Longing for Normal Page 15

  Mr. Benton made comforting noises, but none of it mattered to me. I had tried and tried and tried to be patient, but that was over.

  Marj could have, should have, taken a taxi to school and picked me up. Or asked Mrs. Lopez to get me. Anything. Even going home with Alli to Mr. Porter’s house would have been better than sitting in the principal’s office for half a day.

  I gritted my teeth to keep from yelling at her.

  She finished explaining, and Mr. Benton let us go. “Watch the news tonight and in the morning. We’re talking to health officials about closing school because of this stomach virus. We had 30% absent today.”

  Finally Marj looked at me. “But that’s not what Eliot had?”

  “No. Miss Clay explained to you about anxiety attacks?”

  “Yes.” But Marj sounded uncertain. Then she straightened and said, “We’ll get him an appointment tomorrow. Meanwhile, it’s been a long, busy day, and I’m starved.”

  So, she was going to ignore it and act like nothing had happened. We barely spoke on the way home, me sitting on my hands to remind myself to be quiet. Marj drove through the Hot Wings place on the way home, but ordered mild wings, the kind she liked. We ate in silence, the way she liked.

  Then, she went into her office and I trudged upstairs and lay on my bed. Fuming. She didn’t even ask about my day. Didn’t want to hear about my fears.

  When she finally came upstairs to say goodnight, I was beyond furious. Beyond caution. Beyond caring if I offended her.

  Marj had changed to a black T-shirt and jeans and looked pale. “You okay?”

  “No, I’m mad. Why didn’t you come and get me?”

  She blinked. “Flat tires.”

  I spoke through gritted teeth, holding my clenched fists still. “Miss Clay told you I had an anxiety attack, and you didn’t come for me for three and a half hours. Three. And a half.”

  “Eliot,” Marj said in a reasonable voice, “I couldn’t come.” She looked puzzled, like she really didn’t get it.

  “You could have taken a taxi.”

  “What?”

  “If you wanted to come, if you really cared about me, you could have taken a taxi. Or called a friend to get me. Or – ” I stopped. Marj’s eyebrows flexed up and down and inward as her face reflected her emotional roller coaster: surprise, shock, confusion.

  “I didn’t know it mattered.”

  “Matter? You’re supposed to be my mom, aren’t you? Of course, it matters.”

  She opened her mouth, and then shut it. And I thought of the adoption papers sitting on her desk, waiting until the Bread Project was finished, waiting until Marj decided.

  I thought: This would be the perfect moment for Marj to reach over and give me a hug.

  Instead, she shook her head. “We’ve both had a difficult day. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the school right away, and I’m sorry you don’t understand. I’ve never been a mother before, and I’m doing the best I can.” She raised both palms. “So let’s just both calm down and go to sleep, and we’ll see where we are in the morning. I’ll take the day off, and we’ll get you a doctor’s appointment and see what he says.”

  I had been right to give up on her and plan for a future in a foster home, to gather pictures of Griff and to save money. Alli just didn’t understand how bad things were between Marj and me. There was nothing to fight for. Because there was nothing there to start with. And when that thought hit me, I wrapped my arms around my own shoulders and my body went limp and I thought, “I’m sleepy.”

  I yawned. Lying back on my pillow, I turned my head away. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” she whispered. She touched my shoulder lightly, but I didn’t turn, and she went downstairs.

  

  The next day, it was a quick trip to the doctor’s office.

  Dr. Jay asked, “Eliot, how long has it been since you took your anxiety medicine?”

  I shivered and slipped my arms back into my shirt and buttoned it up. “Maybe three years.” Since I’d met Griff, I guessed.

  “Well, we’ll just try the same medicine, just a little stronger since you’ve grown so much.” He flipped some pages in my chart and flipped back to the front to scribble. Then he talked to Marj about anxiety attacks and handed her three full-color brochures and a prescription.

  I sat there, embarrassed, and pretended it was all about someone else.

