The Kissing Diary (6 page)

Teresa jumped up, script in hand, and began narrating before Rosie had slipped her fruity dress over her clothes. Robbie joined her and said, “Very fetching,” an old-fashioned word that surprised Rosie. Mary must have left the classroom early. She was waiting in the hall, looking every inch the goddess in full makeup, a rhinestone tiara, and what appeared to be a new prom dress from Jessica McClintock or Betsey Johnson.

Teresa was calling from the classroom, “Where's my wife, Demeter, De Mutter of my child?”

Rosie ran in, her fruit dress ballooning behind her. Mary followed, and began pulling a bush out of the concrete floor. Robbie galloped into the room on a hobbyhorse. Before long, the class was howling as much as they had for Billy and Lauren's skit. Then Robbie hooked an arm around Mary's neck, saying, “I'm abducting you and taking you to my kingdom,” knocking her tiara down over her eyes.

“Hey!” said Mary. “You're choking me!” The tiara clattered across the floor and Mary chased after it, shrieking loudly as Robbie's foot anchored her dress to the spot. There was a ripping sound, and Mary's face was a picture of horror. “You've torn it!” she said between clenched teeth.

“That's not part of the script,” said Robbie, deadpan, gallantly trying to hide the shredded edge of the dress by tucking it underneath her.

“Now I can't take it back to the store!” hissed Mary, whipping the ripped dress away from him.

Rosie was happier than she'd been in days.

Teresa chanted, “Let us continue. Later, in the kingdom of the underworld, Persephone plays jacks with the rubies and diamonds that Hades showers her with…”

A pouting Mary sat on the floor in her prom dress, her tiara jammed back on her head, bouncing a ball and picking up bunches of Teresa's fake jewels. Robbie handed her an apple, saying, “Make believe it's a pomegranate!” Mary pulled six gummy bears out of her pocket and started eating them, saying woodenly, “I love these pomegranate seeds.”

“That means we're married,” said Robbie, making a face, which made Rosie so ecstatic that she forgot to weep and wail. “Hey!” hissed Robbie. “How about some noises, Mom?”

“Oh!” Rosie proceeded to rant and rave and run around the room while Teresa said, “Demeter punished the earth's inhabitants with bitter cold and blustering winds. Unless Persephone is returned to her side, the earth will perish.”

“No fair!” cried Billy. “I only give panic attacks to people! She destroys the earth!”

“Quiet, Pan,” said Robbie, howling alongside Rosie.

Mary said darkly, “You're not supposed to side with Demeter, dope!”

Robbie said, “Sorry! I thought I'd help out De Mutter because De Fodder isn't doing much.”

Teresa threw up her hands and said, “I'm narrating!” She could barely get out the words with all the laughter. “Finally, it was agreed that Persephone would spend part of the year with her husband, Hades, and part of the year with her mother, Demeter. Thus we have the division of the seasons. The sweetness of spring … and the harshness of winter. Cast, take a bow!”

Mary bent low, her hand anchoring her tiara to her blond head. “My dress!” she whispered. “I think the zipper broke!”

“It wasn't me!” said Robbie, looking down at his feet to make sure.

She hooked her arm behind her and, with a look of pure disbelief on her face, tried to pull the back of her split dress together. “Someone help me!” she cried.

In an instant, Rosie stepped behind Mary and held the two sides together so that the whole dress didn't fall off. “The division of the dress symbolizes the division of the seasons,” she said.

Teresa jumped forward so quickly that her pom-poms quivered. She continued, “Yes, that's symbolism. The sweetness of spring and the harshness of winter!”

Robbie joined in. “Yes, I mean, would you like to split your dress in front of the entire class? That's what I'd call
harsh!
”

The class started clapping, and the four of them took a bow, Rosie behind Mary, holding the dress together as if her life depended on it.

“Very inventive,” said the teacher, wryly. “Get out of your costumes and join us back in the classroom.”

As they were leaving the room, Rosie stepped on Robbie's heel. This time, she was smart enough not to ask if she'd hurt him.

“You were great,” she said.

“You were cute,” said Robbie, turning away from her.

“Excuse me?” said Rosie, in a state of shock, not believing her own ears, but he had walked into the boys' bathroom and was gone.

Did he really say what Rosie thought he'd said? Rosie stood stock-still in the middle of the hallway, very much like Lauren in her skit.

