The Reinvention of Bessica Lefter (20 page)

Marci:
That’s cool. Then you should visualize yourself doing the splits, and round-offs, and kicking your legs out straight when you jump. Hey. I’m on a date, so I better go.

Me:
Oh my heck! I didn’t know you were on a date.

Marci:
We’re eating tacos. Dial me later. Tootles.
(Click.)

Me:
Sure thing!

After I hung up with Marci, I pictured myself doing all sorts of cheerleader moves. And I was pretty good. It was like there was a movie going on inside my head and it was starring me. As a cheerleader. When my mom got home I was still practicing the power of positive visualization. She opened my door and looked at me.

“Are you napping?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “My eyes are open.”

“Did you have a good day?”

I bolted upright and pointed at her. “I did not. In PE we learned basic yoga moves, and all the boys came out to watch us and I had my butt in the air and got laughed at because that’s how you do downward-facing dog!”

My mother blinked at me. “Yoga? They’re teaching you yoga in middle school? You’re lucky. When I took PE it was all about push-ups and the flexed-arm hang.”

Then my mom left and it became clear to me that she
was not the ally she used to be. I followed her into the hallway to complain a little more.

“Did you miss the part where I told you that my butt was poking straight up in the air?”

“Oh, Bessica, I’m sorry. But I had a tough day at work. Shirley has the flu, so I’m handling everything.”

Shirley worked in the podiatrist’s office with my mom. She was part-time and sometimes forgot the order of the alphabet and filed things wrong. I wanted to complain more about
my
day, but I couldn’t because my mom wanted to complain more about
her
day.

“And there are some complications with Betty.”

“Mallet-toe Betty?” I asked.

“She got an infection.”

“That’s disgusting.”

My mother slipped off her jacket and slumped down on the couch. “It happens.”

“Can I get you something? Like a carrot?” I’d seen a bunch of those in the refrigerator while I was looking for leftover pancakes.

My mom shook her head. “Maybe you could gather the mail.”

“Yeah,” I said. I was actually surprised that I hadn’t done that already. I dashed outside, pulled open the mailbox, and grabbed a big wad of what looked like bills. There was also a postcard from Grandma. Even though it was cold
outside, I stood on the lawn and read it. There was a picture of an enormous spoon scooping up a cherry. It looked like a sculpture. Then the back of the card told me it was a sculpture from the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden, and I felt pretty brilliant for already guessing that.

Huh? Why was Willy sending me a card? I didn’t want a card from him. What a jerk! I pictured him falling off a cliff very quickly four times. Then I looked at the picture on the front of the postcard again. It was the worst postcard ever. I stuck it in with the bill wad and went back inside the house.

“Grandma is traveling around with a crazy person,” I said. “He just sent me a postcard of a giant cherry that said stupid things.”

I turned the corner and saw that my mom had fallen asleep. Her head was tilted to one side and her mouth was open a little bit. I quietly set the mail down on the coffee table and sneaked into the hallway. Then I stood there because I didn’t know what to do with myself. I kept thinking about stupid Willy and Grandma. It was like she’d gone off with Willy and become a whole new person. And that wasn’t so hot for me, because I liked her the way she was before she left.

I stomped downstairs as quietly as I could. Even though I wanted to find Grandma a new boyfriend, it was clear to me that it was a waste of my time. I needed to just give up and accept the fact that sometimes the people you love most, like best friends and grandmas, can zoom out of your life and go insane in the blink of an eye.

I opened up Grandma’s account so I could delete everything and turn her status back to inactive. She now had over one hundred emails. It hurt so much when I deleted them all and dumped them in the account’s trash can. I didn’t want to send her future boyfriends there. But that was where they went. Stupid potential boyfriends. When I was finished dumping everybody in the trash, I climbed the stairs to my room.

I still had a lot of homework. Also, I’d visualized myself
doing the splits a ton, but I hadn’t practiced doing them on the floor in a very long time. So I did that. And I got much closer to the carpet than I ever had before. I bounced a little and I almost touched. I felt so relieved. I wasn’t going to have to live in loner town after all. I didn’t need Alice Potgeiser to teach me basic and intermediate tumbling. I was plenty bendy without her. And I had a feeling that once I became a cheerleader, once I had an automatic lunch table full of friends, all the terrible stuff in middle school would finally turn good.

