Pregnant Pause (17 page)

"Come on, guys," I say. "Don't spoil a good day. It's been such a great day, and now I'm really tired. I need a nap."

Ziggy keeps his eyes on Lam, but he says to me, "I'll take the chest up to your cabin."

"No, I'll take it up," Lam says.

"Like hell. I bought it, I'll take it up."

"Like hell. She's my wife. I'll take it up."

I always thought having two guys fighting over me would be so cool, but it's not. I ignore the both of them because I'm just too tired not to. I leave them arguing over the chest, imagining it forever remaining in the trunk of Ziggy's car because they can't agree on who should bring it up.

I LEAVE LAM and Ziggy to duke it out and trudge up the hill, feeling tired and achy because I haven't been sleeping all that well, and, wouldn't you know it, coming down the hill to greet me is the MIL.

"Oh, great, what fresh hell is in store for me now?" I say under my breath, even though I'm smiling and trying to open my eyes wide and look perky so she doesn't know how tired I am. Even sweet the way she is now is annoying, and I'm way too tired to deal with her. The MIL is smiling and greeting the campers she passes on her way down to me, and her smile and greeting don't look fake at all until she reaches me.

"Eleanor, I'm so glad I caught you," she says, and I can practically see the sticky-sweet syrup oozing from her mouth. "How did the shopping go? I don't see any clothes bag in your hand." I hate how fake it sounds. I'd rather have her old angry hag self back, if you want to know the truth. At least it's honest.

"Lam didn't want to go shopping today," I tell her. "He wanted to go to the Adventure Center, and then I had a doctor's appointment, so we didn't have time. I'm sorry."

The MIL crosses her arms and frowns. "So what did you do with the money? Spend it on a big fancy lunch, drugs, beer, what?"

Ah, there's the bitch-lady I know and love. I reach into my purse and scrounge around for the fifty dollars she had given me earlier. I pull it out, but before giving it to her I say, "I don't do drugs. I'm pregnant, and drugs are bad for the baby. But if I did do drugs, I still wouldn't steal someone else's money to pay for them." I hand her the bill, expecting her to say something like, "And yet you do steal cars and break into houses," but she is back to being her fake syrupy self.

"Well, now, you go ahead and keep it. I gave it to you." She hands it back to me, and I mumble a thank you and stash it in my purse. The money still feels like it comes with strings attached, so I don't really feel all that grateful.

"I didn't come here to get the money back or to see what you bought, anyway. I just thought you'd be pleased to know that we've decided to go ahead with your
wonderful
idea of putting on a talent show, only it won't just be the campers, but the whole camp, counselors and campers, and we'll have it on the last night of camp."

I look at the MIL, and she looks so pleased with herself for being able to bring me this good news. Originally, I had come up with the idea of a talent show because some of the made-up dances the girls in my class are doing are really great, and I thought it would be neat to showcase them and some of the other things that are going on here at the camp. The ILs are always talking about "finding your bliss" in their self-esteem pep talks they give each morning, and every day when I'm walking around the camp, I can hear kids singing or playing instruments, and they sound so wonderful. I know Ziggy puts on a little music show every couple of weeks, but what about all the cool stuff that Leo and the kids have made in the crafts hut? What about my dancers? I'd like to see them get some recognition, too, and if they all had a performance to work toward, I figured it might help bring a little more order and direction to my classes.

For the most part the class has been going okay, because the girls like getting into groups and making up different dances and performing them for each other. The only problem I've been having is with Banner. She's such a crybaby. Everything seems to upset her: being late for class ("Oh, I'm late—are you going to kick me out? Do you hate meee?") or not getting chosen to help me with the music ("Are you mad at me? How come you didn't pick meee?") or getting stuck with bathroom-sink-cleaning duty in the cabin ("Meee? Again? Did I do something wrong?") all said with that squeaky whine of hers. She acts like she's getting picked on, when everybody has to take a turn cleaning the sinks once a week. So, of course the girls don't like having her in their groups. I've had to step in and force a group to take her, and then she feels like crap, and so do the girls in the group. No wonder she gets picked on all the time. She all but walks around with a "Kick me" sign on her back, the way she mopes and moans and sulks.

