Parrotfish (19 page)

I was still trying to process Russ Gallo thinking he was a big sissy wimp, when he suddenly righted his chair, looking chagrined. “I’m sorry, Grady. I shouldn’t be complaining to you about all this. I know you have your own stuff going on. It’s just that you’re an easy person to talk to.”

“That’s okay,” I said, and it really was. “If anybody knows how hard it is to figure out how to be a man, it’s me.”

He nodded. “I guess that’s true. Anyway, I’d never tell all that stuff to any of my
guy
friends. Even if they felt that way, I doubt they’d admit it. Guys don’t.”

“Sometimes I think—” I began, then hesitated. Could I really say this to a teenage male?

“What?” Russ wanted to know.

What the hell
. “Sometimes I wish we didn’t have to be one thing or the other. You know, male or female. I wish there wasn’t that big division
between the two. Does that make any sense?”

I could tell he wasn’t sure what I meant, so I continued. “If we could each just be wherever we were on the football field—”

“What football field?” Now he was really lost.

Too much to explain. I tried again. “For example, you say you’re afraid people will think you’re a sissy wimp if they catch you not acting all masculine or something. But why are those the only two possibilities? Why do you have to be either macho or a sissy? Those are stereotypes anyway. Why can’t you just be whoever you are?”

Russ was mulling it over. “Huh. I never thought about it like that. That’s kind of true. You know, I think I’m going to apologize to Kita tonight at the dance. I hate for her to think I’m just some macho jerk.”

I got up from the editing chair. “Good luck with Kita tonight.” I sounded so sincere, I felt like smacking myself. No matter how much I liked Russ, his good luck was my misfortune. I left him there, thinking it all over, as I wandered off into midfield.

It was already snowing as I maneuvered our Toyota toward home, slipping around a bit on the crappy tires. At least the snow covering those old
teddy bears on the lawn made them seem a little cleaner, although I imagined in the long run the dampness would only enhance their odor.

Our mailbox was so crammed with stuff, the door on it was hanging open. There, amidst the twenty-odd Christmas cards, the circulars from Wal-Mart, and the catalogs from Pottery Barn, was a package for me. My undershirt binder! I could hardly wait to get out of my terrible tight bandage and try it on. Thank God, I’d be able to breathe again without rib damage.

“Finally!” Laura said as I came through the door with the mail pile. She had baby Michael on her shoulder and was jiggling him wildly as he cried. “Where have you been?”

“I told you, I had to load up the camera equipment from the studio. Did you get a ride with Mira? How come Michael’s here?”

“Because Aunt Gail is here, obviously. She’s going to do my hair for tonight, but she’s also taking care of Mom, who’s been upstairs puking all day.”

“Gee, thanks for the visual,” I said.

“I can’t wait to get out of this disease-infested hovel!” She handed Michael to me as though his damp diaper and wet cheeks were signs of leprosy.

“Could you be a little more dramatic? Where
are the clean diapers?” I could see the baby was beginning to melt down.

Laura pointed to a corner of the kitchen where Aunt Gail had deposited enough infant paraphernalia to open a day-care center. “There. I’m going upstairs to take a
long
shower so I don’t smell like vomit and baby pee when Jason shows up!”

By the time I found the diapers, the baby wipes, and a clean towel to lay Michael on, Aunt Gail was coming downstairs. Her tread on the stairs was slow, and I imagined she was tired.

“Sweetheart!” she said when she saw me. “You don’t have to do that! I’ll change him.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t mind. I hear you’ve been having quite a day with Mom already. How is she?”

“Asleep, finally. The worst is over, but she’ll feel like hell for a day or two. This flu is a bad one. Thank God Michael already had it so I don’t have to worry about him. I hope the rest of us don’t get it. Keep washing your hands.”

I had to smile. Our whole family were inveterate hand washers because of Aunt Gail’s constant stories of contagion.

Michael stopped bawling the minute the wet diaper was off. He stared up at me as I wiped him
off and slipped the clean pad under him. I couldn’t help but notice his little penis, which at this point in his life was of no more interest to him than a hand or an ear. I hoped that by the time he did understand what it meant, he’d be happy with the equipment he’d gotten at birth, or—less likely—that the world would have changed so dramatically that it wouldn’t matter all that much.

