It's an Aardvark-Eat-Turtle World (7 page)

As the car heads to the mall, Aviva says, “I'm going to be your official tour guide. I did a school report on Eaton Center and I have lots of semi-useless information that I can give you.”

Bev says, “Aviva's got a photographic memory.”

“Oh, Mom.” Aviva turns red.

Even moms who are great can be embarrassing.

We're just going to a shopping mall, I think. There's nothing so special about that. Shopping malls are all over the country. There're even some in Kingston, the city near Woodstock.

We get to Eaton Center and park.

Walking inside, I realize that it's not just any shopping mall.

Aviva begins. “This place is 300,000 square meters. That's over three million square feet in American. Fifteen thousand people work here.”

“That's more people than live in Woodstock, even in the summer.” I shake my head.

The place is really something. There are glass-enclosed elevators. There's a fountain that's timed to shoot water up in the air at certain times in certain patterns. It reminds me of trying to toilet-train the Little Nerdlet.

Aviva takes a deep breath and continues. “There are fifty fashion stores, more than two dozen shoe stores, more than sixty restaurants, fast-food outlets, and specialty food shops. There are also twenty-one movie theaters.”

I think of the Tinker Street Cinema back in Woodstock. It holds 162 people.

Phoebe grins. “I could live in this place. Let's start checking out some of the stores.”

We take the elevator up to the mall's third floor and go into a very ritzy-looking store.

Phoebe and her mother immediately start trying on clothes.

Everything is designer-labeled and designer-priced. I don't even like the clothes. They're not my style.

Sitting on a chair, I watch as they all look in the mirrors.

Mrs. Carson comes over and says, “Rosie. Pick out an outfit. I'd love to get it for you.”

“Thanks. But there's nothing here for me.” I smile at her.

They continue to try on clothes.

Phoebe's smiling. “This is so fun.”

Mrs. Carson looks at her. “Honey, if you lived with us in New York, we'd be able to shop all the time. And the schools are so much better.”

“Mom,” Phoebe says.

“And you'd have your own room,” Mrs. Carson continues.

I'll just take the knife out of my heart right now, I think.

“Mom.” Phoebe makes a face. “I don't want to talk about that now.”

I notice that she's said “now.”

They continue to try on clothes.

Phoebe always used to make fun of the way her mother dresses. It's weird that she's so into shopping at this store.

Aviva comes over and sits down beside me. “I'm tired of this already. Why don't we say that we'll meet them for lunch and go visit some of the other places that are more fun?”

“Great idea.” I nod.

We tell them and make arrangements to meet them for lunch at a place called Mr. Greenjeans and head out the door.

Going into a store with lots of stickers and fun things, I find the perfect Christmas present for the Little Nerdlet. It's a pair of earmuffs with each side shaped like mouse heads. I just know that the Little Nerdlet's going to love it. Even though it's only August, I buy it to give him in December.

Walking into another place, I ask Aviva about why her family is Canadian and Duane is American.

She stops to try on a pair of earrings. “My father's much younger than Duane, and his politics are different. During the Vietnam War, my father was going to be drafted if he stayed in the United States. So he and Mom moved to Canada. They had a rough
time of it. His family wouldn't talk to him. He was a fugitive. And then by the time the U.S. offered amnesty, he decided to stay and become a Canadian citizen. He did go back for a while to work it out so that he could go to the U.S. without being arrested. And he kind of made up with his family.”

“That's a great story,” I say. “He should write it down. I would if it happened to me.”

“He's not a writer.” Aviva smiles. “He loves working with computers.”

It's amazing. Duane and his brother are both into computers and they're so different.

“I'm not great with computers.” I laugh. “Last year in school I was having lots of trouble getting my program to work and I got angry. So I typed in some profanity, telling the computer what to do with its bytes.”

“What happened?” Aviva smiles.

“It printed out ‘Please don't use such bad language. I'm only a machine and I can't take it.'”

“Is that true?” Aviva is doubled over laughing.

I nod. “Then I tried all sorts of other words on it and the computer said the same thing. Some teacher must have programmed it in.”

“Can you imagine?” Aviva still can't stop laughing. “The teacher probably tried to write in every possible combination of words that a student could use to swear. I thought teachers weren't supposed to know bad words.”

When we finally calm down, it's time to meet Phoebe, Mrs. Carson, and Bev for lunch.

We go to Mr. Greenjeans. They're already there. We order hamburgers. They turn out to be the largest I've ever seen.

“Where were you?” Phoebe asks.

We tell her and show her the Little Nerdlet's present.

She's got several packages next to her but doesn't show us what's in them.

Phoebe doesn't seem too pleased that Aviva and I went off without her.

What else should we have done? Been bored with waiting until she picked out her little designer outfits? When we said that we were going, she didn't say she wanted to come with us.

She's very quiet. Too quiet.

I refuse to feel guilty. Enough is enough. I know I was brought along to keep her company, but she
was busy buying clothes. That was time to spend with her mother—which was the real reason for this trip. Sometimes I think that the only time those two communicate is when they're shopping.

I look at Phoebe and try hard to make contact. “We passed a store called Perry's. They take pictures of people dressed in old-time clothes. Why don't the three of us go there after lunch and have a picture taken?”

“You and Aviva . . . and me?” Phoebe looks at us.

I stare at her. “The three of us . . . .Don't be silly . . . .You know that I want you in the picture.”

She holds up a french fry to her face and pretends that it's a moustache.

Now she's acting like the Phoebe that I know and love . . . my best friend—sort of sister.

After finishing lunch, we go over to Perry's. With Bev and Mrs. Carson cheering us on, we dress up.

I'm wearing a 1920s Charleston dress and long beads, and I'm carrying a beaded bag.

Phoebe's wearing a Victorian dress with lots of ruffles and holding a rose.

