My Beautiful Failure Page 13

  “All right, then. I’ll bring my dad early. But I won’t prepare him at all. We’ll just see what he says.”

  We cut through the courtyard. A few girls ogled Gordon in his aquamarine dress shirt. He didn’t realize it. He was sort of a hidden gem where girls were concerned. None of them ogled me, because they didn’t like the bouncing.

  “Have you written your essay?” Gordy asked.

  “I can’t worry about that now. I’ve got too much on my mind.”

  “Have you done anything with it at all?”

  “I’ll work on it tonight. As soon as I get out of Listeners.”

  “Brenda and I might see Real Steel. Andy said it’s the best movie ever made.”

  “Can I ask you something?” I angled my head to beckon him closer. “How do you know you’re not in love with Brenda?”

  Gordy looked around and hesitated. “If you’re in love with someone, every time you see her you feel like you’re going to pass out. And you get this little thrill like, ‘Oooh, there she is.’ ”

  “She’s in love with you, though.”

  “I think so. I feel sort of dishonest about that. About letting it go on. So, when are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”

  “It’s too early,” I said. “The whole situation is kind of delicate.”

  After class I had a free study period. I went into the library, opened one of my notebooks, and made a list.

  75.

  top ten reasons i love jenney

  10. Loyal friend. Stac. and Reb. blow her off but Jen. always forgives/forgets, tries again.

  9. Ambitious. Coll. plan falls into dung heap. She makes new plan.

  8. Resilient. Horrib. parents can’t keep her down.

  7. Generous & compassionate. Wants to give, not just take. Wants to be Listener. Even now when think about that, nose gets tingly.

  6. Funny. Big Ear, etc.

  5. Achievements. Academics, swimming. Is somebody.

  4. She’s beautiful.

  3. Thinks I’m special! Thinks I’m best one. Picked me out of crowd.

  2. I understand her.

  1. She understands me.

  I underlined her name and raised the paper as if I were holding a portrait in a frame. My list captured Jenney perfectly. I couldn’t wait to introduce her to Gordon. I couldn’t wait to meet her myself. I wanted her to be with me on Sunday. She was the only one who could help me through it. She would get me through the crisis, just like I was getting her through hers. I would be embarrassed about Dad’s art, but we could ignore it and make a joke of it. The show would make a crazy backdrop for our first day together. Maybe technically our meeting was too soon because I was a Listener and she was a caller, but since she was planning to volunteer once she got back on her feet, we would meet in the office at some point anyway.

  In the library I watched some senior couples doing their homework together. They used to seem mature to me. But I was more mature than they were. They had met each other in school, and I had met Jenney in the real world.

  76.

  shift 9, december 2. call 42

  Listeners. Can I help you?”

  It’s me.

  “Jenney? What’s wrong?”

  Are you on by yourself?

  “Yeah. We can talk. What is it?”

  I had a really bad session with Melinda.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She terminated my therapy.

  “What do you mean?”

  She said she can’t work with me anymore.

  The soft sound like clicking began, then grew. It shifted from Jenney’s throat to lower in her body and from a cat’s paws to a steady pounding of footsteps.

  “Why would she say that?”

  She said my parents’ lawyer had sent her a letter, a cease-and-desist order demanding that she stop treating me. And so she has to, by law. She said she would be committing professional suicide to keep seeing me. She could even be put in jail, locked up. Or at least sued and have her license taken away.

  “That’s terrible. You really rely on Melinda.”

  I do. She’s helped me so much. She’s helped me to see them for who they are.

  “What will you do now?”

  She said she hoped I would at least try to get another therapist because she didn’t want to leave me high and dry. She gave . . .

  “Go on.”

  She gave me a list of other therapists I might call, but she told me that there was a good chance none of them would work with me once word got out about my parents threatening to sue. She said there was a chance that I wouldn’t be able to find another therapist unless I went to someone my parents picked out for me.

  “Do you want to do that?”

  No! Of course not! Why would I go to someone who’s in my parents’ pocket? Someone who would probably tell them everything I said. My God. They really have me where they want me now. I’m completely trapped. I can’t believe I lost Melinda. I’m all alone.

  “You’re not alone. How can you say that?”

  I am alone. You have no idea. What Melinda and I were working on, dredging up all the stuff from the past. You can’t really do it alone. You need someone to help you. Now Melinda is gone. All of a sudden. I’m—in shock.

  “You’re not alone, Jenney. You have me.”

  I know I do, but—

  “You have me, and I’ll always stand beside you, no matter what. We’ll aways have each other. As long as we have each other, we can make it.”

  Thank you. At least I know someone’s in my corner.

  “So what will you do about getting a therapist?”

  I don’t know. I’m . . . cornered. That’s the thing about powerful people. They hold all the cards. They can make stuff happen. Or not happen. Will you hold on? I need to get a glass of water.

  “Sure.”

  So, how are you?

  “Not much better than you are. It’s a bad day on this end, too.”

  What’s happening with the art show? It’s this weekend, right?

  “Sunday. Jenney, will you come to the show?”

  Do you mean it? Are you serious?

