Saving Ruth (5 page)

The pool wasn't completely devoid of charm, though. The surrounding yard was lush and green, and noble oak trees lined the fence. It was a very basic place, but it really belonged to its members in a sweet, kind of old-fashioned way. The no-frills element gave it character that a lot of the flashier pool clubs lacked. At least that's what I thought.

“C'mon, Jay, you love this place,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah.” He pulled some papers out of his backpack. “Okay, here's the schedule. I think I've worked it out pretty fairly.” I quickly scanned the page. I wasn't working with David at all. Not a single shift. I wondered if he had asked Jason to draft it that way.

“All right?” We all nodded. “Tomorrow we open this puppy. I've loaded up the concession stand, and the price list is in the back. No fireballs this year.”

“Good,” said Dana. A kid had almost choked on one the summer before.

“All right, see y'all,” said Jason. I looked over at David, wondering if he would head out with me or stay behind. He made no moves to get up.

Dana and I walked out together. “You want a ride, babe?” she asked.

I pointed to my bike.

“You're still ridin' that thing? When are you gonna get a car?”

“Dana, I live down the street.”

“Fine, fine. See ya later, hippie.”

I wheeled it up the hill. The five o'clock summer twilight felt like honey on my shoulders. I hopped on and took off.

5

“H
ey, Mom.”

She was lying on the hammock in the backyard, a book splayed open across her chest. She was wearing her favorite paint-splattered gray T-shirt and a pair of purple sweatpants that had been cut off into shorts.

“It's too hot to read, Ruthie,” she whimpered.

“Scoot over.”

She opened her eyes in surprise. “Okay.”

She clutched the rope tightly and attempted to swing her ample bottom to the left. Although her body made no progress, the hammock flailed like a hooked fish. She began to laugh hysterically.

“Ruth!” she wailed. “This is not happening. You're going to have to ease on in.”

I eyed her warily. “Never mind.”

“Oh no, you're not backing out now! We're getting in this hammock together come hell or high water, missy. Let's go!”

I sighed deeply. “Fine.” Sliding over the edge, I felt my mother roll toward me—her warm, soft stomach pressing against my back. She began to laugh again.

“Mom!” Her laughter was contagious, despite my best efforts to be too cool for the absurdity of our predicament, and I started laughing too. I pushed her away as best I could and eased myself onto my back. She pulled me with her as we both attempted to scoot toward the middle. Finally, we were there.

“That was exhausting,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Like a bear and a parakeet on a seesaw.” She paused, then added:

“I don't know what's going on with me, Ruthie. I can't stop eating.”

“That's not like you, Mom.”

“I know it.” She sighed. “You guys went to college and my waistline went to hell.”

“How come?”

“Boredom, I guess.” The hammock rocked us as it settled down. “It's almost as if I gained the weight that you lost.”

“Mom, c'mon. You didn't gain that much weight.”

“I'm serious. Post-umbilical weight gain. I'm going to look it up. I bet it's a real thing.” She grabbed my hand. “Ruthie, I really missed you this year.”

“I missed you too, Mom.” All I had wanted with every molecule of my being was to get away from my parents, and away from the South. Imagine my surprise when I found myself hanging on to my mother's legs in the Detroit airport, begging her not to leave me there.

“Yeah, but just for a month or two. Then you moved on.”

“What was it like for you when I made that crazy scene in the airport? You must have been so embarrassed.”

“Ruth, I was not embarrassed! If I could look at you right now,” she said as she attempted to prop herself up on an elbow to face me, “I would. Alas. Honey, my heart was completely broken. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to just bring you home with me, right then and there, but I also didn't want you to give up before you even began to try. Plus, I knew you'd grow into it.”

“And you were right,” I assured her.

“You met some friends and got used to a schedule—”

“Yeah, but I was a basket case for a while.”

“Is that why you lost so much weight?” she asked. “Nerves?”

“Maybe.”
That and a constant monitoring of every calorie and fat gram in a ten-mile radius.

“I'm proud of you. You didn't give up.”

“Thanks, Mom.” We swayed in silence, looking up into the pine tree branches that reached far into the sky. The crickets hummed around us.

“Are you going out tonight?” she asked.

“Yeah, with Jill and M.K. to some party.”

