The Meaning of Maggie (17 page)

Mom and Dad took longer to get ready because it took Mom forever to cover Dad in sunblock because he was 90% hair. But they eventually came down and Mom waved my sisters and me over.

“I'm going to buy a float and we're going to pull your dad to the water on it, okay?”

That sounded crazy so I said, “That sounds crazy.”

“There's no other way,” she said. “We can't carry him all the way down there.”

I looked at my calves. “I dunno. I've been working out and I really think we can.”

She laughed. “I'll be back with a float. Watch your father!”

We looked over at Dad, who smiled and waved as he sipped on a drink with a tiny umbrella in it. Oh dear.

Mom came back a little while later with the float and we all took turns blowing it up. Once we got the last cubic inch of air in, we wheeled Dad next to the stairs that led to the beach.

“Okay, here's the plan,” Layla said. “Mom and I are going to lift Dad onto the float. And then Maggie, you grab the corner by his left foot. Tiffany, you grab the corner by his right foot, and Mom and I will pull from the middle.”

“What should I do?” Dad asked.

“Try not to fall off,” Mom said.

Mom and Layla gathered all their strength to pick up Dad and position him on the float. Then we all took our places.

“Is everybody ready?” Layla asked.

“I've never been more ready,” Dad said.

On a count of three, we were off. We yanked the float across the sand with all our might as Dad sang “Good Vibrations.” Just when I thought my arms would fall off, we reached the water. Tiffany rummaged in her bag and brought out a mask and snorkel. “Can you still do this?”

“Of course I can,” Dad declared. “I am one with the sea.”

She strapped the mask and the snorkel to his head and we floated him out to the water, then turned him onto his tummy so he could put his face in the water while his legs dangled over the sides. Off he went, searching the sea for fish and other terrifying things. Layla stayed with him to keep him company.

As we walked out of the water, Mom looked at Tiffany. “Why don't you stay with Dad too. Okay?”

“But I want to work on my tan,” Tiffany huffed.

“You can work on it later. I promise.”

Tiffany finally stopped whining and joined Layla and Dad while Mom and I walked back up the beach.

“Why didn't you want me to stay with Dad?” I asked. “I would have.”

“Because I only want to worry about one person drowning at a time,” Mom said.

“Good point.”

We staked out a spot with a giant umbrella and opened our giant books and started our honeymoon.

A little while and a hundred pages later, Mom decided it was time to go in, so we walked down the beach to get Dad. He was tan and sticky and he couldn't move a muscle, even more than usual. The heat had really done a number on him and his legs wouldn't bend and his arms wouldn't straighten but eventually we got him stable enough on the float to drag him back up the beach. We pulled and pulled and I think he gained a thousand pounds in the ocean. But it didn't seem to bother him since he was having a great time telling everyone on the beach that he was really rich and that we were his servants. Finally we got him back into his chair and Mom wheeled him to the room while I got our things and Layla and Tiffany stayed to soak up the last hour of sunlight.

After the sun set, Mom began making us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from the food suitcase while Tiffany made herself a fort on the floor.

“I don't know why I have to sleep on the floor. It isn't fair.”

Mom handed her a sandwich. “Well, there are only two beds and Layla is your dad's favorite and Maggie is mine.”

“Thanks a lot!”

“Calm down. I was just kidding.”
⁶²

Tiffany finally stopped pouting when Dad said we could order a movie off the TV. We all ate and showered and snuggled into our places to watch a PG-13 movie because I wouldn't watch an R-rated movie because I refused to break the law.

The rest of the honeymoon was mostly the same: sun-blocking, dragging Dad down the beach, reading under umbrellas, and then dragging Dad back up the beach. On the very last morning, we woke up before the sun and flew home.

All our dirty clothes from the trip made the biggest pile of laundry in the world. I promised Mom I'd separate the whites from the darks as soon as I unpacked my books, which I knew would take forever and hopefully by the time forever was over someone else would have done it. At least that was my plan.

I emptied my backpack and was lining up Emily Dickinson next to William Shakespeare when I saw there was something in Mark Twain's place on my bookshelf. It was the little man and the little woman from the top of Mom and Dad's wedding cake.