Still, when I stand back and watch Banner dancing in my class, I realize there's something cool and powerful and vulnerable, all at the same time, in her movements. As heavy as she is, she's so light on her feet. Sometimes she looks like she's just floating. So lately I have been thinking if the whole camp could just see her perform, it would help people see Banner in a different way, and if they did, maybe she'd stop acting like such a victim all the time.

I smile now at the MIL as we stand together on the hill, and my smile is sincere. "That's fantastic," I say. "Thank you! The kids are going to be so excited."

She nods, looking very pleased with herself. "Now, anyone who wants to be in the show should be allowed to be in it. We don't want anyone to feel excluded, and hopefully you'll be able to find something to do for those campers who don't wish to be in the show but want to get involved in some way. Don't take this all on yourself. It's too close to your due date. Get a group to help you."

"Sure. Sure. I'll do my best," I say, but already in the back of my mind I'm wondering who I'm going to get to help, be cause I'm going to need a lot of it. I don't tell the MIL just yet about the C-section, but it's only a week away.

"Great, Eleanor. Mr. Lothrop and I are really pleased with you taking the initiative on this. I'm sure it will be a big success." She smiles, but it's more like a grimace, as if it pains her to have to compliment me.

"Thanks." I want to lie down. I want to sleep. "Well, I better get planning," I say, making a move to leave.

"Good, good," she says, and she continues down the hill, while I continue up it.

***

So now I'm thinking that I need help. I need a co-producer, and I think of Ziggy, because he's a natural when it comes to shows and performing. That's what he does at school. But since Lam is so jealous of him, and because the next time I see him after the standoff with Lam down at the cars I see he's got a big bruise on his cheekbone and Lam's got a bloody, maybe broken, nose, and the chest of drawers is still lying in the trunk of Ziggy's car, I've decided against going with Ziggy on this.

I think about it all through dinner and again while I'm telling the girls in my cabin a bedtime story about the time a hyena chased me halfway across Kenya. Then I hear these girls talking outside the cabin, and I'm sure it's the nasty ones who came to my class a few days ago, and I wonder if I dare ask them to help me with the show. These girls are fifteen, and they think they're hot shit, and I can tell they look down on me for being pregnant. I'm only a little older than they are, and they know it. Nobody bought that I was twenty or even that I got pregnant
after
Lam and I got married. I always knew lying was a bad idea, and I can't even tell everyone it was the MIL's idea, because then parents would probably be pulling their kids out of this camp left and right. Just having me here at all is a risk for the ILs, I suppose, because I know if I had a kid I was sending to this camp, I wouldn't want them influenced by someone like me. That's why I'm okay with saying stuff like don't smoke, and don't drink, and don't have sex, the way the MIL told me to, just so I won't be the bad influence I know that I am.

These girls came into my class as a group—four of them, all kind of leaning into one another and whispering and laughing and glancing over at me. I called the class to order, and they just kept talking. I told everybody to form a circle, the way I usually start the class, and these girls formed a separate circle made up of just them. I told them to come join our circle, and they giggled and stayed where they were and whispered stuff to each other. They ignored everything I said. The class was impossible. My everyday girls were dancing around, and these other girls purposely bumped into them, then pretended it was an accident. They sang off-key to the songs I played, and every time I said something to the class, they repeated it as if they were an echo, only they used this whiny voice. Ha, ha, very funny.

Yeah, okay, if I weren't me teaching this class, I'd be them, and be just as obnoxious, but since I am teaching the class, they really pissed me off. I wanted to cuss them out up one side and down the other and maybe tear their hair out of their heads, but I couldn't do that without more trouble from the ILs. Man, were these girls pushing my buttons!

Finally I said, "You girls either act right or get out of this class."

They said, "'You girls either act right or get out of this class,'" in a chorus, and all whiny.

"I'd watch out if I were you. You think we counselors don't talk? You think your mommy and daddy don't tell us stuff, and you don't think we talk about you behind your backs?"

Well, that shut them up. I was totally making this up, but since it was working, I kept going.