Teresa whispered in her ear, “I heard him. He said you were cute.”

“Oh!” said Rosie, blushing. “Thanks a lot!”

“No problem,” said Teresa, and Rosie realized that there wasn't a single problem in her life right now, because the sun was shining and the project was over, and Robbie had told her she was cute.

When she got home, Rosie wrote in her diary:

Wednesday

Dear Diary,

I know it's silly, but I'm hopeful again, because today, Robbie said that I was cute. Maybe he meant that I was cute in the play, but it doesn't matter. Cute wipes away Goldtwit if you ask me. Cute is great. Maybe I won't be decrushifying just yet. I am,

Yours truly,

Rosie Gold-better-and-better

P.S. So far, this hasn't been a kissing diary. Stay tuned …

P.P.S. What is it about the boys we like that makes us laugh harder at their silly jokes? I'll have to think about that one.

7

Rosie Goldglitt's Grandpa Joe

Dinner that evening was a Goldglitt lovefest for Rosie, Jimmy, and their mother. Rosie amused them by describing her skit over forkfuls of spaghetti and tofu meatballs. Her brother hooted when she told them about holding Mary's dress together.

“There would have been more drama if you'd let it fall to the floor,” he said.

Mrs. Goldglitt congratulated Rosie. “You don't even like the girl, but you helped her out! I'm proud of you, honey. Love thine enemy,” she said, rolling her eyes to heaven, which set them all laughing.

“She didn't even thank me,” Rosie said. “Nothing changed. But Robbie said I was cute!”

“Did he say it sarcastically?” Jimmy asked.

“Not at all!” Nothing could sink Rosie's spirits tonight. She had looked up the word
cute
in the dictionary. The definition sounded even better than the word itself. Robbie thought she was “endearingly pretty,” and there hadn't been a hint of sarcasm.

They cleared the dirty dishes, and Jimmy surprised them by wiping off the table, a chore that he hated. Rosie and Jimmy did their homework in the living room and then settled down to watch television. Jimmy laughed at the he-man parts, and Rosie and her mother watched what the stars were wearing. The popcorn was salty, low-fat but tasty. For the first time in a long time, it felt like the family was working again.

The telephone rang, and Mrs. Goldglitt answered. By the look on her face, someone had died.

“Who's hurt?” said Rosie, remembering the same expression when the police had called to tell them that their father had been involved in a traffic accident.

“Who's dead?” said Jimmy, voicing what she felt.

“No one,” their mother quickly replied, cupping her hand over the receiver. “Uncle Moe says there's something the matter with Grandpa. Let me hear.”

Mrs. Goldglitt adored her father's brother. When Grandma Rebecca had ended up in the nursing home after a broken hip, Uncle Moe had come to the rescue. Rosie's parents were in the middle of their divorce, and Grandpa Joe didn't know how to make his bed, or pay the bills, or do the laundry. They all knew that Grandpa couldn't live by himself. But who could take him? Rosie's mother hated to see her father in a nursing home, but had put him on the waiting list to join Grandma Rebecca, just in case. Uncle Moe took pity and invited Grandpa to live with him until Grandma recovered. Rosie remembered hearing her mother tell her uncle, “I could kiss your feet, I'm so relieved.” Twice a week, Uncle Moe had taken Grandpa to the nursing home to visit his wife. And one day, Grandma's bed was empty. She had died in the middle of the night.

Rosie loved Grandpa Joe better than anyone. Before the divorce, he was her biggest admirer. He listened to her. After Grandma died, with her mother dating and Jimmy in his own world and Dad building a new life away from them, Rosie needed Grandpa's ears more than ever. He rarely gave her much advice, but nodded his head or widened his eyes so that she felt understood. When Grandma was around, he had laughed a lot, as if the world's problems didn't touch him and life was expected to be good. After her death, the laughter had lessened.

Rosie's mother pressed the telephone against her ear, muttering, “I see, I see,” over and over. When she said goodbye, she sank into the armchair with a sigh that wiped out the evening's pleasure. “Grandpa Joe is too much for Uncle Moe,” she said. “He needs a break.”

“For how long?” asked Rosie.

“He's not staying in my room,” Jimmy said quickly.

