My Mother Got Married (9 page)

Only finally you reach your limit. You don’t know it’s going to happen. But one day someone reaches up and puts one more straw on your back, and you collapse right on top of him. And he deserves it too. ’Cause he wasn’t paying attention to how you felt. And everyone has a limit. Me and camels and everyone.

T
HOMAS
started calling my mother Mom. He started doing it after their day “alone” together. I don’t know if they talked about it or if he just did it on his own. All I know is that he was heading up to bed that night when he suddenly stopped on the stairs and said, “See you in the morning, Mom.”

I’m not kidding. He said it real casual like that. As if calling a person Mom was hardly a big deal at all.

It really got to me.
Don’t call her that!
I wanted to shout. She’s
my
mother, not yours!

I
THOUGHT
about it that night. Not just about Thomas calling my mother Mom. I thought about all of it. About Lydia and Ben, and how much I’d given up, and how much I’d had to accept: sharing my room with a little kid, learning to live with a sister, giving both of them my mother, watching her love a man who wasn’t my dad—a man who didn’t even seem to like me that much.…

It felt heavy, you know? Like a ton of straw, only worse. And even though I was in bed, I thought I felt my legs start to buckle under me. I’m serious. I could really feel them caving in.

I didn’t sleep very well. I tossed and turned and woke up a million times.

Glum. That was my mood when I went down to breakfast the next morning. Not a good time to discover that Lydia and Thomas had eaten the last bowl of Fruity Flakes. When I looked in the cupboard all that was left was Ben’s cereal. Fiber something.

I hurried into the living room and there they were. Thomas was curled up in the chair watching
Sesame Street.
Lydia was stretched out on the couch waiting for the phone to ring. They both looked full.

“Look, Charrulls,” said Thomas excitedly as he pointed to the screen. “There’s Bernie!”

I rolled my eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you, Thomas?” I said. “It’s not Bernie. It’s Bert and Ernie. They’re two separate people.”

“Puppets,” corrected Lydia, raising a finger in the air.

I frowned. “Oh. Like I didn’t already know that.”

Just then my stomach started to growl. Not loud enough for anyone to hear, but enough to make me double over.

Lydia glanced at me curiously.

“My stomach’s growling,” I informed her curtly. “The reason it’s growling is that no one left me anything to eat for breakfast. All the cereal’s gone.”

Casually she shook her head. “That’s not true. There’s other cereal in there.”

I made a face. “Oh, boy. Bark and twigs.”

Lydia shrugged again and turned back to the TV.

“The Fruity Flakes were mine,” I persisted. “My mother bought them for me.”

This time she looked at the ceiling and sighed in annoyance. “They were for
all
of us, Charles.”

“No, they weren’t,” I argued. I could feel the anger building inside me. “They were just mine. I get to have something around here too, you know. You two don’t get everything!”

Lydia’s eyes grew wide. “Everything?” she snapped, bolting up. “What do you mean we ‘
get everything’
? What have we cheated you out of, Charlie? We gave up our whole house and our whole neighborhood to come here. What did you give up? Nothing, that’s what! So excuse me if I accidentally had the last bowl of cereal, Your Majesty!”

I was trying to think of something smart to yell back at her when Thomas stamped his foot.

“Shh! Quiet!” he shouted. “I can’t hear the Bernie with the long head!”

I covered my face with my hands. Like I said, the place was a loony bin.

“Bert,” I muttered for the millionth time. “His name is Bert. Bert, Bert, Bert, Bert, Bert, Bert, Bert, Bert …”

Beep-beep! Outside, a loud car horn interrupted my Berts. I don’t mean just one or two little toots, either. I mean major honking. Like little kids do when their mom leaves them in the car while she runs into the grocery store.

Thomas stood up in the chair and peeked through the window. “
Meemee!
” he shrieked. “
Meemee Russo!
”

The next thing I knew, he and Lydia were flying out of the living room headed toward the front door. That was that. I never even had a chance to finish my argument with Lydia. I could have thought of some good stuff, too. I know I could have.

Feeling more frustrated than ever, I stood up and looked outside. The honking was coming from a giant white car parked in our driveway. I’m not sure of the make, but it was the kind of car they call a gas guzzler. I’d seen it before at the wedding.