“Be careful. Nothing stupid.” As my parents well knew from my high school partying career, stupid was very much a possibility.

“Okay,” I agreed. “How are we going to get off this thing?”

“You roll first and then help me.”

“Good idea.”

I rolled off, took her hands, and pulled her to her feet. She adjusted her glasses and smiled up at me as she cupped my chin in her hand.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Ruth.” Her eyes welled up. “I swear to God, this menopause is driving me crazy! One minute I'm laughing like a hyena, and the next I've collapsed in tears.” She hugged me. “Oh, my skinny girl. Listen, you need to eat dinner before you go. I'll fix you a salad, okay?”

My breath returned. “Okay.”

“And I have this delicious fat-free dressing that you'll like.” My heart beat normally again. “Maybe having you here this summer will get me back on track. Salads and fruit twenty-four-seven.” I followed her inside. A very small part of me wanted my mother to scream at me, to call me out on my issues, to force-feed me French fries. Instead, she was looking to me for diet tips.

I was just being careful about what I ate was all—it wasn't anything serious. Some people could eat whatever they wanted and not gain an ounce. I couldn't. Simple as that.
This was the argument I used all the time when I was questioned about my eating. As the words came out of my mouth, they sounded perfectly rational, but I knew I was kayaking through a sea of denial every time I spoke them. I guess my mom was trying to help me keep the boat afloat.

“It's just us tonight,” she said, walking ahead of me. “The boys are going to services.” She turned back and rolled her eyes at me. I rolled mine back.

T
he doorbell rang as I zipped my purse closed. Perfect timing. I felt nervous to be going out. I'd be seeing most of these people for the first time since I had left for college, and I knew that there would be a ton of shit talking.

I heard Jill's voice first as I walked down the hall. She had the exact face of a doll I had when I was little—straight honey brown hair, a dusting of freckles across the smallest nose ever created, and giant brown eyes. No one would ever have guessed that she could smoke Snoop Dogg under the table. I turned the corner with a smile.

“Ruth!” Jill rushed toward me and scooped me into a warm hug that smelled of Big Red gum and beer.

“Hey, Jilly,” I said, pulling back so we could size each other up. I waved to M.K., who hung back. We had already had our welcome home moment.

“Ruthie!” squealed Jill. “I heard you were skinny, but damn.” She turned to my mother, stricken. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Wasserman! I am cursing like a sailor. My mother would kill me.” My mom gestured as if to say,
No biggie.

“What size are those shorts? Triple zero?”

“Take it easy, Jill,” I said. “You're making me feel weird.”

“I'm sorry, Ruthie. You look great. Really. I'm just sort of shocked is all.” I noticed that Jill's trademark cutoffs were straining at the seams. The curse of the freshman fifteen.
Shocked and maybe just a wee bit jealous.

“Well,” interrupted my mom. “Have a great night, girls, and please be careful.”

“Nothing stupid,” I promised as we all filed out of the back door in a chorus of good-byes. M.K. was driving. We piled into her silver Accord, and she backed out of the driveway.

“Ever think about maybe cleaning this thing out once in a while?” I struggled to find a space for my feet between the Diet Coke cans, Subway wrappers, and empty cigarette packs.

“Oh c'mon, neat freak, it's not so bad.” I pulled out a cigarette.

“Are y'all ready?” asked Jill from the front. She passed a lit joint back to me. I took it with my free hand.

“What do you mean?” asked M.K.

“This party.”

“How is old
Bootsie
?” I asked. Every time I said her name aloud was like the first time.

“Fine, I guess,” answered Jill. “Still going out with Scott Shayers.”

“Oh, the guy whose brother overdosed?”

“Yeah, that's the one. One speedball too many,” she answered as I exhaled a giant cloud of smoke.

“Wow, Cheech, could you maybe aim out the window? I'm trying to drive here.”

“My bad.”

“This is supposed to be a huge party,” Jill continued. “Her parents are in Guatemala on some church mission.”

“Church mission?” I asked.

“Yeah, they're missionaries. They go to poor places to spread Jesus's love.”

“I know what missionaries are, jackass,” I answered.

“Sorry, geez. Do Jews have missionaries?”

“I don't think so.” Did we? As far as I knew, Jews kept it close to the vest with summer camps and political fund-raisers. “David would know. I'll ask him.”

“How is that fine-ass brother of yours?”

