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The best part of babysitting Kennedy, besides that she was my only friend, was that every day at 1:00 when she took her hour-long nap, I was free to do whatever I pleased. At first I just watched their cable television and nibbled on snacks, but as time passed I grew bolder. Soon I was carefully snooping through their drawers. Then one day I sampled all their alcohol and tried some pills I found in the medicine cabinet. The combination of the pills and all the booze made it hard to catch my breath, so I stuck to sips of wine and schnapps after that, always remembering to bring plenty of Big Red gum to disguise the smell.
I was dying to try on Sharon’s fishnet stockings and a purple thong teddy, but I just didn’t have the nerve. Instead I took my babysitting money and went to the underwear section of JC Penney’s, where I got the closest thing I could find to a teddy: An extra small body girdle with a tummy control panel and a padded rear end. I bought it in such a hurry that I didn’t know how lame it was until I got it home. Then I was too embarrassed to return it, so one day I added it to a bag of clothes I had outgrown and threw it in the donation box at one of the local churches.
A couple weeks later when I was riding my bike to Kennedy’s, I saw a toothless old lady pushing a shopping cart, wearing that exact body girdle over a pair of my old jeans and one of my t-shirts, grinning like a jack-o-lantern.
“Your ass looks great,” I yelled as I flew past.
She nodded and reached back, giving the padding a big squeeze.
A few days before the start of eighth grade, I came home from an extended bike ride to find my mother waiting at the front door for me. She was smacking a newspaper against her ample hip. I put the kickstand down and took my time getting to her. I didn’t know what I had done wrong, but that never mattered. She was mad and I was in trouble; that was all I needed to know.
She waited until I was inside, and then closed the door behind me so she had the privacy to start a loud fight.
“What’s this?” She waved the paper in my face. I had no idea what she was talking about.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“‘I don’t know? I don’t know’” She mocked me, using a silly little mouse voice. “Give me a break. Do you think I was born yesterday?” She slammed the newspaper down on the coffee table.
I picked it up and started to look through it. On page four was a photograph of a fountain in downtown Saint Paul and the caption August Heat Makes the Cities Sizzle. There I was, along with other random citizens, sitting by the fountain, eating a banana and reading Endless Love by Scott Spencer. Oh, how I cherished that book, reading it and rereading it, dreaming of being so much to someone.
“What’s the matter? I’m just reading a book.”
“How did you get to downtown Saint Paul?”
“I rode my bike.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes I did. I swear.”
“Who took you there? Did some boy take you there? Some man? Do you have some boyfriend you aren’t telling me about?”
“No. I swear.”
“Who’s he?” she asked, stubbing her finger on the face of a guy in the photo.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before.”
“And you’re both ea
ting bananas?”
“Uh, I guess. I don’t know this guy. I didn’t realize we were both eating bananas.”
“He looks like he’s twenty years older than you! What’s the matter with you? He’s probably married! Do you have some kind of a problem? How am I supposed to trust you when you pull stunts like this? Grounding you isn’t enough anymore. I’m thinking of sending you away to one of those boarding schools. I’m serious. Your father and I are talking about it. This is the last straw!”
“Mom, listen to me! I don’t know that guy! I was just at the park reading a book! I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“You’re both eating bananas! Do you think I’m a fool?”
I stood there in disbelief.
“Do you think I’m a fool?” she repeated, putting her head in her hands. “Now I can’t even open the paper without finding you, out who knows where, embarrassing our family. Do you think your sister or brother ever pulled a stunt like this? Ever?” She looked at me, disappointment and disgust spewing from her eyeballs. “You’re going to get a month for going there and another month for lying to me if you don’t tell me the truth right now.”
“I am telling you the truth. I rode my bicycle there. I am telling you the truth.”
“Kiss your bicycle goodbye. You father is taking it to work with him tomorrow and he’s giving it away to the first person who’ll take it. You’re grounded. Two months. Write it on the calendar. No television, no phone. I told you, write it on the calendar.” She brushed past me out the door and shoved the bicycle over with her hip. “You got off lucky,” she yelled back at the house. Never one to under-do a dramatic departure, she got in her car and squealed the tires as she drove away. I saw the neighbor across the street duck her head behind her mini-blinds, and the neighbor kitty-corner from us rise from her porch furniture and go inside.