Aunt Gail made us both cups of tea, and we sat at the kitchen table. Michael nursed greedily for five minutes and then conked out. Gail couldn’t seem to wrench her eyes away from him, as though she still, after a month, couldn’t believe that he was really hers.

She noticed me staring at her and said, “I know it seems crazy, this mother-child love thing. I never got it either when your mom tried to tell me. Thank God I finally took her advice and just jumped into it.”

“
Her
advice?”

“Sure. She did all the research for me on sperm banks and everything. She just couldn’t abide the idea that I’d go through life without having a child. She always told me how lifechanging it was for her to have children and how much she adored you guys, even if you did drive her nuts sometimes.” She looked back down at
Michael. “You know how I hate to admit it, but this time my sister was right.”

I sipped my tea. “Do you think Mom still feels that way? That having kids is so great?”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“I mean, do you think I’ve . . . disappointed her?”

I figured Aunt Gail would just say, “Of course not!” because she felt like she had to, and I guess maybe that was why I asked her the question. I was in the mood for some unconditional love. But she didn’t. I could tell she was really thinking about her answer.

“Grady,” she said finally, “if your mother found out you were taking drugs, she would be disappointed. If you were flunking out of school, she’d be disappointed. But, all you’re doing is figuring out who you are. I’ll admit, changing gender is not something most teenagers go through, and your mom is confused by it, maybe even shocked, but not disappointed. Just last week she said to me, ‘I don’t know where Grady gets the courage.’ She’s proud of you, honey. She really is.”

Fortunately, Charlie came banging through the door then, so I could slip a finger up unobtrusively and wipe away a stray tear.

“That Daniel can be so dumb!” he said, throwing his coat on the floor. “He wants us to do math problems, even though we’re on vacation! He
likes
arithmetic!”

“Pick up your coat,” I told him.

Aunt Gail put a finger to her lips. “Keep it down a little, Charlie. Your mom is sleeping.” Of course, Michael was sleeping too, and I knew Gail was enjoying the peacefulness.

Charlie whispered as loudly as possible, while flinging his coat onto a hook, “I wish I had a brother to play with. Or Michael was older. Or I could go to regular school and meet some normal kids. Daniel is weird.”

It was true that Daniel and Charlie weren’t a perfect match, but they usually got along well enough. I wondered if Charlie would be less of a couch potato if he went to public school and had more friends. It hadn’t occurred to me before that my loud, lazy, sometimes obnoxious brother might actually be lonely.

“Too bad Mom’s so allergic to dogs,” I said.

“Oh man, I want a dog
so much
,” Charlie whined.

“You know, there are some dogs that are less likely to cause an allergic reaction,” Aunt Gail said. “They don’t shed like most dogs do.”

“Probably those ugly little hairless ones,” Charlie said, slumping into a chair, discouraged.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never looked into it.” Gail stared back into her baby’s face and in seconds forgot we were even there.

S
ebastian didn’t have his driver’s license yet, so I offered to chauffeur the three of us to the dance through the winter wonderland. I picked up Eve first, since she lived so close. She climbed in the front seat, smiled, and said, “Hi, Grady,” but her voice was louder than normal, and I could tell she was really nervous. Which made me feel weird—and sad. Could things ever be the same between us after all that had happened?

We said nothing for about three minutes, and then Eve began to speak. “I’m sorry that—”

I waved my hand in her face. “Look, Eve, you can stop apologizing to me. I know you’re sorry. It was a big mistake and you feel terrible about it. Let’s just try to forget it, can we?”

Eve stared at me, then burst out laughing.

“What?”

“I was just going to say I was sorry you had to drive in this crummy weather.”

“Oh.” I felt kind of stupid, but also relieved. I laughed too. “So, you think maybe
I’m
the one who needs to forget about it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think either one of us will ever forget about it. But it’s so good to be able to laugh with you, Grady. Do you think we can be friends again?”

All my anger and sadness gurgled right down the drain. “I hope so. I’ve really missed you!”

“Me too!” Eve was smiling so big, I was afraid she’d crack her cheekbones.

“So, what are you wearing?” I asked because I knew she’d appreciate telling me.