I rolled my eyes. “Gross, Jill.”

“Well, how is he? Still dating Hillary?”

“Actually, no. He said they broke up in January.”

“No shit? Wow. The Homecoming King and Queen break up? That's front-page news. Is he upset?”

“I don't really know.” Was he? Maybe that was why he attacked me with the boyfriend comment. I wondered if I would see him at the party. Services were over, so maybe.

Jill passed me her Visine. “Oh man, thanks.” I leaned my head back and dropped it into each eye, relishing the lubrication. Between the cigarettes and the weed, my eyeballs felt like two dimes covered in wool.

“Here we are,” M.K. announced. Cars lined the street for blocks, and in the distance you could hear the faint throb of music.

“Is Dwight coming?” I asked.

“I think so. He was being a dick about it, but I'm sure he'll show up at some point. He can't deal with me being out alone.”

“You're not alone, you're with us,” said Jill.

“I am indeed.” M.K. checked her makeup one last time in her visor mirror. “Let's roll.” We all got out of the car and headed toward the music.

“You ready for up-downs?” asked M.K. That's what we called the classic southern girl greeting—a sugary
Hey, girl!
followed by a top-to-toe surveillance for shit-talking purposes the second you moved out of earshot.

“Bring it,” I answered. My stomach growled. How fitting.

There we were, the three of us standing on a perfectly manicured lawn facing Bootsie Compton's huge house with its brick facade and navy blue shutters. Jill put her cigarette out in the monkey grass lining the walkway to the front door, and we walked in.

6

W
e opened the door into a mass of people holding red plastic cups. Boys with beat-up baseball caps, Polo shirts with the collars popped, khaki shorts and sneakers with athletic socks pulled up to midcalf, and girls with orange tans, straightened blond hair, perky summer dresses, and bright pink lips. I looked down at my cutoffs and tank top and felt second-rate. There was something about the uniform formality here that always made me feel clumsy.

“Hey, girls!” screeched Bootsie.

“Hey, Bootsie,” we all screeched back, playing the game of
I'm so glad to see you!
even though we weren't. She up-downed us all before going in for hugs. Her beer sloshed out of her red cup and dripped down my back as she gave me mine.

“Ruth, it is so good to see you! I swear I wouldn't recognize you if it wasn't for your crazy hair!”
Zing.
“You look awesome!”

“Thanks, Bootsie,” I mumbled. “So do you.”

“Well, now I know you're full of shit. I am fatter than one of them Kobe beef cows. You're gonna have to share your diet secrets with me later.”
Okay, here you go, Boots: don't eat.
I laughed nervously.

“Where's the beer?” asked Jill, saving me.

“Oh, the keg is in the back.” She pointed us toward it.

We made our way through the crowd, tossing out the requisite heys and hugs. In the kitchen, I searched for a beer alternative amid Bootsie's mother's disturbing collection of ceramic cows. Everywhere you turned there was a cow—a cow cookie jar, cow pot holders, even a cow figurine inexplicably perched on a tiny toilet.
What's the message here?
I wondered.
Easy on the cookies, heifer?

“Ruth?” I screwed the top back on a Jim Beam bottle and turned around.

“Chris!” I hugged him. Chris had been friends with David since they were in first grade, and I had had a crush on him exactly as long. He was always at our house—playing with GI Joes and then video games and then soccer and then who knows what. They would lock themselves in David's room for hours, emerging only to eat everything in the refrigerator.

Chris was tall, with broad shoulders, blue eyes, and dark hair that curled around his neck like ivy. His forearms were my favorite part of him—they were lean and sinuous like a pit bull's haunches. His whole body looked like that, actually. I had volunteered to chase enough rebound balls for their basketball games of 21 to know.

“Hey,” he said sheepishly. “How are you?”

“Good, good,” I answered. I nervously took a sip of my drink and almost gagged.
Holy Jim Beam, Batman.
As others crowded the makeshift bar, we moved to the other side of the kitchen.

“And how are you? How's Tech?” Chris had stayed in town for college, for reasons that weren't quite clear to me. I knew his family didn't have a lot of money, but he had been something of a basketball star in high school. I had asked David about it once, and he had called me a snob.
You're judging him because he decided to stay here
, he had said. He was right.