“Jimmy, you'll have to sleep in Dad's old office. Your room is away from the stairs and next to the bathroom. We can't have Grandpa falling and breaking his neck.” Mrs. Goldglitt's tone was flat and final.

“He has a sketchy smell!” Jimmy complained bitterly. “I don't want my bed smelling old like Grandpa.”

“That's awful!” said Rosie, bristling at her brother.

“Then let him sleep in your bed!” said Jimmy, which shut Rosie up.

Mrs. Goldglitt walked out of the room muttering, “Do the laundry,” and the subject was closed.

*   *   *

After school on Friday, Rosie and her mother drove to Uncle Moe's house. Summer wanted to come along for the ride, but Mrs. Goldglitt said no. “She's a lovely girl, but we don't need her chirping in the backseat, honey.” Rosie didn't argue. Jimmy said Summer was like Chinese food. It filled you up for the moment, but you were hungry an hour later.

When Uncle Moe and Grandpa Joe walked out to greet them, Rosie's mother let out a deep shuddery sound that signaled disaster. “He's aged so much, I can't believe it! I just saw him a week ago!”

“He looks like he's going to fall down,” said Rosie, noting how firmly Uncle Moe gripped his brother's elbow.

Grandpa shuffled his way toward them as if he were crippled. His face was pale, and his eyes were dead. It chilled Rosie to the bone. Uncle Moe helped him into the front seat of the car. Grandpa struggled with his seat belt until he got so exasperated that he wouldn't wear it. He didn't answer when Rosie said hello.

Rosie exchanged glances with her mother in the rearview mirror. Her mother's face was drained of color, in spite of carefully applied blush. Rosie knew what her mother was thinking: that Grandpa Joe looked as though he was ready to join his dear departed wife.

When they parked in the driveway, Rosie helped Grandpa out of the car.

“Where am I?” he said. “I want to go home.”

“You're staying with us for a while, Grandpa.”

Rosie and her mother led him as if they were guiding a sleepwalking child.

Rosie sat next to her grandfather on the couch. He didn't move or speak, but when she turned on the television, he directed his empty gaze at the set. She left him alone and went into the kitchen.

Rosie's mother wasn't much of a cook, but she'd managed to make her father roast beef, which sat like a bomb in her nearly vegetarian kitchen.

“We're eating flesh tonight?” Rosie joked. Her mother laughed, but it was thin and fake, coming from the windpipe, not the heart or the stomach. Jimmy and Rosie loved to make her laugh so hard that she was red in the face, with tears running down her cheeks. Each of them competed to be her favorite funny person. Lately, Sam topped everyone.

Grandpa wandered in, startling them both. He munched on a carrot, which made Rosie happy. Wanting to eat was being alive, wasn't it? He pulled Rosie to him, and said, “How's my little Rosebush?” Her real Grandpa was back as if she'd suddenly switched radio stations from classical to rock, asking about school and teachers and whether she had a nice boyfriend. When her mother announced, “Rosie likes to make her boyfriends fall head over heels backward into the bushes,” they laughed too hysterically, relieved that Grandpa was feeling better. He demanded to hear the entire story, and drank a full glass of cream soda, bought especially for him.

“After weeks of torture, Robbie thinks I'm cute,” Rosie told him.

“Cute? Not good enough.” Grandpa wrinkled up his brow in mock anger, saying, “You're gorgeous. You're beautiful. Dump that bozo!”

“He's not a bozo, Grandpa. Boys my age don't say you're beautiful.” Rosie giggled. “Besides, the dictionary says cute means ‘endearingly pretty.'”

“Okay,” he said grudgingly. “Endearingly pretty in an extraordinary way. That's my little Rosebush.” He looked around the kitchen, saying, “Just the way I like it! A little bit of dirt. A little bit of clutter. Everything at Moe's is covered in plastic. One day, he's going to spray disinfectant on me.”

“He's a neat freak like Sarah's mother,” said Rosie, laughing. Maybe Grandpa had been lonely and just needed company. Her mother was smiling, and Rosie could talk about Robbie again without feeling bad.

*   *   *

The next day, Mrs. Goldglitt had to go to work. “Can you go for a walk with Grandpa?” she asked. “The fresh air and exercise will do him good. I'd take him, honey, but Saturday is such a busy day at work, and I took off two weeks ago. Besides, it's just a few hours.”