It belonged to Ben’s mother.

In the time it took me to get to the window, Mom and Ben had dashed from the back yard to greet her. Standing there with Thomas and Lydia, Ben opened her door.

Mrs. Russo got out of the car. Her cotton-candy white hair came first, about two feet of it piled on top of her head. It was the kind of hair that you could shoot a cannonball through and never get close to her scalp.

She hugged and kissed each one of them. Thomas’s hug was the longest. He dangled from her neck until Ben poked him to let go.

In no time at all the five of them were headed toward the front door. I barely had time to make it to my room.

“Didja bring me something, Meemee?” Thomas squealed loudly as they came inside. “What d’ja bring me?”

“Here, Meemee. Sit here!” urged Lydia.

I rolled my eyes again. Meemee. Great name. I guess that made her my stepmeemee.

“Charles!” called my mother from the bottom of the stairs. “Charles, come down here! We have company!”

Darn! I knew she’d be calling for me! At our house, my mother treats every person who walks through the front door like royalty or something. Once she made a meat loaf sandwich for a guy selling spot remover.

I started to get dressed. Once I was safely in my clothes, maybe I could sneak onto the roof, lower myself onto the fence, and take off for Martin’s house.

“Charles!” demanded my mother again. This time she was at the bottom of the stairs. “Come on down here! See who it is!”

I sighed and slowly sat down on the edge of my bed. There was no use trying to escape. Mom was being too persistent. Soon she’d be coming up to get me.

I still don’t know what the big deal was. It wasn’t like I was a part of the Russo family or anything. Not a
real
part, related by blood and everything.

I’ll never forget when I walked into the living room that morning. Thomas jumped off the couch and started pointing at Mrs. Russo like this was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“Look! Look! Surprise!” he squeaked. “It’s my meemee! It’s my meemee!”

You could tell Ben’s mother really loved the attention. She was beaming from ear to ear.

“Why, there he is,” she exclaimed pleasantly as she held out her hand to me. “How are you, Chuck?”

Chuck. I’m not kidding. She called me Chuck.

Thomas started to laugh. “Chuck? That’s not Chuck, you silly. That’s Charrulls! He lives with us now.”

I turned toward Thomas and frowned. “You live with
me
, you mean,” I corrected.

Mrs. Russo wasn’t paying attention. Instead, she eyed me suspiciously. Then she turned to Ben.

“Don’t they call him Chuck?” she inquired, as if I wasn’t even in the room. “I could have sworn at the wedding they called him—”

“No. They don’t call me Chuck,” I interrupted. “I’m positive.”

Ben caught my eye and winked. He was trying to make me feel better, but in my mood it didn’t help.

After that, I sat down and listened while the rest of them talked over old times. As it turned out, Ben’s mother was famous for popping in on them like that.

“ ’Member last year when you surprised Lydia and me and took us to the beach for the weekend, Meemee?” Thomas reminded her happily. “That was fun, wasn’t it? ’Member how you let me eat a banana split for dinner and then I got a hot fudge sundae for dessert?”

Suddenly he made a face. “ ’Member how my stomach got upset and I spit up the cherry?”

“Oh, sick, Thomas!” exclaimed Lydia. “Gross. Why’d you have to remind us?”

Thomas started laughing. “ ’Member that, Charrulls? That was funny, wasn’t it?”

Before I could answer, he shook his head and corrected himself. “Whoops. Forgot. We didn’t even know you then.”

Mrs. Russo hit herself in the head and grinned. “I guess poor old Meemee doesn’t even know him now.”

Everyone laughed but me. Even my mother. Like not knowing my name had been the joke of the century.

“Are you gonna stay overnight, Meemee?” Thomas begged, folding his hands together like he was praying. “Please, please, please.”

“Of
course
she’s going to stay,” insisted my mother. “We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Mrs. Russo hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know. I hadn’t really planned on—”

“There’s plenty of room for you, Mother,” interrupted Ben. “Plenty of room.”

I felt myself starting to frown. What room was he talking about? If there was so darned much room, why was I sharing mine?

“I know! I know!” squealed Thomas. “You can stay in my room with me! Right, Dad? Right, Mom?”

I bristled. He called her that name again.

