Blind Squirrels (17 page)

“I don’t know if I can make you
understand, but I want more than what I had with Ben.  I know you and Daddy
weren’t the perfect couple, and I guess you think there is no such thing.  But
I believe in true love.  I believe that there is someone in this world that is
just for me.  Until we find each other, I’m not settling for less.”

Mom looked displeased.  “I
suppose you think that Max Whatshisname is your one true love?  If he is, why
aren’t the two of you together?  Love and happiness take two, Kat.  You need to
get your head out of the clouds and stop dreaming.  Max chose to marry someone
else.  He doesn’t care two bits about you.  He never did.”

For some reason, my mother’s
words ripped into me like a rusty blade.  She pierced my heart and shattered my
being.  Standing in front of her, I felt naked and scarred.  She had no right
to wound me that way.  This was my life to live in whatever fashion I chose.  I
turned to retaliate, but I stopped.  She was a tired old woman, and she thought
she was helping me.  Still, I couldn’t bare her company for one minute more.  I
had to get away from her.

Making a few sorry excuses, I
headed for my car.  Mom followed me.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I
promised her.

“I didn’t mean to interfere in
your life, Kat.  I just wish you would give this some thought.  Dreams are just
that – nothing more.  Remember how you used to dream of being a writer?  But
your father convinced you that you’d never make a living doing that.  He was right. 
And then later you got it into your head that you could take a programming job
in a foreign country, but I finally persuaded you how dangerous that could be. 
It’s a parent’s job to guide their children.  Get married, have a family, and
keep your secure respectable job.  Chasing dreams is for little children, not
grown women.  You don’t have to be different to enjoy life.  Ordinary isn’t so
bad – that’s what most of us are.  That’s what I am, and it’s what you are,
Kat,” she smiled as though she thought I would be happy to hear that I was
ordinary.  Then she added, “Remember, I love you.  Call me later.” 

Mom walked back towards her
garden.  She walked slightly stooped, and she suddenly looked every one of her
sixty-eight years.  I felt sorry for her.  She had lived her life without any
dreams.  Daddy had been a drunk and an adulterer, and Mom had thought she had
to settle for that kind of life.  She would never understand my penchant for
risk-taking, my romantic view of life, or my need to always reach for my
dreams.  She deserved my pity.

On my way home, I drove past our
old house on Heritage Street – Mom now lived several blocks away.  The new
owners had remodeled it, and it looked nothing like my old home.  Farther down
the road, I passed Max’s old house.  His dad still lived there, and he was
outside watering the lawn.  He glanced up as I passed, but he had no idea of
who I was.

My eyes were stinging from tears
when I pulled into my parking lot.  I parked in my usual spot and went to my
apartment.  Inside, I checked my answering machine.  There was one message.  I
pressed the play button.

“Hey, Kat, it’s Olivia.  You know
I hate talking to this machine!  Call me!  Bye.”

I dialed Olivia’s number.  “Hey, Olivia! 
What’s up?”

“Hi.  I wanted to apologize for
this morning.  I didn’t mean to get your hopes up.”

“No apology necessary.  So, did
you see Lee?”

“No.  Look, I was thinking we
might be able to buy some tickets to that concert.  I’ve been up and down
Florida Street trying to find old Harvey Daniels.  How much are you willing to
pay for a backstage pass?”

“He’ll never part with any of
those.  But if he’s willing, I’ll buy two – one for me and one for you.  Call
me if he’s willing and we’ll negotiate a price.  It is for Elton, so who knows
how much I’ll pay?”  I knew she wouldn’t get him to sell, but I allowed myself
to dream for a moment.

“Gotcha.  But I’ll pay my own
way.  Talk to you later.”

Only Olivia
could cheer me up after that visit with my mom.  Now she had me imagining how
it would be to meet Elton John.  She had always been a great best friend, but
we had our moments in high school.  Sometimes, it was amazing that Olivia had
put up with me.  I started remembering some of the times that I had tried our
friendship...

Chapter 12

My summer vacation was somewhat
boring.  I spent several hours a day on the phone with Olivia.  Occasionally, I
would walk over to Aurelia’s house, but her mom kept her busy working all
summer.  I was soon looking forward to school.

