Don't Call Me Mother (26 page)

I laugh and close my eyes. Sitting beside him, I feel so safe and happy. “Okay, I wish.”

After a moment or two, Keith asks me, “What did you wish?”

I look directly into his face. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

His eyes grow large and serious. It’s as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “You’re not Little Linda any longer,” he says in a husky whisper.

I smile, wishing I could think of something clever to say, but instead I look back up at the star. If only, I think. If only he would love me, then everything would be all right. But it’s not possible. Or is it? He is here, so close, only a few inches away. I can feel his warm breath on my face.

Suddenly childhood seems very far behind us. The future tastes sweet in my mouth as Keith leans close, brushing his lips against my cheek, my lips. Then his arms are around me and my thoughts fall silent. There is only the murmur of the water, the soft breeze, and Keith kissing me. I’m soaring as high as our star, my deepest wish coming true.

Wheat Fields on a June Evening

Grit coats my fingers when I pry open the Venetian blinds of the living room window. Keith’s two-tone green Chevrolet pulls into the driveway. I try to appear calm despite my pulse. I know I will be with Keith tonight in a way Gram would never approve. It is only three weeks after our first kiss, and I can’t wait to see him again, to feel his arms around me.

“Don’t be so easy. Get away from the window.” Gram frowns.

Keith leaps from the car and quicksteps to the porch, slicking back his pomaded hair. I want to grab my purse and cello and rush off with him, but Gram is eager to use her old charms on a man, any man, even if he’s her granddaughter’s beau. Keith raps on the door.

“When is rehearsal over?” Gram blows a stream of smoke, shaking her head to direct me not to open the door yet. This means, “How soon will you be home, back in my clutches?”

I lie, telling her that we’re going for ice-cream with the other kids, but Keith and I will park and explore the new landscape of kissing. We both know this with no words. I add for good measure, “We’re rehearsing a new symphony. It might be later than usual tonight.”

“Which one?” Gram asks. I throw a little truth in with the lies, stirring it all up in an acceptable brew. “Beethoven’s Sixth.”

Keith knocks again. I put my hand on the knob. He’s so close, on the other side of the door, but I can’t open it yet, not until Gram has had her fill of questions.

“Have you already translated your Virgil and written that paper on Charles Dickens?” She must enjoy torturing me like this, making me wait to let Keith in.

I say yes, knowing that in Latin class I can finish the translation as I go. Charles Dickens is easy. I can write the essay in study hall and still get an A.

Finally, she nods for me to open the door. Keith gives a quick bow of his head as he smiles at my grandmother, casting his eyes down lest they betray his feelings for me. We know it must be a secret for now. His mother sends her greetings, he tells her rather formally. Gram’s face lights up with pleasure at being treated like a lady. I can see that he’s nervous and eager to be gone. His kisses, by contrast, will be calm and slow.

“So you’re going for ice cream afterward?” Gram asks, surprising me with her willingness to let me go.

Keith shoots a glance toward me, aware that he must deliver the correct answer. “With your permission.”

Gram smiles, relaxing into his polite ways. “Don’t be too late. Linda has lots of homework. She has to stay on the honor roll.”

“Oh, yes, yes indeed, very important. I’d never do anything to…”

“Go on now. Play some Beethoven for me.” Gram smiles and waves us away. Keith picks up my cello, careful not to touch me in front of her, and at last we go together into the night. He opens the door, stands back to guide me into his car. I am caught up in the love I feel, the scent of his car, the way the light glistens on his slicked back hair. His eyes so dark as he glances at me.

“Well, she seems to be in good spirits.” His voice trembles as he shifts into first gear. I have mentioned to him that Gram has her bad moods, and that she mustn’t get angry with us or else. He knows that she won’t make it easy on any boy who wants to get close to me. Gram does not want me to have a boyfriend because she wants me all to herself, which makes me want to get away all the more. The few times she has allowed me to go out with boys, she knew I didn’t like them all that much. She never gave her permission if it was a boy I liked. Because Keith is our old friend, it should be okay. Still, I don’t quite trust Gram not to mess it up.

I haven’t told Keith about the yardstick or the other awful things that go on in the house on Park Street. When he asked once about the blue welts on my hands, I told him I slammed a door on them. Another time I explained my bruises by saying I tripped and fell. I know the social rules—you never tattle on your family or air your dirty laundry. Everything is always fine; everyone is always doing great. You keep the secrets behind closed doors.

This is the first time since returning from the Brauninger’s three weeks ago that Keith and I have been alone. I worry that he won’t feel the same about me. Maybe he has forgotten how beautiful we are together; maybe I am too much trouble for him. I try to read the look in his eyes, but it’s too dark in the car to quite see his eyes. I sit awkwardly against my side of the car. What does kissing mean to him? I don’t want him to think I’m bad or loose because I enjoy it. Despite the Baptist in me, if it is wrong to kiss Keith, I don’t care. It is the best feeling I’ve ever had—like flying.

At a stop sign, he looks over, his eyes full of warm affection. “Missed you,” he says, reaching for my hand. I lift off the earth. The smoke-filled house and Gram’s darkness is far away now.