“Hey! I got an idea! Meemee can sleep in Charrulls’s bed! It’d be just like at the beach when I slept on that little cot in your room, Meemee!”

Suddenly all eyes turned toward me. I’m not kidding. It’s like I was the North Pole and all the eyeballs in the room were magnets. My mother’s eyebrows were raised like she was honestly wondering if this would be all right with me.

“I’m sure Charlie won’t mind sleeping on the couch for a couple of nights,” she said matter-of-factly. “That’d be okay with you, wouldn’t it, honey?”

That was it. That was the last straw. Something inside me snapped. And when it did, words came spilling out of my mouth. Words I hadn’t even had time to think about.

“Yeah, sure, that’d be perfect! Mrs. Russo can have my bed. Geez, what do I need a bed for? I hardly even have a room anymore.”

I stood up and started to leave. “Hey! I’ve got an idea. I’ll sleep under a rock in the back yard. Then I won’t be in anyone’s way at all. It’ll almost be like I don’t even exist.”

As I started to turn the corner I suddenly stopped and looked back. This time I stared straight at my mom.

“By the way, Mother, I’ve got some memories, too, you know. Like remember when we were a
real
family—you and Dad and me?”

My eyes darted to Mrs. Russo, then back again. “We used to go to the beach, too. We went there a lot. And Dad and I would ride the waves and have these contests to see who could go the farthest. He always let me win. I didn’t know it then, but I do now.

“And sometimes Grandma and Granddad would drive down to the beach and see us for the weekend. And we’d have picnics in the sand and Grandma and I would look for shells.

“And they’d come for Thanksgiving, too. We were just like the families you’d see on those Butterball commercials. Granddad would carve the turkey and say this grace he made up about how lucky we all were to have each other. Remember that, Mom?”

My voice quieted to a whisper.

“Lucky me.”

(ten)

I

COULDN’T get out of there fast enough. I slammed the front door. I don’t usually explode like that in front of strangers. Normally I save the worst behavior for those I love.

I headed for the park. Or maybe I should say the tree. The same tree where Mom and I had our last picnic and she told me nothing would ever come between us.

When I got about a block away, I started to run. I don’t know why I felt in such a hurry to get there. I needed to think things over. But let’s face it, all the thinking in the world wasn’t going to change anything. It wouldn’t solve my problems with Thomas or Lydia. It wouldn’t even make Ben and me best friends. Thinking doesn’t work miracles. Not even when you end with amen.

As I hurried down the park’s sidewalk I couldn’t help but notice how many people there were around. It kind of took me by surprise, since I don’t usually go to the park on Sundays. But when I finally rounded the corner of the boys’ bathroom and spotted the tree, I stopped dead in my tracks. I could hardly believe what I saw. It was covered with kids! Strange little kids were hanging all over its branches!

Hey! I wanted to scream. Get down from there! Out of the tree, you jerks! It’s mine!

I didn’t, though. It wouldn’t have done any good. Two of the little kids had spiked hair and were wearing black rock-concert T-shirts. Kids like that don’t listen to you unless you have a weapon.

Instead of yelling, I just stood there and watched my tree being overrun. Then I said a cuss word and left.

I started to walk. There was nowhere to go. I called my dad from Circle K. He wasn’t home.

After I hung up, I tried Martin’s. He was at a soccer game. I didn’t call anyone else. I have other friends, but not the kind I needed.

I walked as slowly as I could—scuffing my feet—on my way to nowhere in particular. Like the homeless men you see walking on the street sometimes. I know I was overdoing it on the self-pity, but I couldn’t help it. It’s a wonder I didn’t start collecting aluminum cans.

Walking is boring. Putting one foot in front of the other—that’s all it is. My grandfather says that walking puts you in touch with nature. But to me, touching nature isn’t that big of a thrill.

Finally my feet started aching and my stomach began to growl. There was no place to go except home. I guess I could have headed downtown to the homeless shelter, but I didn’t have the guts. Besides, I have a feeling the homeless shelter is serious business. I don’t think they give you a free meal just because your stepmeemee called you Chuck.

When I turned down my block, the first thing I noticed was that the gas guzzler was gone. So far it was the only high point of my day. I didn’t know where she went, but I hoped she wouldn’t come back.