Aha! In my cake coma, I'd forgotten that I'd set them there to watch over the rest of my books while we were away. I grabbed the tiny statues and ran into Mom and Dad's room to show them, but I was stopped by the smell of sick. Dad was throwing up and Mom was holding the bathroom trash can under his chin.

“Is Dad okay?”

He threw up again and Mom shooed me away. “Yes, he's fine. Go, Maggie. I'm taking care of it.”

I walked out slowly just in case she needed me, but she didn't ask for my help.

I set the tiny man and tiny woman on their dresser. They looked like they belonged together. I was halfway out the door when I heard something fall.

I turned around. The tiny man was on the ground.

Mom picked him up and then she shut the door.

Mom said Dad had caught a bug while we were traveling which was weird because the rest of us were fine. And if anyone was going to get sick, it should've been me because I had run out of Flintstones vitamins a month ago and Mom still hadn't restocked my supply. But for some reason, this sick bug only wanted Dad so for two whole weeks, he slept and ate saltines and slept some more. Finally on the last day of June he started feeling like a cool dude again, which was perfect timing because the Fifteen Days of Fun were only a day away.

Every year, my birthday was rudely interrupted by something. Like Dad's company picnic, which had happened on my tenth birthday. Or Layla's dance camp recital that had happened on my ninth birthday. Or Dad's first day of not working and subsequent time traveling that had happened on my last birthday. So I decided my
birthday needed more than one day to be celebrated. It needed fifteen.

Thus, the Fifteen Days of Fun were born. My birthday is July 15th, so celebrating every day of the two weeks leading up to it would make up for any potential disasters on the actual day. Mom and Dad were on board with my plan and they forced Layla and Tiffany on board too, which I didn't mind because, whatever, I was getting fifteen birthdays.

On July 1st, we had a kickoff dinner of my choosing and I chose traditional American fare since I was a traditional American. Since Dad still wasn't feeling 100%, I got to eat half his hamburger. And his potato salad. And his baked beans. And his ice cream. And then I went on an after-dinner run with Tiffany that turned into a walk because we were both so full we could have died.

On July 2nd and 3rd, Mom took me on a two-day library marathon where I checked out so many books I had to let my book bag straps out all the way. And then on July 4th, we went downtown to see the fireworks and Dad came along, making it his first trip out of the house since vacation. We had a great time watching the big sparkly fireworks and the little sparkly fireworks and the ones that twisted and the ones that dangled and then Dad sang “Proud to Be an American” at the top of his lungs because he liked to humiliate us in public.

On week two, even though Dad still wasn't all the way better, he took me to the movies. We saw an R-rated one even though I protested and halfway through it, bad guys flashed on the screen and Dad covered my eyes with his hand. He made me swear I wouldn't tell Mom, but of course I did and then Dad got in big trouble, but not really.

The next day, Layla let me ride in Bobby's TRUCK and we PEELED OUT of the driveway and listened to the radio really LOUD and they took me to DAIRY QUEEN and I got a BLIZZARD. Even Tiffany tried to contribute to the fun by letting me have the room to myself for a whole night. That was foiled when Mom found out she wasn't really spending the night where she said she was spending the night. But watching her get in trouble was still a ton of fun.

And then suddenly it was the day before my birthday and Mom surprised me with an early present. She pushed an envelope across the dinner table.

“Open it.”

I tore through the flap and found a flyer. “What's this?”

Mom beamed. “There's a day camp for writers tomorrow at the library and I thought you'd like to go. Great presidents have to be great writers too, right?”

Writing camp! Why hadn't I known this kind of amazing thing existed?! I gave her a hug. “Thanks, Mom! This is awesome!”

Tiffany made a face and snorted. “Nerd alert.”

“Careful, Tiffany,” Dad warned. “You don't want your face to freeze that way for all eternity.”

I didn't care what she thought. I stared at the flyer. “My first camp for grown-ups. This is perfect.” I didn't do regular camp. I just wasn't an egg-toss-tug-of-war-water-balloon-fight kind of girl. I was more of a sharpened-pencils-deep-thoughts-spill-your-guts kind of girl, and I was glad Mom realized that.