When we get to rehearsal, Jodie reacts to us with wiggling eyebrows and sly looks. Dr. Wehner, the conductor of this adult symphony, whom we’ve all admired since we were young, steps up to the podium; the concert master sounds the A for us to tune up.

Beethoven sweeps me up in the swell and rise of sound, each instrument a voice in the conversation of intricate melodies and colorful chords. I see the green forests of Germany, castles, and majestic landscapes. The images and sounds soothe the hurt places inside me—fear of Gram and the future, the shakiness I feel that no one knows about. Beethoven is large enough to contain everything and transform it into hope.

Jodie looks at me knowingly, as only a best friend can. She understands that Keith is a wonderful oasis in the desert of my life with Gram, but even Jodie doesn’t know the truth about what goes on. It’s up to me to hold myself together until I’m old enough to escape. My survival is up to me and no one else, but it helps to have Jodie, Keith, and music to relieve my high-wire anxiety.

After rehearsal, Keith drives to a dirt road at the edge of town. He pulls over on the shoulder and turns off the motor. I can hardly breathe, anxious to be close with him again. The wheat fields are plowed under, the tops of the furrows catching flakes of moonlight. In spring these fields will be golden undulating waves. Now, in September, you can still feel some heat in the breeze, yet a hint of winter too.

He gestures toward the land—“Beautiful, isn’t it?”—then gathers me close to him. His beard scrapes my face. Here is the learning I’ve longed for about the male species, through Keith’s body, his scent, and how his mind works.

“Yes,” I whisper, gazing out on the landscape I know so well.

“I don’t want you to be late and get in trouble,” Keith says with a tremble in his voice.

“It’s not too late yet,” I say softly.

What he means is, “I don’t know if I should kiss you right now, but I want to.” What I mean is, “It’s all right, you can go ahead.”

His kisses are so smooth and soft, like satin. The moonlight etches a silver outline along his cheek. I wonder what he’s feeling. The car is thick with unspoken words. Then he says, “I think I love you.” He pauses, looks away, then back into my eyes, and corrects himself. “I do love you.”

Keith lifts my chin, a question in his eyes. Do I love him too? I’m afraid to declare myself. Love is dangerous. What might these words bring upon me, upon us? I have practiced words of love for Keith since I was eleven years old, not ever believing that my dreams would come true. We lean toward each other, our lips barely touching before we meld into each other. My mind fills with colors: purple, iridescent yellow, and red—the colors I see when I play music. The colors interweave with a feeling in my body of complete happiness and peace. I didn’t know that such joy was possible. When Keith and I are together, I get to taste the life I want to be living, practicing mutual love, respect, and thoughtfulness.

Our state of grace lasts three weeks. One Sunday afternoon while Gram and I are talking and she’s in a good mood, I blurt out that Keith has kissed me. Sometimes, when she is fun, when she is the Gram I knew when I was very young, I imagine that we can be friends like other mothers and daughters. But the look in her eyes after I tell her about the kiss, tells me that I’ve made a grave mistake, that I’ve spoiled the best thing in my life. Finally I am being loved, for myself, being appreciated and cherished in a way completely new to me. I want to curse myself for trusting her.

“What do you mean—how dare that boy take advantage of me like that!”

“That’s ridiculous! He didn’t do anything to you, he lov… likes me. He’s not like those other…”

“He’s a man, and men are all alike!” Gram shouts, her face dark with rage.

“I bet his mother would like to know what he’s up to.” She moves toward the phone. “You are going to college, I have plans for your life. Why are you messing about with some boy? How dare you disgrace me like this!”

“Keith’s an old friend of our family. You have always liked him. This has nothing to do with you!”

“Of course it has. You are my granddaughter. You live in my house.”

I block the phone with my body, but she pushes me away and picks up the receiver. I stare at her contorted face, fighting back tears and the urge to tear her to pieces.

She screams, “You slut, what do you know about love? You’re like your mother. I won’t let you ruin your life like she did.”

Slut. There she goes, using that terrible word again. Kissing and being in love are that bad?

“I knew I couldn’t trust you.” Before I can duck, her ring stings my cheek. I back up and grit my teeth. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of my tears. The receiver is back on the hook, maybe I can stop her. I begin talking my way out.

“What do you mean about my Mother, what did she do?”

“She ran off and got married to some wet-behind-the-ears kid. I forced them to promise they’d never see each other again, and the marriage was annulled.”

I’m shocked by this bit of news, but mostly concerned with my own survival right now. “But we aren’t getting married,” I yell. “We just love each other.”

I can’t let her ruin this the way she ruined things with my father. I make a promise to myself never to trust her again with anything that is important to me.

“Love.” She spits the word. “A goddamned lot you know about love. You don’t know what men can do to you.” She plops angrily on the couch and lights a cigarette. She’s determined to snatch away the little time Keith and I will ever have together. After this school year, he’ll go away to graduate school and I’m going to college, which is part of my own plan to make my life better, not just Gram’s.

“Men are all alike, I tell you. I’ll not have you getting distracted from practicing and getting ready for college.”

“Most girls go to college and kiss boys, too.”

She leaps up from the couch and flails at me again, but misses. I hit at her, missing, too. More enraged than ever, she rushes by me to the phone and begins to dial.