  Marj’s face became more solemn, her lips straighter, her back stiffer. She started drumming her fingers on her knee. Finding out about this problem just made things worse.

  When Griff had found out, he was practical. We talked about it several times, and in the early days before Griff adopted me, we made the meds part of our daily routine; and, of course, Griff was in the nurse’s office when the panic attacks hit so he was there to help me get through them. And later, after Griff adopted me, the panic attacks went away and we celebrated after a month of no attacks, and again, after two months of no attacks. Somehow, I didn’t think Marj would be practical or open or helpful. She wouldn’t be there.

  Sitting in the examining room, still shivering, my anger flared again. I glared at the framed photo on the wall, a photo of a mother grizzly teaching her cub to fish.

  An hour later, Marj dropped me off at the house—school was closed because of the flu—and went to the office. “I just need to finish one file, and I’ll be home. What do you want for supper?”

  I shrugged, but the habit of trying to please adults was still there. “Supreme pizza.” It was her favorite.

  Marj frowned. “I thought you liked pepperoni, not supreme.”

  That made me look up. That simple thing, that she remembered I liked pepperoni pizza, it made me soften. “Either way. Supreme is good, too.”

  She nodded, and briefly a smile crossed her face. A flash of hope shot through me. Maybe she just needed more time to think.

  BREAD PROJECT, WEEK 8

  ELIOT

  Inside, I called Alli and asked if she wanted some lunch; she came over ten minutes later. Neither of us was hungry yet, so we went upstairs. I sat at the computer and pulled up Griff’s webpage and started working on putting in some of the photos I had scanned.

  Looking over my shoulder, Alli whistled. “Your mom know about this webpage?”

  “Don’t call her my mom. And, no. She doesn’t. She never asks what I’m doing on the computer. Just assumes I’m playing video games.”

  Alli whistled again. “Oh. You had an argument with her.”

  I whirled around my chair and glared. “Do you know how long I had to wait for her to come get me yesterday? Three and a half hours. Forever.” My arms were crossed, and I barely kept myself from shaking with anger.

  “So, where was she?”

  I explained about the flat tires. “I know. It’s a good excuse. But it’s still an excuse.”

  “So you blew up. Argued with her.”

  “No. We just didn’t talk.”

  Alli whistled again, and I thought that if she did that irritating sound one more time, I’d make her leave.

  She said, “That’s even worse. You didn’t compare her to Griff did you?”

  “Not out loud.”

  “Better not ever say that out loud,” Alli said. She bent down so her eyes were on the same level with mine, and then paused to make sure I was looking straight at her. “Do that? She’ll be very, very, very mad.” Her point made, Alli stood straight. “Well, I won’t let you give up on her. You’re good at writing,” – she waved at the computer – “so write her a letter about what happened and why and how you feel. Surprise her. Communicate.”

  “Maybe.” I’d have to wait and see what Marj said later about the new medicine. Oh. I hoped it wasn’t expensive medicine.

  “Think about it,” Alli said. “Meanwhile, we need to talk about the Bread Project. With school closed for the flu, we won’t have a Bread Project assembly tomorrow. We need to pass on the starter ourselves.”

  “Marj s
aid that, too. But then, she had to go to work. How many starters are we talking about?’

  “Pick up from 64. Deliver to 64.”

  For a minute, I had visions of walking around south Nashville for endless hours. Then reality hit: “It’s impossible.”

  “No, I have it all worked out.”

  Alli pulled a crumpled paper from the pocket of her school uniform—why did she wear that uniform all the time? She explained that she had divided the Project into eight shorter lists and called the committee—Mrs. Lopez and Mrs. Patel and Mrs. Johnson—and assigned each a list. She had even talked to Marj at her office. Then those four women each called two friends until eight mothers were in charge of just eight jars of starter each. They would make sure the sourdough starter got passed to the next person or call the committee person for help. “We might get phone calls, though, to pick up starter to take somewhere. I told everyone to call me or you if they needed a delivery service.”

