Just Ask (19 page)

I did think it was interesting that Robert and Marissa seemed to be getting along so well. It seemed that every time I looked across the table at them, they had their heads together and were laughing over some private
joke. Which was fine with me since I really didn't want to talk to them much anyway.

But finally I noticed something that set off my alarms again. “What is that?” I asked Marissa as she handed what looked like a small bottle back to Robert.

She gave me this cheesy grin. “None of your business.”

“I'm serious. What are you guys hiding over there?”

“Just let it go, Kim,” warned Matthew.

“Why? What is it?”

He kind of shrugged, but I could tell he knew.

“They're drinking again, aren't they?” I looked at glasses of what I'd assumed was straight iced tea and sighed.

“Wha's the big deal?” demanded Marissa, and I could tell her speech was getting slurred.

I turned to Matthew. “Excuse me, please.”

He just nodded as I left the table and went to the ladies’ room. Okay, maybe I was overreacting or being a spoilsport or whatever, but Marissa and Robert were making me really mad. Not only that, but my feet were starting to hurt. Why on earth did I want to go to this stupid dance tonight?

I went into the bathroom and into a stall where I just stood there fighting back tears of anger. But I wasn't sure what I was most angry about. I mean, I was angry at the boozers, but I was also angry at myself for getting so upset by this. Why couldn't I just chill? Why do I always make a big deal about things?

Finally, I realized that the only thing I could really do at that moment was to pray. So, standing there in the stall of the bathroom, I asked God to take what was looking like a lousy evening and make it into something worthwhile. I asked God to change my attitude of anger and judgment against Marissa and Robert into one of grace and love.

Now I wasn't sure what that would mean exactly. Its not like I thought they should be riding with us and boozing it up. But at least I wasn't feeling so freaked now. I stopped by the other table on my way back from the ladies’ room and clued Cesar (the sort of unspoken leader) about what was going on at my table.

Fortunately, he didn't seem too surprised. “We'll figure something out,” he said in that assuring way of his.

As it turned out, we didn't have to. By the time we finished dinner and went back out to wait for the limo to pick us up, Marissa was acting weird. I mean, it was obvious she was drunk, but it looked like her eyes weren't even focusing as she stood leaning against Robert and blabbering rather incoherently. Although the rest of the group seemed to be looking the other way.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I'm jus’ okeydokey,” she said with a spaced-out smile.

“You don't look too good,” I said.

“Just ignore her,” Matthew suggested as he tugged me away.

“There's the limo.” Jake pointed down the street.

But before I turned to look, I saw Marissa swaying. “Hang on to her, Robert,” I yelled, but too late. The next thing we knew, Marissa was literally facedown on the sidewalk. Robert and I knelt down to help pick her up. And just as we got her to her feet, she leaned over to Robert and hurled all over his dark jacket. And man, was that a stink!

Nat and Jake just started laughing. But I actually felt sorry for Marissa, and Robert too, for that matter. Still, I wasn't sure what to do. But in that same moment, a taxi came by and Cesar flagged it down. And before they knew what hit them, Cesar and Jake had loaded the two boozers into the cab and slammed the door behind them.

“Do you think they'll be okay?” I asked, still feeling slightly stunned by the quick turn of events.

“I told the driver that he should probably take them home,” said Cesar.

“Man, I feel sorry for the guy who has to clean that cab up,” said Jake. “Whew, they were a mess!”

Then we all climbed into the limo, went to the dance, and actually had a really fun time. And we never saw, Robert or Marissa for the rest of the night. And although I was relieved they were gone, I felt sorry for them. I'm sure that wasn't the way they'd planned for the evening to go.

Funny how both Marissa and Robert kept an extremely low profile in school yesterday Today they acted a little more normal, but sheepish still. At least, that's how I would describe it. And Marissa's mouth wasn't doing its usual lunchtime commentary thing either. In a way, it was kind of refreshing. The first actual conversation I had with her was in art today.

“Sorry that I messed things up for the Harvest Dance,” she kind of mumbled about midway through class.

“Huh?” I looked up from my drawing in surprise.

She made a face and rolled her eyes. “Look, I just said I'm sorry. Okay?”

“Sure,” I told her. “I was actually feeling sorry for you that night. You were pretty sick.”

‘Tell me about it.”

“Did the cab driver take you home?”

“Yeah.” She shook her head. “Whose brilliant idea was that anyway?”

I kind of shrugged, not wanting to pin all the blame on Cesar since I thought it was the best thing to do at the time too. “Did you get in trouble?”

“Fortunately, my dad wasn't home. And even though my mom was seriously irked, she kind of covered for me.”

“The dance was really fun,” I said as I switched pencils.

“I don't want to hear about it.”

“Fine.”

Now Matthew came up and put his hand on my shoulder. “How's it going?”

I smiled up at him. “Okay.”

“Nice work,” he said as he studied my sketch.

“Thanks.”

Then he went back to his own picture.

“What's up with you guys?” Marissa said as soon as he was out of earshot.

“I don't know.”

“Come on.”

Now seriously, I don't really know. I mean, we had a great time at the dance. And I really like him, and I think he likes me. And when he walked me to my door from the limo that night, he even kissed me. Just once. But I have to admit it was a good kiss, and I wouldn't have
minded if he'd done it again. And since Nat had already been dropped off, Matthew and I had been the last ones in the limo, so it's not as if anyone was sitting around watching us. But then he just politely said good night. And that was it. We talked like normal on Monday and again today. But that's really about it.

