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It feels strange to be staying at my uncle’s house. I’ve stayed with him often, but never for more than one or two days at a time. But now, I’ve got my clothes hanging in his den closet, and he’s moved a camp cot inside so I won’t have to sleep with my feet hanging over the end of the couch. I’ve been here for three weeks. My mom wants me to come home, but I’m not going to do it until Christy finds somewhere else to stay.
See, if I go back to my house, and my mom is out or already in bed, and Christy puts her arms around me, fresh from the shower and nothing on under her big, old tee shirt, I know what will happen. And then it will be like we’re together, and we’re having a baby together. And everything is so cute. I don’t want that. So I’m at Steve’s. When I first came here it was because my mom and I weren’t getting along. But when he told me I could stay for a while, it seemed like a good idea, more because of Christy than because of my mom.
Sometimes, when I get out of school, or work, I find myself on Columbus Street, like I’ve been on automatic pilot and I’ve forgotten I don’t live there right now. Then I turn around and go back to Steve’s apartment.
I’ve told Christy I want some time to think things through, and I can’t be with her right now. She said she hated me, but then two days later there was a note on my windshield saying she needed me to take her to her next doctor’s appointment.
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Saturday morning someone is banging on the door before I’m out of bed. I hear Steve stirring around so I stay in bed, listening. It’s Mom.
“Hey, Karen. What brings you out so early?”
“Life,” she says.
I hear them walking toward the kitchen, then hear the sounds of coffee being prepared. I’m in the camp bed, in the den, with the door closed, but Steve’s apartment wasn’t built for privacy and I can hear everything he and Mom are saying.
“What are you up to today, Steve?”
“Errands, grocery shopping, Saturday things. I may go to a movie this afternoon. Wanna join me?”
“No, thanks. But could I take refuge in your bedroom or kitchen or somewhere quiet? I can’t seem to study at home anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Steve. Christy’s there most of the time, watching TV. I swear if I hear one more piece of corny soap opera dialogue, I’m going to throw my iron skillet through the TV screen.”
“Doesn’t she do anything besides watch TV?”
“She eats. I feel sorry for her—sixteen, she’s pregnant, her dad’s kicked her out, and her boyfriend doesn’t want anything more to do with her. Basically, she’s a nice kid, but she’s . . . well . . . underfoot.”
“How much longer do you think she’ll be with you?”
“I hope not much longer, but what can I do? She has nowhere else to go. It’s funny. Ever since I first met her, she’s told me how nice it is to be in a house where people get along and aren’t always yelling at each other, and now, there she is, moved in.”
“Do you think she wants to stay there indefinitely?” Steve asks.
“Maybe. She doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. And now her mother, Olga, is over at my place half the time, too, crying, saying she misses her, she wants her home. I’m afraid they’re both going to end up living with me. And I miss Jeff, but he won’t come home while she’s there. Can I come stay with you?”
They both laugh. They’ve got this strange brother/sister thing where they laugh alike, and they laugh at all the same stuff.
I lie there on the cot, thinking back to the last Labor Day barbeque we had in our backyard. My mom always does a back-to-school barbeque. Christy, Stacy, Jeremy and Benny were all there. Uncle Steve fixed the hamburgers and a bunch of my mom’s friends from work came and brought food. After dinner we all played kick-the-can, like a bunch of little kids. Then, at nine o’clock, Christy’s dad called and demanded she come straight home.
“Why does he have to be like that?” she’d said. “He’s mad because he wanted me home at eight-thirty. He says I’m grounded for two weeks.” Then she’d started to cry. “I’d give anything to have a family like yours and to live where people care about each other and they don’t fight all the time. Anything,” she’d said.
I turn my attention back to the conversation that is drifting through the wall.
“Christy may be basically a nice kid. I think she is. But she sure tricked Jeff, don’t you think?” Steve asked.
“Probably. But how could he be so goddamned stupid?” Mom said, sounding very angry.
“Karen, you’ve got to forgive him. He made a mistake.”
“I know. I know. I’m trying. But he’s got so much ahead of him—the scholarship, and he’s so good at so many things. He’s always had such a good heart. The only trouble he’s ever given me was about mowing the lawn. Really, Steve, the whole world was opening before him, and now what? His prospects have shrunk like wool in a hot dryer.”
I can’t lie here listening anymore. I get up and walk into the kitchen, rubbing my eyes as if I’ve just awakened. Mom stands up and hugs me. I hug her back, hard.
“I miss you, Jeffie. Come home,” she says.
“I can’t, Mom. Not yet.”
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Thursday afternoon I take Christy to the doctor. She wants me to come in with her, listen to the baby’s heart through this special kind of stethoscope thing, but I don’t want to. I’m only taking her because there’s no one else to do it and I feel guilty. I wait in the car, in the parking lot, and watch people come and go. Some of the women who go in there are huge, and they waddle, like ducks. I wonder if Christy will get like that.
After about two hours Christy comes walking out, all smiles.
“Everything’s fine,” she says. “I have to start taking these iron pills, but that’s maybe because I haven’t been eating right.”
I sit there looking at her. She seems happy. How can she be happy?
“Hey, Christy. I’ve been talking with my Uncle Steve about adoption. He says there are lots of people who can’t have kids and who can offer great homes to babies. What do you think?”
Christy’s smile fades. “I think you’re an idiot! I always looked up to you so, but you’re a person with no heart. How could you want to give our baby to strangers, and never ever see it again? What kind of person are you, anyway?”
“I just thought it would be a good idea. We can’t take care of it, give it to someone who can.”
“This is a little person, Jeff, not a baby kitten.”
“I can get some information. Would you at least think
about it?”
“I don’t want your information!”
“But what are you going to do? How will you support it? What kind of life will it have? What about college?”
“I don’t care about college right now. Okay?”
“Okay, Christy. Okay. But I’m not in this with you. I’m not going to play house with you. I’m going to live my life.”
“Get me pregnant and run out! That’s the kind of person you are!”
“You got you pregnant!”
“Ha! How could I do that?”
“By pretending to be on the pill!”
“You don’t know anything!”
“I know I don’t want a baby! I know I want a free life! I know I don’t want to be with you anymore!”
Well . . . it’s not the way I’d planned to say it, but it’s out. Christy turns her head away from me. I drive her back to my house. Neither of us speaks until I turn into the driveway.
“Wait just a minute,” she says. “I’m going to get my things and go home.”
“But Christy . . .”
She opens the door with the extra key my mom gave her. She goes to my room where I guess she’s been staying. Clothes, shampoo, books, all are stuffed into three grocery bags which we then carry to the car.
“What about your dad?” I say.
“My mother told me a few days ago that he wants me to come home.”
“Really? Does my mom know?”
“No . . .” She looks as if she might say more. I wait for more explanation, but none comes. I drive her home and help carry in the shopping bags. Her mother runs from the kitchen, throws her arms around Christy and welcomes her home. I think she welcomes her home—she is speaking Spanish, but it seems like a welcome. Her dad sits in his chair, in front of the TV, watching Christy and her mom.
Neither of them speak to me.
Maria comes in from the kitchen and says to Christy, “Don’t think you’re getting your old room back!”
I leave. A sense of freedom comes over me as I drive away—lonely freedom.