"Yeah, that's right, I know a couple of you have talked to a counselor or two around here and told them things you don't want people to know, and guess what? We know all about your issues"—I figured we all have issues, so I took a stab that this might scare them—"and I have half a mind to tell the class right now exactly what I know, and believe me, you'll be sorry. So, unless you want me to blab all over the camp what I know about you"—I looked especially at this one girl who reminds me of what Ashley Wilson could turn out to be like when she gets older—"then I think maybe you ought to leave."

The girls stood there with their bitch-girl looks, squinting at me for a second or two, and then, just like that, they left, single file this time, and silent.

The rest of the class clapped, and I turned around and got busy selecting the next piece of music so they couldn't see how scared I was. What kind of trouble would these girls get me into with the ILs? I wondered. But they didn't get me in trouble. Nothing else happened, so while I'm telling my campers about Kenya and the mad hyena and I hear their voices outside the cabin, I ask myself, why don't I give those girls something to do besides cause trouble? Maybe if I had had more to do, like a job, I wouldn't have gotten into so much trouble with Lam. I decide to ask them in the morning.

***

I go early to the girls' cabin. I bang on their door, and Gren, their counselor, calls out, "Come on in."

Gren, I find out, isn't half as shy as she acts, but whenever she sees me, she still blushes and gets all nervous, and I don't blame her. I heard she really got a reaming from the ILs, and anyway, I'm fierce when I'm angry, and I'm plenty angry at her. I'd like to twist her arms and legs off and toss her in the Androscoggin for messing with Lam. Call me whatever you want, but I won't cheat if someone is already taken. That's dirty pool, if you ask me.

I step inside the cabin and do the snark face at Gren, and she has the good sense to blush and look at her feet.

"I've come to talk to some of your campers." I look into the main part of the cabin and see the girls making their beds at the back. "There they are back there." I point them out. "What are their names?" I whisper this, because I don't want the girls to know that I don't know their names, or they'll figure out that no way could I have any gossip on them.

Gren sees where I'm pointing, and she looks happy to give me the information, as if that somehow will make us even. Yeah, right, uh-huh.

She points to the one who's the leader. "That's Elizabeth," she says, also whispering, "and the one next to her is Abby, and then the short one is Marissa, and the other one is Cath."

"Great, thanks," I say. I shuffle back toward the girls, and as I move through the cabin, the chatter and cleaning stops and the girls all watch me. Some say hi when I pass, because I've talked to them during crafts, but I don't know most of these girls. They keep more to themselves than the other campers.

"Hey, I need to talk to you guys," I say when I catch up to the unholy four.

The girls share two sets of bunks right next to each other. They all look up when they hear my voice, and they look kind of nervous. I feel suddenly like I'm the MIL, and it's not a good feeling. I try to smile, but it feels fake, so I stop and just say what I need to say.

"I'm putting on a talent show and I thought you four might like to help me."

"Help? Why? Why should we want to help you?" Elizabeth says. She's taller and thinner than the other three, except she has a wide butt, and she's got really long, thin hair that's kind of limp looking. She wears it close to her face, I think to make her face look thinner, and it does, I guess, but if you ask me she'd look better with her hair really short and spiky.

"Well, because I thought you'd like being in charge of the other campers, and I thought you might like to be more like a counselor instead of just a run-of-the-mill camper."

"Would we get paid?" Cath, the girl with the biggest boobs, says. Speaking of boobs, mine are huge now, and they hurt. Being pregnant sucks, but at least once I have the baby, my breasts should get back to normal. It makes me feel kind of sorry for this Cath girl. She'll have to starve herself for the next twenty years to get her boobs down to a size that doesn't poke you in the eyes when you look at her. She slouches, and I bet I know why.

"No. No payment," I say. "Just the fun of being in charge of putting on a show."

"What would we have to do?" Marissa asks, and they all look interested.

I tell them about my idea of everybody sharing their talent, singing or dancing or playing some instrument or acting out a short skit. "I also thought we could have an art show at the same time, displaying all the things people have knitted, or built, or drawn, or painted. We'd have those all around the perimeter of the main cabin." I tell them I need them to help me organize it and decide who goes when so that all the music and singing isn't clumped together at the beginning and all the dance at the end. "We want it to be a mix, or it'll be boring. You'll also have to tell people if their stuff is a snore. Like, we don't want slow, fall-asleep music. It needs to be lively and entertaining. Anybody can be in it, but they can't just do anything."