CHAPTER 15

The next morning we hung around waiting for the doctor to call with the results of the tests on Al’s mother.

“Let’s write to Polly now,” I said.

“I’m no good at writing letters,” Al said. She was feeling depressed. I could tell. Al would make a terrible poker player. When she’s down, she’s down. When she’s up, she’s up. And her face tells it all. She’s never in between.

“I stink as a letter writer.” She didn’t have to tell me. When she wrote to Brian, she started out with “Brian, old buddy,” and finished off, after a ton of gnashing of teeth and pacing, with “Your old pal, Al.” Just so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. She wanted him to know that theirs was to be a platonic friendship. Boy, she certainly had changed her tune.

I started. I wrote:

Dear Pol—

We’re having a blast here. Too bad you’re up in the land of saltwater and codfish. Poor you. The social season here is picking up. My father took Al and me to a classy restaurant for dinner, and we went to Thelma’s for spaghetti. She had two extra boys (twerps), which is why she asked us. And a clone called Daisy. Art and Tommy and Ned talked about making big bucks. Perry couldn’t come, due to chicken pox. All those bozos talk about is making money. I think they were midgets in disguise. I’ll tell you more when I see you.

“Now it’s your turn,” I told Al.

She scratched her head and said, “People like Thelma freak me out. I wonder how come she and a good kid like Polly are friends.”

“Stop talking and start writing,” I said. “That was the deal.”

“Does what I write have to be true or can I fake it?” Al asked.

I thought about that. “Spice it up if you want. I don’t think Polly would care. She needs some excitement, after all. Lolling around on the beach up there, away from civilization.”

So Al wrote:

Dear Polly—

I am going to a nudist camp. It is co-ed. The nudist camp is also a fat farm. I plan on hiding my instamatic camera in my pajamas. We walk around starkers all day and wear pajamas at night on account of the mosquitoes are ferocious. They’re as big as hummingbirds. I plan on selling my pics to the NATIONAL BLAD. Hope you’re not bored where you are. Please answer this letter.

“That’ll grab Polly,” I said approvingly. “You write very good letters. You really do.”

“I do?” Al looked pleased.

“Sure. If you wrote letters like that to Brian, he’d answer you by return mail. Why don’t you write funny stuff like that to him?”

“It’s different. When it’s a boy, it’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. It just is.” Al twisted a strand of her hair around her finger. Around and around she went. She would have an awful time combing it out.

“Do you realize how lucky you are?” she said suddenly. “You’re so lucky and you don’t even know it.”

“Me? Lucky? How come?” I said, surprised.

“You have a family. You’re all together, eating, sleeping, watching TV.”

“So are you a family. You and your mother,” I said.

“A family,” Al said, “is more than two people. I checked in the dictionary. A family is a group of people living under one roof. No matter how you slice it”—she smiled a sour smile—“my mother and I are not a group.” She started to pace. Then she stopped and wiped off her glasses with her shirttail.

“How about you being lucky?” I said in a too-loud voice. “You’re going off on this jazzy trip, going to a barn dance in a real barn, and everything. All I get to do is sit home and wait for you to write to tell me about all the fun you’re having. I sit here waiting for summer to end so I can go back to school for some excitement.” My voice rose. She was listening to me, though. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re the one who’s having all the fun. Maybe you ought to stop and think about who’s lucky.”

We stared at each other. The silence between us grew and grew like weeds in a garden. It filled every nook and cranny of the room. Outside I could hear a taxi horn bleating, like a lost sheep. The crosstown bus snorted its way around the corner.

The telephone rang. I jumped. So did Al. I’ve never been so glad to hear the telephone in all my life.

“Maybe it’s the doctor,” Al said.

I got to it first.

“Hi,” a familiar voice said. “It’s me.”

“Where are you, creep!” I shouted.

“I’m home. I got home last night.”

“It’s Polly!” I cried. “She’s home. Get on the kitchen phone. We can both talk to her.”

I heard Al pick up the extension. She didn’t say anything, but I knew she was there

“I thought you were staying until next week,” I said.

“Nope. Here I am. I have a surprise for you,” Polly said.

“You’re getting married,” I guessed.

“Almost right. I’m engaged. But we can’t get married until he unloads his wife and eight kids. Come on over, why don’t you? Is Al there?”

I waited. Al didn’t make a sound.

“Yeah, she’s here. We can’t come right this minute. Al has to go see her mother this afternoon.”

“Where’s her mother?”

“In the hospital. She has pneumonia.”

“That’s too bad,” Polly said.

“Speak up, Al. It’s Polly,” I said.

“Hi,” Al said in a thin, watery voice. That was all she said. “Hi.”

“What’s your surprise?” I asked Polly.

“I’m cooking you guys a lobster dinner,” Polly said excitedly. “I brought them down from the Cape. They’re so fresh I can hardly believe it. They’re delicious when they’re fresh like that. When can you come?”

“I’m not sure,” Al said in a monotone.

“Well,” I said in a loud, positive voice, “I’ll be there. Pronto.”

“O.K. I’ll expect you both,” Polly said. “I have scads of info for you. I met this really cute boy. He didn’t ask me out on a date or anything but I thought he was going to. Then it turned out he was eleven years old. Can you believe it? He was the tallest eleven-year-old I ever saw. I’ve gotta go. My mother’s standing over me with a whip.” And she hung up. I did too. I sat and waited for Al to come out of the kitchen.

“You go,” she said. “If I went, I’d put a damper on things. The way I feel now, I’d be a real drag.”

“Why don’t you wait until after you’ve seen your mother,” I said, “and talked to the doctor. Then you’ll feel better.”

Al cast a dark look in my direction. “I doubt it,” she said. “I have serious doubts that I will feel better.”

Sometimes I think that Al likes to wallow in her emotions. I really do.