  “If you’re there with me, I’ll be all right. I’d love to meet you in person anyway. What do you think?”

  I don’t know.

  “Please come. It’s the only way I can get through it.”

  I’m flattered. That nose-huffing noise started again. It didn’t sound gross. It sounded delicate.

  “Are you crying?”

  No, I’m laughing. I’ve never met a Listener in person.

  “Well, you and I are different. We’re real friends now. Come on, it could be fun.”

  Where do you live?

  “At 32 Ithaca Street, up behind the highway. Do you know the Italian bakery? We’re right near there. The first house after the mailbox. We have a white rock at the end of the driveway, and a bright orange door.”

  I’ve been so tired since Melinda told me. Every bone in my body is worn out. All I want to do is pull the covers over my head and sleep. I can’t say for sure. But I’ll try. What time?

  “All day, from ten to four. What time can you get there?”

  I said I would try. Hey, how will we recognize each other?

  “You’ll recognize me because I’ll be living there.”

  You’ll recognize me because I’m—

  “No, don’t tell me.”

  You don’t want to know what I look like?

  “I want to be surprised.”

  What if I’m ugly?

  “You could never be ugly to me.”

  All right, well, I’m going to try to sleep for a while. Maybe I’ll see you Sunday if we don’t talk again first.

  “Sleep well, and try not to worry. And, Jenney—thanks.”

  For what?

  “For listening.”

  Good night, Hallmark.

  77.

  racing

  After closing up at Listeners I took an hour-long ride in the cold fall air
. Past all the downtown stores with their Christmas cutouts on the doors. Out from the town center and along the waterfront. Up to Portuguese Hill, where mechanical deer assembled on lawns, bowing creakily under strings of white lights. I stood on a ledge of granite and looked out over the harbor. A massive industrial fishing boat worked its way to Georges Bank through the almost empty waters. Nothing around me but space and stars and cold, cold air. Like Hagrid, I could think about jumping. But instead I thought about how powerful it was to be alone. Not beholden to anyone. Jenney was right. When the art show began, I could choose not to be humiliated.

  My legs felt warm and loose after the ride, but when I saw the light in Dad’s studio my body tensed again. I carried Triumph to my room. It was not until morning that I realized I’d let another week pass without writing my paper.

  PART 4

  78.

  whether

  Saturday, December 3. I hovered outside the den while my family watched the weather reports. Uncle Marty, who had a weather radio, was calling Dad with updates every half hour.

  “What’s wrong with people?” Mom complained. “It’s New England, it’s winter, and it’s cold. Does that mean they have to stay in all day?”

  Dad flipped the channel. “The TV stations have to make a big deal out of it. That’s how they get their advertising dollars.”

  “I can’t believe that guy said ‘brrr,’” said Linda. “It’s such a cliché.”

  “It won’t be that bad,” Jodie added. “The Old Farmer’s Almanac says flurries, then sunny and cold. I checked it three weeks ago.” Jodie had forgiven my father after he went to her house, alone, to apologize to both her and her parents.

  “I don’t know about the Almanac.” Mom said. “I don’t see how anyone can predict an entire year’s weather in advance.”

  “I don’t either. But my mom says they’re usually right. She uses it to plan all our vacations.”

  Jodie’s vacations were a sore spot for Mom. Once, her family flew first class to Palm Beach, Florida, and invited Linda along. Jodie’s mother took both girls for spray-on tans without asking Mom. That was when Linda first began staring at herself in the mirror and calling herself “Lucky Linda.” Mom told her she shouldn’t be obsessed with her appearance.

  “Pretty rules one, Linda,” she said at the time. “Smart rules the world.” But I think the real problem was that the trip was expensive and Mom and Dad could never duplicate it.

  Mom grabbed the remote from Dad. She surfed for another opinion on the weather.

  All of them were in for a shock tomorrow, when I brought a girl home for the first time. Mom would like Jenney’s manners and smarts. Linda and Jodie might tease me. But Jenney would see how I lived. For better or for worse. How much I had to put up with.

  79.

  suspended

  At one thirty in the morning, Dad was still up. Mom was asleep—no sound there—and Jodie and Linda were snuggled in one bed under the watchful eye of Linda’s Garfield. It was a special night for those two: Linda lent Jodie a nightshirt of our grandma’s with a disco scene on the front, and Jodie asked if she could keep it, and Linda said yes. They would probably both write about it in their diary.

  “Okay, Dad,” I said, “let’s bring it on home.” At least he was in pajamas, not paint-spattered clothes. “It’s a lot of stress, Dad.”

  “Almost done, Billy, almost done. I got an idea for suspending some of the work with fishing line.” He sat beside the living room coffee table, where he was cutting the line into equal lengths with a pocketknife.

  Dad looked so dedicated. Maybe I should make an effort, I thought, by doing some last-minute chore for the show.

  “Do you want help with anything?”

  “Yes. Would you do me a favor?”

  “Sure.” I sat on the couch, ready to help with cutting.

  He put the knife down and rested his hand on mine. “When you become a dad, don’t be staid and predictable. Surprise them once in a while, okay? Be the kind of guy who keeps a surprise up his sleeve.”