1. Write off Sylvie
   
2. Become a cheerleader
   
3. Force Raya Papas to become my friend
   
4. Learn more
   

ven though it was dark and cold oustide the morning of cheerleading practice, I did not feel doomed. I climbed out of bed and hurried into the kitchen to grab a handful of cereal to wake me up. And when I did this I saw something on the counter that made me very happy. It was a package from Grandma! On the outside she’d written in big blue inky letters,

PLEASE GIVE THIS TO BESSICA THE FIRST DAY OF CHEERLEADING PRACTICE
.

When I read that, I knew it was okay for me to tear it open. So I did, as fast as I could.

Grandma was a genius. Inside that package was a pair of purple stretch pants that I could wear for PE. This was a big relief. Because I still hadn’t figured out where to buy purple pants. I felt the material between my fingers to make sure that it wasn’t the kind that would itch. And it wasn’t. Holding my purple PE stretch pants made me miss Grandma in a very powerful way. It would have been so nice to have her here with me. That was when I realized that deleting those emails was the worst mistake I had ever made in my life. Because getting rid of Willy had been the right idea.

I ran downstairs, opened her account, and went straight to her trash. How could I have made such a terrible mistake? I hoped with my whole heart that her future boyfriends were still inside her trash can.
Click. Click. Click
. And they were! I carefully moved them back into her inbox, where they belonged.

Even though I shouldn’t have, I read the emails. It was pretty obvious that the responders liked sandwiches and Grandma. One possibility named Sully was a retired engineer who wanted to see Grandma next week when he was in Rexburg. That was a huge bummer. Because Sully couldn’t see Grandma next week while he was in Rexburg,
because Grandma was riding around the middle of America in a stupid Winnebago. Poor Sully.

I decided to set something up for when Grandma would be back, in four weeks. I worried about how to phrase it, though, because I didn’t want to sound like me. I wanted to sound like Grandma. Also, I wasn’t sure how many men Grandma should agree to meet. Because I still wanted her to have plenty of time to spend with me. I tapped my fingers on the desk and tried to think strategically.

Four seemed like a good number. It was easy to find the best four. Engineer Sully. And Pete who lived in Post Falls and wanted to take Grandma on a hike in the Kaniksu National Forest. Because forests were cool. And Hunter who lived in The Dalles, Oregon, and who wanted to take Grandma on a visit to Mount Hood. Because visits only lasted a couple of days and then Grandma would be back home. And Pilot Mike who lived in Missoula, Montana. He was my favorite, because he had an awesome personality.

In his subject line he said that he wanted to take Grandma waterskiing. I clicked on his picture. Holy crud! It was too good to be true. In addition to being a former pilot, and sending a gorgeous picture of himself, he had also included a fantastic picture of his superhuge boat. In fact, I think it was a yacht. And he’d named it the SS
Funshine
.

His message was wonderful.

Glad to hear you like boats and adventure, Rhoda. Getting together for a sandwich sounds great. Give me your phone number and we can set it up. You’re not like a lot of the other people I’ve met on this site. You’ve got the heart of a kid and the legs of a supermodel
.

I read Pilot Mike’s message seven more times. Plus, I couldn’t stop looking at his boat. It was like he really understood who Grandma was. When I closed my eyes, I could picture us all together aboard the SS
Funshine
. Grandma and I were so happy. And so was this Mike person. That was when I decided to write Pilot Mike a letter that was straight from the heart. Grandma’s heart.

Dear Mike, Thanks for the delightful email. I’m shy about giving out my phone number. Why don’t you send me yours. Sandwiches sound wonderful. Maybe we can eat them on board the SS
Funshine
.

Tootles. Rhoda
.

When I sent that message I didn’t feel bad at all. I felt like I’d figured out a great solution for returning Grandma to normal. Because Grandma hadn’t made Grandma go crazy. Willy had done that. And so if I introduced her to Pilot Mike, who seemed very normal, Grandma would most likely return to her own self again.

When I finally ran upstairs, I was very behind.

“Bessica, you’re not even dressed,” my mom said. “Are you sick?”

I dashed to my room. “No, I feel great.” I threw on my clothes as fast as I could. Then I attached my blue tongues to my sneakers and ran to the kitchen table. I was breathing hard.