The school day started on one of
the hottest days of the year.  We couldn’t wear shorts to school, and most of
our classrooms did not have air conditioning.  I tried to decide between my
favorite pair of Levi’s and a sundress my mom had bought me during the summer. 
I had slimmed down a little bit, but I still felt fat whenever I wore a dress. 
Still, I knew how hot I’d be if I wore my tight jeans.  What would it be?  Fat
or hot?  I decided to wear the jeans.

 We had a new bus driver that
year, Mrs. Hassock.  She was much younger than Mrs. Decker, but she was only
slightly stricter.  In the coming weeks, we would win her over, and she would
be a pushover.

I still caught the bus at Aurelia’s
stop.  Stella and her brothers were there, along with a number of new
freshmen.  One of them – Steve Dour – looked like a miniature Johnny, complete
with a silk shirt and a dark tan.  He was cute, but I remembered what a jerk
Johnny had been.  Steve might be the same.

When the bus reached the last
stop, it surprised me to see Travis get on board.  He made his way towards my
seat, but he sat down across from me.  I hadn’t really seen Travis much since
the day he took Birdie for a ride on his bike.  He looked more sullen and
reserved than before.  This new brooding darkness gave him a mysterious
appearance.  I found it difficult to take my eyes off him, but he barely seemed
to notice me.  Mrs. Hassock dropped him off at Brown, but I was still thinking
of him when we reached WMHS.

I hadn’t missed Max so far, but
then he hadn’t ridden the bus for quite some time.  The few minutes before
school and lunch would be the real test.  Those were the times I always saw him
last year.

The bell rang for homeroom.  Mine
was upstairs, and my teacher was Mrs. Royal.  Mrs. Royal was a short dumpy old
lady.  She wore pearl encrusted horn-rim glasses held around her neck by a
black elastic cord.  Most of the time, the glasses rested on Mrs. Royal’s ample
bosom, but when she put them on her face, she looked as if she was trying to
impersonate some movie star from the sixties – Raquel Welch or Ann-Margaret
perhaps.

Journalism was my first period
class.  Miss Jezebel – a middle aged brunette – was our teacher.  Miss Jezebel
wore a mid-calf narrow skirt, a long-sleeved tailored blouse, and little black
half glasses that she balanced perfectly on the end of her nose.  Her hair was worn
up in a neat French-twist.  Think of Miss Hathaway from the Beverly Hillbillies
or Helen from The Andy Griffith Show.  The irony was that she behaved prim and
proper while her name suggested something quite different.

Miss Jezebel taught us the basics
of newspaper reporting.  In her class, there was no room for opinions.  It only
took a few weeks of journalism to convince me that I preferred fictional
writing to that of a reporter, but I was in the class for the year, so I made
the best of it.

Mrs. Nolan taught second period
English.  Mrs. Nolan was close to sixty with salt-and-pepper hair, but she was
in touch with our “younger generation.”  She often wore wide-brimmed hats, and
she wore her black rimmed glasses on the bridge of her nose.  The hats,
glasses, and her old-fashioned big-collared dresses, along with her mile-wide
smile, reminded me of photos I had seen of Bella Abzug, the famous politician.

I would grow to love Mrs. Nolan
who took my writing to new levels.  She challenged me to write poetry –
something I had never cared to do before – and I found that I enjoyed it.  She
soon became my personal critic, and I would share all of my writing with her –
except maybe my personal notes to my friends.  I valued her opinion, and I took
her advice to heart.  She would one day stand out as my favorite teacher of all
time.

American History filled third
period, and our teacher was Mrs. Hart.  She was a petite woman with blond hair
that seemed to form wings on the sides of her head.  She was outspoken and
rigid, and she demanded that everyone participate in class – something I was
never able to do.  I was always afraid I would make a fool of myself, and Mrs. Hart
always proved me right.

First, second, and third period
all had one thing in common that I liked.  My friend Laura was in those classes
with me.  We hadn’t exactly lost touch during the tenth grade, but it was good
to have her back in some of my classes again.