“It's fine.” He took a sip of his beer. “You look all grown up, Ruthie.” I smirked and blushed simultaneously.

“Thanks, I think. You don't look so bad yourself.”
Had I really just said that?

“No, really. You look great. Hey, is David home? I tried calling him, but no answer.”

“Yeah, he's home. We're both lifeguarding and coaching again this summer.” I took another sip. “Who knows, he may show up here tonight.”

“Oh, cool.” He put his hand through his hair. “How's he been? He's sort of avoiding me, I think. Trying to break up with me or something.”

“Ah, the old, ‘it's not you, it's me' bit?”

“No, more like an outright Heisman. The kid never calls me back.”

“Join the club.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah.” We stood there in awkward silence for a moment or two. My attraction to him had reduced my conversational skills to zero. “Well, I'm gonna go find M.K.,” I mumbled finally. “I'll see you around, I guess.”

“Yeah, of course. I'll see you,” he offered, as I made a beeline for the door.

“Um, he was flirting with you,” M.K. informed me, appearing suddenly by my side.

“Give me a break, Reed.” I took another sip. The sugary sweetness coated my teeth.

“Don't play cool with me, Wass.”

“Is that what was happening? Really?”

“Really. This is your summer.” She gave me a mock up-down. “By the way, everybody is whisperin' their heads off about you.”

This was sort of thrilling, actually—to be the talk of the town. I don't think my name had crossed the lips of any of these people my entire life thus far, other than to say,
Oh, Ruth? David's sister? Yeah, she's all right.

“Am I on my deathbed, dying of starvation?”

“No, but you do a lot of blow. And you may be a lesbian.”

“No way.”

“Way.”

“Sweet Jesus.” I lit a cigarette. “Gonna be a hell of a summer, Reed.”

She slapped me on my bottom and went to use the bathroom. Alone, I retreated to the perimeter of the lawn to people-watch. Everyone here looked exactly the same. They acted the same, they dressed the same, they went to the same schools, dated the same people, and named their kids the same names. It wasn't as if Michigan was a giant melting pot. There wasn't a whole lot of room for individuality there either. I knew that. But at least there you could count on a couple of different shades of human at a party. I'd never been to a party here that hadn't been 100 percent white, except for Malik, Jill's boyfriend.

“Deep thoughts?” asked Jill, interrupting my inner rant. She handed me a joint. “You look mighty serious over here.”

I took a hit. “Just thinkin'. Hey, where's Malik?”

“He's working tonight.”

“How does he do it? Deal with all of these annoying white people all the time?”

Jill produced an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Oh, you're not white now?”

“No, of course I am.” I stubbed my cigarette out. “I'm just lookin' around, you know? At this party. So I wondered.”

“I mean, it bores the crap out of him most of the time, I guess. He goes to my parties when I drag him, but he never really takes me to his.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Sure.” She grabbed my drink out of my hand and took a big gulp. “Ew, that tastes nasty, Ruth.” She paused. “Listen, a white girl and a black guy together in this town is pretty rare, and people are ignorant. It is what it is. We deal with it.”

“I can't imagine.”

“No, you probably can't.” She sighed. “Want to do some gravity bong hits in Mrs. Compton's tub?”

“You serious?”

“Do I look serious?” We walked toward the house.

“Oh look, it's your brother,” Jill gushed. I looked up to see him leaning against the porch banister in his dress pants and a wrinkled soccer T-shirt. He was alone and smoking a cigarette—pinching the filter awkwardly and squinting through the cloud that hovered around him. “Go on in, Jill. I'm gonna say hey for a second.”

“What's up with him? He looks pissed.”

“I dunno. Go on, I'll meet ya inside.” From behind, I tapped his left shoulder but lingered over his right. His head swiveled accordingly, and he greeted me with a smirk before turning around to face me.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

“How were services?”

“Fine.”

“Chris was looking for you before.”

“Oh yeah?” He put his cigarette out in his cup of beer.

“You should go find him. I think he's still out here somewh—”

“Nah, I'm gonna go. This party sucks. I shouldn't have come.”

“You okay?” David loved a party. I'd never been to one with him where he wasn't the absolute center of it. Tonight he hovered around the edges judgmentally like—well, like me.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Look, I'll see ya.”

He raised his hand in a half-wave as he walked away, but didn't turn around.