Aviva's dressed in a 1950s skirt with a poodle emblem and a fluffy angora sweater.

We all look like we've come from very different eras and met in the present.

The photographer snaps the pictures.

We change, visit some other stores, and come back in half an hour. The pictures are really great. Each of us gets one.

We all look different, individual, and yet in a funny way, a team.

I hope we can maintain that feeling for the entire visit without anyone feeling jealous or left out.

Life sure can get complicated when you're supposed to be having fun.

“I
t's R night at the movies tonight,” Jason says, as we all sit down for dinner.

Duane objects. “I don't think you children should choose to go to a movie simply because of its rating.”

Jason explains that the Canadian movie rating system is different from ours and, anyway, that's not what he meant.

The Carsons fill us in.

Michael starts. “When we bought the six-foot projection screen, our house became very popular.”

Aviva laughs. “Kids I didn't even know were coming up to me and asking if they could come over.”

“The football coach asked if he could bring the team over to view the videos of the game.” Jason shakes his head. “I'm not even on the team.”

“And the cheerleaders wanted me to film them at the games and then invite them over,” Aviva says. “Instant Insincere Popularity.”

“We just invite our friends over, the real ones . . .   but try to keep it manageable,” Jason says.

“Now a lot more kids have giant screens but our house is still a hangout because the kids seem comfortable here. We do have rules,” Bev informs us. “Every couple of months the kids can have a dance party where videos are shown. Once a month the kids can have an all-night film party.”

I think I could handle rules like that.

Jason continues. “We decided to show the films alphabetically. The first party had films starting with the letter A. Now we're up to R—so tonight's R night. We debated rescheduling because you were coming but thought that Rosie and Phoebe might enjoy it.”

Phoebe and I grin at each other.

“Will this party be chaperoned? Won't it be noisy? How will anyone get any sleep? I hope there will be no drinking or drugs.” Duane demands answers.

Michael shakes his head. “No drugs or alcohol. That's one of our rules. You know, Duane, you sound like you did when I was a kid . . . always questions asked with obvious disapproval.”

Duane looks angry but doesn't say anything.

I put down my fork and stop eating.

Michael looks like a kid who's not sure if he's going to get yelled at but not ready to back down.

Families. I guess some of the problems last for a long time.

Mrs. Carson puts her hand on Duane's and pats it.

Finally Duane speaks. “Michael, there's a big age difference between us and I've always felt a little responsible. I wanted to protect you. After all, you did get into a lot of trouble when you were a kid.”

Michael nods. “The trouble that I got into was because I believed in what I was doing. It was necessary to make those in power understand that there had to be changes.”

“You were jailed,” Duane reminds him.

Michael says, “And proud of it. I was jailed for
demonstrating against actions I thought were immoral. And the demonstrations made a difference.”

I think of Mindy and wonder whether she and Michael were ever at any of the same demonstrations.

Bev says, “Come on, you two. You promised not to discuss this anymore.”

The brothers look at each other and then nod.

What a relief. A truce.

Bev says, “Duane, don't worry about the noise. The kids are pretty quiet and the projection TV is not in the wing where the adult bedrooms are.”

“What are we going to see?” I ask.

Jason smiles at me. “We decided on
Raiders of the Lost Ark, Rear Window, Reds, The Red Shoes,
Roadrunner cartoons, and videos of the Rolling Stones.”

“It sounds great,” Phoebe says. “I wish my boyfriend Dave was here. He'd love to see all of that.”

She's mentioned Dave for the first time in front of Jason. Very interesting. I guess she's decided not to make a play for him.

After dinner Phoebe, Aviva, Jason, and I clear the table.

At one point I'm all alone in the dining room.

Jason walks in and comes up to me. “I'm in charge
of making the popcorn tonight. How about helping me out . . . .I realize that this is a pretty ‘corny' way to ask you out.”

I almost drop the plates but try to look as if it's an everyday occurrence that I'm asked on a popcorn date by a very nice, cute guy.

“Okay.” I nod. “I'd love to . . . although there's a kernel of truth in your saying that it's corny.”

He groans and grins.

I like a guy who can groan and grin at the same time, especially since I love puns.

Phoebe walks in as we're grinning at each other. She goes over to the table, clears more dishes, and leaves without saying anything.

Jason and I continue to smile.

Finally he says, “Would you like some help in carrying those dishes?”

I hand half of them to him.

As we walk into the kitchen, he says, “If we're going to make the popcorn, we'd butter hurry up and finish clearing the table.”

Now I know I'm in love. He's nice, cute, and punny.

And we have four days left to get to know each other.

T
onight is the best night of my life—almost.

Who would have guessed that making popcorn could be so much fun?

Jason is the nicest, most wonderful boy in the world.

There hasn't even been time to see the movies. Jason and I have been talking all night.

Kids walk in and out to get popcorn and soda. Only in Canada they call it soft drinks. I asked for soda and got tonic water. Bleech!

The
almost
best night is because of Phoebe. It would be perfect if she didn't keep coming in and asking that I sit with her at the movies.

“Soon,” I keep saying. I'm having such a great time with Jason that I don't want to leave.

Finally, Phoebe walks into the kitchen, stamps her foot, and says, “I'm going to bed. Don't try to stop me.”

Although I didn't plan to stop her, I do follow her out of the room to ask, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” she says, and walks away in a huff.

I start to follow her, then decide not to. If she says nothing's wrong, I'll pretend that I believe her. With her temper tantrum, she's making me feel like a baby-sitter.

Walking back into the kitchen, I see that Jason is talking to some girl, so I don't go over to him.

I pretend to be very interested in rearranging the magnetic letters on the refrigerator to spell my name. By the time I've finished putting the
N
on
WILSON
, Jason comes up beside me.