Fourth period consisted of Algebra
II and second lunch.  My teacher for Algebra II was Mrs. Patrone, an exotic
Asian woman who seemed much too young to be teaching.  She was a worse math
teacher than Mr. Parish had been.  A typical day in her class consisted of
handing in homework, seeing one problem solved on the board – usually by one of
my fellow students – and getting the next day’s homework assignment.  Mrs.
Patrone spent the remainder of class helping students on an individual basis. 
I never seemed to get my turn before the bell rang, and I foundered in her
class.

Neither Olivia nor Aurelia had
lunch with me, but Laura and Felicia did.  This was the time I missed Max
most.  I would often catch myself watching for him to come down the breezeway. 

During lunch, Felicia introduced
me to a few of her other friends, including her new boyfriend Wesley.  Wes was
cute – he had the most beautiful green eyes, ruddy hair, and a sweet baby face. 
He was over six feet tall, and he was on the school basketball team.  He was always
extremely sweet, and he and I enjoyed joking around with each other.  Sometimes,
I wondered if Felicia was jealous, but if she was, she never let it show.  I
was happy that Felicia’s new interest in Wes had meant the end of her and Joe’s
affair.

Felicia’s other friend was called
Coquette.  I wasn’t impressed with Coquette from the beginning.  Her face was
in a permanent scowl, and her blond hair was too thick and too curly.  She had
small blue eyes and a fat, flattened nose.  In the two years I knew her, she
never smiled.  She was also without a personality.  Her voice was monotone, and
she was forever complaining and moaning about something.  I couldn’t understand
Felicia’s interest in Coquette, but since Felicia liked her, I put up with
Coquette and treated her as a friend.

Physics – my fifth period class –
was Mr. Singer’s specialty.  He was a tiny man with even tinier eyes.  He wore
thick glasses, and he walked hunched over.  He was very old – he’d fought in
World War II – but his hair was thick and black.  He was a likable old man, but
he thought Physics was not a woman’s field.  Girls – obviously misguided by
overzealous feminists – automatically passed his class with a “C,” whether they
earned it or not.

Sixth period was just down the
hall from Physics class.  Accounting had Mrs. Berry as the teacher.  Mrs. Berry
was the only typical looking teacher I had that year.  She was tall and thin
with dark brown permed hair.  She had a kind face and a sweet disposition.  The
downfall to accounting?  No boys.  Otherwise, I really enjoyed the class.

When I climbed on the bus that
afternoon, I saw Travis sitting in the third seat.  I deliberately sat down
beside him.  “Hi, Travis.”

He slowly turned his gaze on me. 
“Hey.”  He seemed listless and indifferent.

I looked into his eyes, searching
for some sign of life; I didn’t see any.  “I haven’t seen you around lately.”

“Yeah,” he said. 

My attempt to have a conversation
was failing miserably.  “Where have you been?”

His look was almost
contemptuous.  “Like you care.”  He turned away and peered out the window.

“Sorry,” I said.  I didn’t say
anymore.  It was clear he didn’t want to talk to me.

At our first Bons Copains meeting
in January, we decided to have another membership drive.  Being part of the
membership committee, I was tasked with coming up with some activities for the
candidates to perform during our “rush”.  I was coming up blank, so I asked
everyone else for suggestions.  They came up with some lame ducks, but I took
the best ones and ran with them.

The first week was about
clothes.  Candidates were to wear our school colors on Monday.  On Tuesday,
they were to wear their clothes inside-out.  Wednesday would be “Dress like the
Fifties Day.”  On Thursday night, we would meet at Pete McDermott’s house, and
the candidates had to wear our club colors.  On Friday they were supposed to
wear their pajamas.

The second week was going to
familiarize the candidates with our members – and ultimately try their
patience.  Each candidate would have a one pound bag of flour to take care of
for the entire week, and they were to get as many club members as possible to sign
the bag.  They also had to carry the bag with them at all times and avoid
busting it.  I don’t know what we thought we’d accomplish with this ordeal, but
we thought this was a great idea.  We thought it would be entertaining to watch
the prospects carrying the bag around all week and trying not to drop it.  At
the end of the week, the hopefuls would meet with the membership committee
after school in Mrs. Kalakos’ room.