster even
with a cup sporting a lid with a little slit. "Indigo, I want to apologize for
snapping the other day. I feel like the worst mother in the world."
"What are you talking about?"
"Last night. At dinner. I've been up all night,
thinking how terrible I acted."
"Why?" I ask. "Mom, your coffee ..." I can see
it rising from the lip of the cup. Any moment it's going to splotch onto the
skirt she has on for work.
"Why! Are you kidding?" She lifts the cup,
sips, downshifts into second through the stoplight by the Front Street Market.
"I said I'd had enough. I told you guys you were ungrateful. I know you're not
ungrateful."
"You were right. We don't help unless you ask
us."
"When I got up this morning, Bex was dusting
the living room." Her voice wobbles.
"So?"
60
"So! I was hurtful. I threw that oven
mitt."
"For Christ's sake, Mom, it was an oven mitt.
convention or the big hand of fate will reach down and grab your Mercedes and
your flat-screen TV. And convention tells you what to be, because certain
professions ease and trickle and embed themselves viruslike into the kids at
school at certain times. Three years ago, everyone was going to study
psychology. Then they were all going to be pediatricians, and this year it's
marine biology. So many of Melanie's friends want to be marine biologists that
there is practically going to be a one-to-one ratio of fish to
fish-studier.
"And I thought you only made the waiting list
for UC Santa Barbara. You know I love you, but shouldn't you be looking at other
options?" Let's just say that when it came to taking the SATs, poor Melanie
hadn't been able to bring along all of her tutors.
"Did you come over just to give me crap about
my future? My parents will work out something," she says. "Now shut up and let's
watch the movie."
I do and we do. I sit patiently through all the
scary-movie essentials: (1) Girl gets creepy caller on telephone when her
parents are away. (2) Girl hears noise--oh my God!--but, alas, it's only the
family cat. (3) Girl does some incredibly stupid thing, like hunting around the
front yard for creepy caller. (4) Girl finds out creepy caller is actually in
her own house. (5) Girl tries to get away but her car won't start, and no one
has AAA in these movies. (6) Phone lines are down by storm, so girl can't call
AAA even if she
58
had it. (7) Girl stabs creepy caller with
kitchen knife. (8) Creepy caller appears dead after girl makes him into sushi,
but he's not dead after all. (9) Girl summons inhuman strength and reaches the
knife before he does and then administers the death blow.
"I swear, I've seen that before," I say when
it's over.
"I am never, and I mean never, going to stay at
home alone," Melanie says.
I gather my shoes. They're still in a line with
the others, so I guess they were playing nice. I get into Mom's car, with its
oil change reminder sticker on the windshield, the date listed so far past that
it's when I used to watch cartoons and wear stretch pants. I'm relieved to be
back in the car again, but also there's this edgy sense of what might be
disappointment. I think of what Melanie said--My parents will work out
something --and I know she's right. It's what I most like and what pisses me
off about being part of Melanie's world--that there are no questions here. That
money makes everything decided and possible.
Here, weeds are not allowed.
59
4
"Mom. God, it's not raining anymore," I
say.
"Oh! Right," she says, and flicks off her
windshield wipers.
Mom drops me off at Carrera's on her way to
work. I was able to work before school and not just on weekends because I had
all my graduation credits and could have first and second period free. So Mom
and I "carpooled" the few miles downtown to the cafe, and from there she went on
to Dr. Kaninski's office in Seattle. Right then, Mom's trying to balance a
coffee cup between her knees as she shifts, which is a recipe for disaster even
with a cup sporting a lid with a little slit. "Indigo, I want to apologize for
snapping the other day. I feel like the worst mother in the world."
"What are you talking about?"
"Last night. At dinner. I've been up all night,
thinking how terrible I acted."
"Why?" I ask. "Mom, your coffee ..." I can see
it rising from the lip of the cup. Any moment it's going to splotch onto the
skirt she has on for work.
"Why! Are you kidding?" She lifts the cup,
sips, downshifts into second through the stoplight by the Front Street Market.
"I said I'd had enough. I told you guys you were ungrateful. I know you're not
ungrateful."
"You were right. We don't help unless you ask
us."
"When I got up this morning, Bex was dusting
the living room." Her voice wobbles.
"So?"
60
"So! I was hurtful. I threw that oven
mitt."
"For Christ's sake, Mom, it was an oven mitt.
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