Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Identical (31 page)
Why Am I Always So Polite?
I mean, that was just so annoying.
No wonder Daddy
gets mad about these recent
hang-up calls.
Is that what this was? I’m not sure.
I was the one
who did the hanging up, after all.
Who was it?
calls Daddy as I start
toward the door.
“Wrong number,” I answer. No
use letting Hannah
see his dark underside, is there?
Okay, maybe there
is, but I’ll save that card for later.
I pop my head through the kitchen
doorway. “Bye.
I’m going to work.” Hannah looks
up and gives a
small wave. Daddy does not
even turn.
Don’t
stay out late. I’ll wait up for you.
His Words
Send ice chips pulsing
through my veins. No,
Daddy, don’t wait up,
unless you wait at Hannah’s.
And suddenly it comes
to me that not only is he
already home, but he has
not yet started drinking.
No Turkey stink; no
indistinct sentences;
no red-rimmed, tear-
choked eyes. Unreal.
I can’t remember the last
time I saw him
look so human. But
how long can it last?
My Hand Is Turning
The doorknob when the phone
rings again. I hesitate, know
I should ignore it. But somehow
I have to find out who’s on the other
end. Work will wait. “I’ve got it!”
Caller ID says only
Private Name,
Private Number
. It’s weird, but
my hand twitches as I reach
for the receiver. “Hello?”
Who is this?
Odd way to open a dialogue.
“Uh, this is Kaeleigh. Who’s
this?” A long stretch of silence
follows and I repeat, “Hello?”
Kaeleigh?
OMG. Is the woman dense?
But her voice, soft and scratchy
as an old vinyl record, tugs
at a place inside of me. “Yes,
it’s Kaeleigh. And you are…?”
Your grandmother.
Not Grandma Betty
Calling from Florida,
no, she’s busy with her new
(relatively speaking—
I think he’s like eighty)
husband. Yech. Ugly
picture. Anyway, I know
her voice, and this isn’t it.
Instinctively, I lower my
own voice. “You mean my
father’s mother?” The one
who vanished so long ago?
The one who…who what?
That’s right. I know
it’s been a very long time…
“Kind of an understatement,
wouldn’t you say? Where
have you been?” Where did
you go? Why did you stay
away so long? “And why
are you calling now?”
It’s a difficult story, one
I need to tell you, but not
on the telephone. I’m…
A Shadow Falls
Through the doorway, darkens
the entire hall. Daddy.
Who is it?
Can’t tell him! Into the phone,
“Hang on.” To Daddy, “It’s Shelby,
asking about tonight.”
Tonight? What about tonight?
Daddy’s eyes betray suspicion.
Think of something quick. “Uh, it
is Halloween. A few of the kids
are getting together….”
You mean like a party? You know
how I feel about underage parties.
He’ll never go for a party, not
even chaperoned. “No, no party.
To take the little kids trick-or-treating.”
He thinks a second, then says,
I guess that’s okay. But not late.
He stands there, head cocked,
waiting for me to respond. “My
dad says okay. We’ll talk later.”
I Don’t Want to Hang Up
But I have to.
Will she understand?
She seems to.
Okay.
But she’s not
quite ready to hang up
either.
One question.
Daddy has retreated
to the kitchen, but he’ll
notice if I keep talking.
I force my voice real
low. “One quick one.”
Are you all right?
What does she know?
How can I answer?
“Yes…no…gotta go.”
I’m Running Really Late
So I do something I never do.
“Daddy, I hate to ask you,
but I’m kind of late for work.
Could you possibly give me a ride?”
Then I top off the lie, “Shelby’s
mom will pick me up after
and bring me home later.”
I’ll get home one way or another.
Daddy scowls and Hannah
reacts.
I’ll give you a ride.
That way we can talk
about your mom’s reception.
I don’t want to talk to Hannah.
I don’t want her to give me a ride.
But Daddy seals the deal.
Great
idea. And I’ll start making calls.
Damn, damn, damn. I hate
when I’m left without a choice.
But that’s the situation now.
I follow Hannah out the door,
and down the block to her Mitsubishi
Mirage. Red, of course. Black leather
interior. And still a mediocre ride.
Mediocre. Just right for her.
Thank God it’s only several blocks.
Hannah yammers on and on about
food and how much champagne
we should order and
Can you help me out with
a guest list? I have no idea
who your mother’s friends
are. I assume she’ll invite
her business acquaintances.
Oh, and what about the press?
Should I contact them? Oh, no,
your father will probably want to.
And on and on some more.
And I can’t concentrate on
one-tenth of what she says
because the only thing I can
think about right now is my
grandmother. A stranger, but
somehow not. Her voice is a
memory, tucked away so deep
inside that trying to extricate
it makes my head pound.
And it feels like once I pry it
up, a crater will be left behind.
I Thank Hannah for the Ride
Go on inside. Preparations
are well underway, and an
excited buzz carries along
the corridors. Sheesh. You’d
think the old folks would leave
Halloween to the little kids,
but no. Any excuse to get out
of their rooms and party, huh?
So, okay, that isn’t so strange
after all. I head straight for
the dining room to see how
the decorations are coming
along. I am not surprised
to see William flanked by
five elderly femme fatales,
hanging cardboard skeletons.
What snatches my immediate
attention is Greta, hand in hand
with the same gentleman who
visited a few weeks ago. They
look like a definite thing.
When she spies me, Greta
waves me over.
Kaeleigh,
dear, I want you to meet
Lars. We are old friends.
Speak for yourself, woman,
scolds Lars in a heavy Danish
accent.
I myself am forever young,
especially now that I’ve found you
again.
He turns his attention to me.
So happy to meet you. Greta
has told me so much about you.
No wonder she loves him.
He loves her, and that little
bit of wisdom comes from
more than his words. It’s
written all over his face.
“Good to meet you, too.
And I think you’re both
forever young.”
Greta beams but says,
In our
hearts, perhaps. But my body
reminds me regularly of just
how many years I have worn it.
No matter. My Lars has found me.
I can leave this world satisfied.
Satisfaction
Not sure what that is or how
to find it, and I sincerely doubt
that it will ever apply to me.
I look at them, so in love, and I
think
about Ian. Where is he right
now? Who is he talking to?
What is he talking about?
Why should I even
care,
as long as every now and
again he thinks about me,
pulls me from a place
deep in his heart? Does he
wonder
what I’m doing? Does he care
that I’ve hung paper pumpkins,
lit jack-o’-lanterns, baked cookies?
I want to call him, tell him I
love
him. But no, I won’t do
that, won’t set myself up
for disappointment. If
he’s changed his mind, I
don’t
want to know. Anyway,
I’ve got to go. I say good-bye,
hurry away from the All Hallows
Eve celebration, into the night,
close the door behind me.
Lawler’s House
Isn’t at all what I expected.
It’s not small, not really. And
it’s definitely not untidy. I
think
I watch too much TV. Aren’t
all single guys supposed to be
slobs? Not Lawler. No, not
at all. His yard is tended with
care,
and I doubt he makes enough
money to afford a service.
His Charger, parked on the street,
is washed, polished. Spotless. I
wonder
if dirt and bug guts just slide
right off it. I wonder if lowdown
slides right off him, or if he
worries about it. I would
love
to know if he’s even a little
worried about inviting me
here, about what the neighbors
might think. Personally, I
don’t
give one good damn about
gossip. So I walk right up, ring
the bell, head on inside,
close the door
behind me.