“We had fun at the dance,” I told Marissa. “Matthew's a great guy, and I like him. But seriously, I don't know where it's going.”

She glanced over her shoulder to where Matthew seemed completely immersed in his work. “Yeah, whatever. Leave it to you to mess up your chance with a pretty decent guy.”

I frowned. “What's that supposed to mean?”

She just shrugged. “Figure it out yourself, smarty”

“Yeah. Whatever.” Then I focused my attention back onto my sketch and tried not to let her words get to me. But it was useless.

And that's why I decided to answer one of these what-do-I-do-about-this-guy kind of letters tonight. Honestly, the “Just Ask” column gets more letters like this than anything else. And for the most part, I ignore them. I mean, the answers seem obvious—like duh, what do you think you should do?

But it's as though these girls need some kind of confirmation, like Jamie is going to write something like, “Of course, this guy must really like you. He's probably deeply in love with you but just afraid to show it. Don't worry; I'm sure that you'll get married someday and
have lots of lovely children.” Yeah, right. The true answer would probably go more like, “Sorry, it sounds like this dude could care less about going out with you. Why don't you just forget about him and get a life.” But naturally, I don't write that. It would be too heartless and cruel.

Still, I decided that I should attempt a response to one of these tonight.

So now I'm thinking maybe that's how I should look at this thing with Matthew. Okay, maybe he doesn't want to take me out again. I wouldn't be surprised after the tizzy fit I threw over the boozers in the limo and at dinner. I'm sure I was a big wet blanket. But then, what do you do in that situation? And despite everything, it turned out okay Well, fairly okay.

Robert and Marissa didn't have much of a night. But I'm just thinking—hey, whatever…if Matthew wants to go out, it's cool. If not, it's cool. And the reason I feel this laid-back about it is because I've decided to give the whole thing to God to work out.

I think the reason I have this kind of confidence has to do with my prayer in the bathroom at the restaurant. It's like if God could sort that silly mess out, I'm sure He can sort all kinds of things out. I just need to learn to trust Him.

Now I need to go down and clean up the kitchen. Not my favorite household chore, but I promised my dad that I'd do it, and it's getting late. And my mom's been feeling pretty crummy lately. I guess she's still going through “the change” (as she calls it), although most normal people just call it menopause.

But my mom's kind of funny about things like that.
Like having these code words she thinks no one can decipher when she's describing some “feminine condition.” Like why not just call cramps “cramps” or a tampon a “tampon” or a period a “period”—period? What's the big deal? But I guess it had to do with the era she grew up in or her mom or something. Anyway, I hope her menopause ends soon. I can tell it's a drag.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, but we didn't really do anything much because my mom was still feeling lousy with her change-of-life condition. My dad baked a turkey breast and made dressing out of a box, but we mostly just sat around and watched TV. Pretty boring. And then Mom went to bed because she was feeling so bad. Naturally, this worried my dad. He was so worried, in fact, that he actually called her doctor first thing this morning, made an appointment for this afternoon, then made me promise to drive her.

Well, I was feeling kind of irked since it was my day off and there were things I'd rather be doing than sitting in some stuffy doctor's office waiting for my mom. But then I realized how selfish I was being and gave in. And I guess I'm glad that I did. Well, a sad kind of glad.

My mom absolutely hates going to the doctor and avoids it whenever possible. So she wasn't too happy to have me dragging her in today. But it was good that we went, because after some preliminary tests, her doctor
now wants her to have more tests at the hospital. These have already been scheduled for next week.

Now Moms acting like this is just going to be a huge inconvenience to everyone, but Dad and I are thinking it's probably a good thing. If there's a chance that something is wrong, it's better to find out and get it fixed, right? That's what I think. But at the same time, I have to admit that I'm a little worried. I mean, what if it's something big?

“It's just the change,” Mom reassured me as I drove her Buick toward home. “It's harder on some women than others, and it runs in families. My mother was the same way at this age and so was my grandma.”

At first I started to assume that meant I'd be like that too, then, of course, I remembered my birth roots are from an entirely different gene pool. “That's too bad it makes you feel so cruddy,” I told her as I turned down our street. “But maybe these tests will reveal something that's treatable, and your doctor can give you something to make you feel better.”

She sighed and leaned back into her seat. “Maybe so.”

When I reached the stop sign, I glanced over and was surprised at how pale her face looked and that her eyes were shut. And I don't know why, but I got this chill of fear running through me. It's like she looked so weak and vulnerable. In that split second, I almost gasped.

“Mom?” I said suddenly

Her eyes popped open, and she turned to look at me. “What's wrong?”

“Are you—are you okay?”

Then she smiled. ‘Of course, sweetheart. I'm perfectly fine. I'm just a little tired, that's all.”

Okay, now that we were home and I'd made her some tomato soup and a cup of her favorite tea, then insisted that she go have a rest, I'm feeling better. I mean, she's my mom and one of the sweetest ladies I know (everyone says so). There's no way someone like my mom could be seriously ill.

Even so, I'm praying for her and asking God to get her past this menopause thing and back to her old self. Because I can tell she's feeling discouraged. And that is so unlike my mom.

To take my mind off my mom, I spend some time answering “Just Ask” letters. And one of them is pretty crazy.