  Somewhere along the way, the Bread Project had become important to Alli. She wanted the Project to work, needed the Project to work. Like she really cared about the community. Cared about getting people to work together. I could see that the thrill for her was in the people, how an idea could act like yeast in people’s lives and multiply and grow, and make people stick together better.

  I wanted the Project to work, too, but for selfish reasons. And for me? It would always be the feel of the dough under my hands and the taste of the bread. Not in the impossible-to-control feelings of others.

  Watching her wave her arms around and talk with excitement, I realized something else, too: without Alli, the Bread Project would fall apart. With school cancelled, I would have given up this week. Instead, Alli had divided up the task and handed out jobs. She kept everyone involved. How did she know how to do all that?

  

  “You’ve got my problems solved and the Bread Project under control,” I said. “Let’s work on your problem now.”

  I made Alli write down everything she could remember about her dad: full name, birthday, brothers, sisters, names of friends, and where he served in the Army. She only knew bits and pieces, so she ran to the Porters and brought back an brought an envelope with one photo of her dad and scraps of paper.

  Alli explained that there weren’t any pictures with her mom. “She died right after I was born. No one thought to make pictures. This one is me and my dad. It’s a Wal-Mart portrait taken sometime before I was a year old, because that’s when he went overseas. Do you really think he could be alive?”

  It was an old photo, and I suddenly felt rich with all the photos of Griff. “It’s possible,” I said. I tried to be reassuring, but we both knew it was a long shot.

  I had typed up what I had. We deleted and changed information until the document had everything on it that she knew. I even scanned the photo so when I needed it, I could upload it to the sites where retired soldiers hung out.

  It wasn’t enough, I knew that. Not nearly enough. But we’d try, anyway. It would only take one person recognizing one fact here or there to make the connection. And if that happened, we’d find her dad – if he was still alive.

  One thing still bothered me: “We can’t use our real names and addresses, you know.”

  “Why not?” Alli said.

  “Cyberstalking.”

  “But you have to use my name, so my dad will know it’s really me.”

  “Yeah, that makes it hard.” I had an idea, but I hesitated. This idea would be expensive, and neither of us had much money right now. But I couldn’t think of anything else. “We need to rent a post office box. We’ll tell people to send a letter to the PO box. That way, we won’t have to use our names. Well, my name, anyway.”

  Alli paced the floor beside my computer. Then she stopped and said, “You’re right. How much?”

  “I checked their website. About $50 a year for a small box. That’s all we need.” I tried to close my mouth and not say anymore, but Alli was shaking her head. So, my mouth opened by itself, “I can pay half.”

  She smiled at that. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded.

  “Thanks.” It was a small word, but it made me feel big.

  We looked through the usps.gov website, trying to figure out the PO boxes. Looked like they’d need an adult signature, but we could forge that. But still, one of us would have to go down there and rent the box.

  Finally, we went downstairs and made peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches. We sat in the bright breakfast room to eat. And to hope.

  Alli took a big bite of sandwich and mumbled, “Do you think it will work?”

  I unstuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “If he’s out there, we’ll find him.”

  “What if he doesn’t like me? This is scary.”

  That made me mad. “Scary? Your real Dad can’t be scarier than Mr. Porter.”

  She rolled her eyes and agreed. “I’ll get that PO box rented this week. Even if I have to cut school to do it.”

  

  Marj ran a hand through her hair and handed me a glass of water and one of those brownish-yellow plastic safety bottles full of pink pills. And then, a glass of water. Didn’t speak. Just motioned for me to take a pill.

  How much did it cost? I wondered. But didn’t have courage to ask.

  She watched me take one pill.

  Then she sighed, put the medicine bottle in the cabinet, got a drink of water for herself, put the glass in the dishwasher, turned, walked out and disappeared into her office. All without looking at me again.