  80.

  watchful

  Dad ate a sandwich and went to bed. Maybe he fell asleep like the other three, but now I was wide awake. I kept thinking about the weather and about how the show would probably be ruined, and how Dad might have to have shock treatments again or be hospitalized or spend his life looping crazily from lows to highs. I couldn’t relax. I felt tight and inanimate, like a surfboard laid on a roof rack. But then Jenney’s voice crept into my mind.

  Tough day, Hallmark?

  I wiggled my toes, and my shoulders and back melted into the pillows.

  81.

  dawn

  As I dressed for an early bike ride, bare tree branches waved in my window, and a few brown leaves blew across the street in parallel lines. No snow yet.

  Outside, the frozen grass crunched under my feet like cereal. I mounted my bike and rolled down the hill. The houses had a feeling of sleep, or if not sleep, waiting. A mile out, the inns and hotels across from the beach were shuttered for the winter. The damp beach looked useless and insipid. There seemed to be no point to its being there when people weren’t using it. But that was our perspective, not the beach’s.

  I leaned my bike against the boulevard railing and stepped down. The ocean, sometimes so fearsome, was a puddle today. The half-inch waves struck the shore like a glass of water spilled across a tablecloth. I picked up three large rocks and tossed them into the deepest water I could reach, and each made its own mushroom cloud. A few yards out, black-and-white shorebirds sat one per boulder, each sure his boulder was the best and the most important. Everything I saw was more vivid than usual. I had a feeling of before and after, of a decision being made. When Jenney met me, I wondered, would she be disappointed?

  Near the beach was the tennis court where Dad had tried to interest me in the game. When I was eleven I thought I had gotten as good as Dad, until I watched him play with his friends and saw how he really served.

  The sky held back the snow in a big curve, like a hammock holding a body. One person was out jogging. She wore an iPod and a T-shirt that said ARMY. Her breath made a cumulus in the cold air, and her face shone holiday red. But when I said hello she glared as if I shouldn’t be here. When you were a guy alone, girls glared at you.

  I pictured Jenney riding a Raleigh, and pretty fast too. Soon I wouldn’t be alone. Jenney and I would take the bus, or her car—she had a car—to western Mass., to the Berkshires, and do a century in the mountains. That was a hundred miles in one day.

  I sat on a bench as the snow began to fall. The sky released its weight in tiny fragments like skin cells. After a while I rolled down the walking path on a sheet of white unmarked by footprints or paw prints. My bike drew a solid line one and a half inches wide. Unlike the foot and paw prints, my track let no one guess how large I was.

  In a gazebo above the cliffs, I unwrapped a sleeve of Fig Newtons for my breakfast. The punctuation-size seeds resisted my teeth. Beyond the cliffs was Havenswood, a forest where I often rode the trails. The path was dry there because the snow got caught up in the trees. I gave it my all for twenty minutes. My speed blurred automotively the house foundations and stone walls that marked property lines no longer recognized. I came to a destination: more a point in time than a point of place. I didn’t have my watch or phone, but in my heart I knew it was nine o’clock. In one hour she could be at the house. I stored up breath and turned Triumph around. Like the day I sat with my hand on the phone receiver and dedicated my service to my close family member, I had no idea what was about to happen.

  82.

  the inevitable

  As Triumph climbed the hill to my house, the sky was flat and gray. Aside from one of Dad’s posters taped to the mailbox with a bunch of silver balloons, the house looked normal, the way it did when it housed the five of us and no outsiders. Unassuming, predictable, and safe. Hard to believe that in twenty minutes, people—including museum people and reporters and Jenney—w
ould or would not arrive, and Dad would or would not make a fool of himself. The sky was as gray as tin, but the snow was slowing, and I would have liked to paint this feeling as I stood in the road and counted the last five flakes falling on the asphalt around my feet. I waited to see if they would stay frozen or dissolve. When they melted, I took it as a sign that the day was getting warmer. A good sign.

  83.

  separate

  I carried Triumph through the vacuumed, dusted, and plumped living room. The show was out in the garage, but Mom and Dad must have cleaned inside for people who needed the bathroom. I wondered if Jenney would come inside and whether, being rich, she would think our house was nice. Yesterday I had picked out my jeans, shirt, and sweater. I never really ironed, but I folded and stacked the clothes so they would be smooth. Now I took a shower and washed my helmet-felted hair, checked my shirt buttons to give Jenney the impression that I noticed what I looked like. I went to the back of the house and stood inside the screen door one last time.

  I stepped into the garage and saw artwork hung at every level along the splintery walls and on the posts, resting on tables arranged in a square, and on temporary dividers made of plywood. In the center several small marine paintings hung from fishing line, as if they were floating. My family was too busy to notice me. In the left corner, Jodie arranged some notebooks and a vase of flowers on a card table. Dad took one more look around the room. He must not have slept, because his eyes were creased. He clenched his hands as if he were praying. Mom and Linda held tight to Dad on either side. All at once the four of them looked in the same direction—toward the gate that joined the driveway to the yard. Dad unlinked himself and stepped forward.