That night, I laid out my best overalls with my best T-shirt and my new Chuck Taylors that I'd gotten on the seventh day of fun. The only thing missing was my favorite scarf. I searched high and low and even sideways under Tiffany's bed, but I couldn't find it. Writers need their rest, so I packed my book bag and decided the scarf would have to wait until morning.

I woke up with an official twelve-year-old stretch. I'd let myself sleep in a little later than usual because I wanted to have enough energy for what was sure to be the best birthday ever. The fourteen days leading up to it had been the bee's knees and today wasn't going to be any different. I just needed to find my scarf and then it was off to a full day of writing and feeling and emoting, which may all have been the same thing, but I wasn't sure.

I made my debut from the hallway with a big “good morning, family!” But my family didn't seem excited to
see me. Tiffany was on the phone while Mom was pulling burnt muffins from the oven. And Dad and Layla were nowhere to be found.

“Where is everybody? It's my birthday.”

Mom tossed me a hot blackened muffin. “Your sisters are doing me a couple favors and your dad's still in bed.”

I couldn't believe it. “Still in bed? It's so late!”

Mom found her keys and my book bag and scooted me toward the door. “Everybody will be here when you get back. Now come on! We're gonna be late.”

“But I have to see Dad before I go. He loves wishing me happy birthday.”

Mom nudged me toward the garage. “He'll tell you when we get back. Let's go.”

I gave up and got in the car and then I remembered I still needed my scarf.

We were only at the mailbox. “Mom, we have to go back. I forgot my scarf.”

“There's no time, Maggie. We're already late.”

“But I need it! I can't write without it.”

“Honey, it's July. The last thing you need is a scarf.”

“But I never do anything without that scarf. DO YOU WANT ME TO FAIL?”

She kept driving. “No, I don't want you to fail. That's why I'm trying to get you there on time!”

I begged and begged, but she wouldn't budge and all of a sudden we were at the library and she was shoving
me out of the car and I couldn't believe she was really doing this to me ON MY BIRTHDAY.

“We're not even late! Why can't we just go back? Dad can say happy birthday and I can get my scarf. I'll be so fast, I swear!”

“Come on, Maggie,” Mom pleaded. “Don't let this ruin your birthday.”

I could feel myself losing it. “Why are you trying to get rid of me?! Why can't I just see Dad?”

“Tell you what, if I see your scarf when I get home, I'll bring it back to you.”

I swallowed my sniffles and pushed the hot tears out of my eyes. “You promise?”

She held up her hand. “I swear on your sister.”

“Which one?”

“Layla.”

I thought about it for a second. “Okay, I trust you.”

When I came into the library, the arctic air made me shiver and I got mad all over again. I needed my scarf for more than writing, I needed it to protect me from hypothermia! I took a seat next to an older woman who smelled like mothballs and peppermint. There were four other women in the class but no men because men aren't in touch with their feelings.

The camp leader was a woman named Margot. She had short brown hair that swooped in all kinds of weird directions. She was small, but on the chubby side of
small, and she must've seen the goose bumps on my arms because she offered me her sweater, but I politely declined. I wasn't ready for anyone to be nice to me. I was still too mad.

Margot talked about our class and our goals and our assignment, which was to write a piece of fiction inspired by a real event and some other stuff, but I didn't hear any of it because my mind was racing at ludicrous speed. Why couldn't we have turned around? Why didn't Dad want to see me ON MY BIRTHDAY? Why was Mom always pushing me off like I was some kind of chore? How come every time Layla or Tiffany needed something, everyone dropped everything to get it? Didn't anyone care about me?

My face flushed with hot and I asked to go to the bathroom. Margot said I could go whenever I wanted and didn't have to ask.

I went into the first stall and just sat there for a few minutes thinking and thinking and thinking. Finally, I came out, splashed water on my face, and looked in the mirror. There were big red angry splotches on my neck. Even my neck was mad that my scarf wasn't wrapped around it.