  I waited a few minutes to be sure she was busy. Then, I pulled the package out of the trash. $150. For thirty pills. Five dollars a pill. I searched the package and saw in small print, “Insurance denied. Patient not on this policy.”

  I wasn’t on her health insurance policy because I wasn’t officially her son. Before Griff adopted me, the state had insurance for me. After he adopted me, I was supposed to go on his insurance. Now, I guess I was on no one’s insurance.

  Trembling hands put the package back in the trash.

  Trembling legs walked out of the kitchen.

  Passing Marj’s office, she barely glanced up. The corners of her mouth jerked back into a tight smile. Then rebounded into a straight line.

  I trudged upstairs to my room, trembling inside now.

  Three weeks from today was the day after Thanksgiving. I didn’t have much time left. I had to finish Griff’s website. And that’s what I did all weekend long, worked on Griff’s website.

  ALLI

  Yeah. I wanted Eliot to look for my dad on the Internet. But I wasted a week, didn’t go right away to the post office? Why’d I wait?

  Don’t know. Really, I don’t know. For a couple days, I was just numb, couldn’t think. I mean, I’m not Little Orphan Annie, and there aren’t really any Daddy Warbucks out there. Did I actually expect to find my dad? No.

  So, why try?

  Well, why not try? The PO box was the only hard thing. After that, Eliot said it was easy.

  All week, I argued back and forth with myself, but didn’t make any decisions.

  I put Eliot off by saying you had to plan something like cutting school, so there was less chance of getting caught. He kept saying he had it all ready to go. Just waiting on the PO box.

  I expected to be busy with the Bread Project that week, going from 128 starters to 256. But the committee had everything under control, Mrs. Lopez said. They had already divided up names and assigned someone to contact the new families. Either call them or visit them. That was a great idea, Mrs. Lopez said.

  She didn’t realize that now, I felt left out. Mrs. Patel and her helpers were doing the cookbook. Mrs. Johnson was in charge of setting up and decorating for the banquet. Mrs. Lopez was handing out flyers in the community, hoping to get people to come to the bread auction. Mrs. Winston and about six others each had jobs. Only Eliot and I were left out.

  It reminded me of Mandy telling me about the new baby a
bout six months ago. We went out on a date, just us two women, she said. Shopping and getting beautiful, she said. Mandy has this really curly hair and likes to make a big deal of getting haircuts, manicures, and then eating at a good restaurant. I loved those days. Even if I wasn’t beautiful like Mandy.

  “Such soft hair,” Frances, the hairdresser, always said to me. “A golden brown. Let’s get it trimmed.”

  She cut some—there was hair on the floor—but it never looked much different to me.

  After our haircuts, we stopped at The Brothers Antique Mall, one we had stopped at several times lately. Walking in, you almost felt like it was the game booths from the back-to-school party again. A couple aisles, lots of booths in a giant room. But these booths were packed with old things, things leftover from a lifetime of living, Ted said when he went with us.

  Some booths were interesting. Old Barbie dolls, old quilts, old Matchbox cars or action figures. Old. Everything was old. At the booths with glassware, I held my hands behind my back, so the sales clerks didn’t get nervous that I’d break something. Some people were sure proud of their junk.

  Mandy sorta floated along, her spring dress loose and flowing. Usually, she strolled slowly, looking at every booth. This time, she looked with me at the Barbie dolls. Often, we got one of the dolls or sometimes just a $1 action figure. Today, I was hoping for the Wedding Barbie. It was expensive, but I’d been looking at it every time we came here.

  This time, she ignored the other booths and headed toward the back of the mall. She stopped in front of a booth with furniture. A long table with carved legs and matching carved chairs. An old organ. With a sideways look, she stepped into the booth and stood right behind the organ. “Come and see.”

  It was a small doll cradle, golden colored like my hair. I touched it, and it rocked. No squeaks, just a smooth rock. Excited, I thought, this would be perfect for my dolls.