She opened her coat to show me. “That red velvet dress I got last Christmas, remember?”

“The one you begged your mother to buy you but then never wore? And she kept saying, ‘I told you it was a waste of money’?”

“That’s the one! I didn’t have any place fancy enough to wear it. She got so mad, remember? She wanted me to wear it to church, just so I’d make use of it, but I knew I should save it for something special. And now it will always be the dress I wore to the Winter Carnival dance when I was a sophomore in high school.”

Talking to Eve about our shared past, I felt like I was suddenly breathing deeply again. I
hadn’t lost my entire childhood—it was still alive, in my memory and in Eve’s.

We were yakking away by the time we got to Sebastian’s. When he got in the car, I didn’t pull out right away, and Eve didn’t move from the front seat. We just kept talking about Daniel and Charlie and how they didn’t seem to be enjoying being homeschooled anymore now that the other three of us were in public school. How Charlie, especially, seemed to feel he was missing out on something. It was such a relief to be able to talk about stuff like that with Eve again.

Sebastian cleared his throat noisily. “Excuse me, Eve, would you mind sitting back here with me? I mean, since you’re my date.”

“Oh, sure!” She giggled, then got out of the front seat and into the back. So I drove and let the two of them talk and get better acquainted. It was more comfortable than I’d expected, being a third wheel. Still, a vehicle with four wheels was what you really wanted to drive. If Kita had been sitting up front next to me, the evening would have been complete.

Eve helped us carry in the camera equipment, though we both told her she didn’t have to, dressed as she was. But it was clear even wet shoes couldn’t ruin her mood: She had a date, and she
had her best friend back. Even the idea that Danya might show up—which Sebastian mentioned cautiously—didn’t throw her.

“I hope she does,” Eve said. “I’ll be happy to glare at her scornfully, the way she looks at everybody else.”

Russ came in shortly after we did, looking slightly frazzled, but still very cool in a suit and tie. Sebastian was dressed up too. He even looked slightly taller, and I noticed he had on shoes with higher heels than his usual sneakers. Eve had worn fancy red and gold flats so she wouldn’t be taller than Sebastian; the two of them looked pretty adorable together.

Choosing my outfit had not been simple. I don’t own a suit, so that wasn’t a possibility. I didn’t have a date, so I could have gotten away with wearing the typical geek-who’s-not-a-part-of-the-festivities costume of jeans and a T-shirt. And if I’d just intended to hide out behind the camera all night, I would have. But Kita would be there, and maybe we’d talk, and I didn’t want to look like a bum. So I ended up wearing a dark-green dress shirt borrowed from Dad’s closet—with, of course, the new, more comfortable binder underneath—and a pair of black cords. The shirtsleeves were long, but I usually rolled them up anyway. When
I dared to look in the mirror, the effect seemed pretty good, and I left the house feeling better in my clothes—and in my skin—than I had in ages.

By the time we got the third camera ready to go, the one aimed at the stage, the band had finished its sound check, and the first couples were arriving. Taping a dance is actually pretty boring. Three hours of people having fun. Or pretending to have fun, hoping they resemble Beyoncé or at least one of her backup dancers. Or sticking out their tongues at the camera. Or being photographed in front of a blue sheet hung with paper snowflakes. You could take some shots of the band, of course. But band videos were pretty stock footage too. And this band was not Green Day.

I positioned myself behind the camera nearest the entrance so I could watch the kids come in, from the freshmen pushing forward in eager clumps—mostly girls—giggly and excited, on up to the seniors, cool and coupled up, dressed in outfits that wouldn’t look out of place at the Academy Awards. They stared at me, too, some of them, and then smiled or frowned or looked away. Which I figured is probably what they would have done anyway, even if I was still a girl.

       FRESHMAN GIRL: Ooh, look, there’s that girl, Angela.

       
SENIOR GIRL: You mean that boy, Grady.

       FRESHMAN GIRL: Yeah, that’s so weird. How did that happen?

       SENIOR GIRL: [shrugs] He just changed. No biggie.

       FRESHMAN GIRL: Oh, sure, no biggie. I know that.

       SENIOR GIRL: When you’re my age, nothing shocks you anymore.