Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead (25 page)

“No, nothing like that. I’m a little light-headed and I can’t stop vomiting.”

“Poor thing. It’s all the stress from Richard, or maybe your stomach forgot how to digest junk food. Aaron, over here.” She 216

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waved, studying the contents of his cart. “Did you leave anything for the other customers?”

“Cool store,” he blushed.

“Oh, I know. Visa loves it, too. What is all this stuff?”

“Nothin’ . . . some things for my room.”

“A snowboard, a basketball . . . Damn! You inherited Artie disease. Were they out of kayaks?”

“They have those? What aisle?”

“Never mind. . . . Just go put everything back that is not absolutely essential to your health and well-being and meet me at the check-out in ten minutes . . . sorry, Beth. Aaron is having a Target moment. . . . Where were we?”

“I was saying I must have the f lu.”

“Well for that you need rest, fluids—”

“And my boobs are killing me, too.”

“Your boobs?” Mindy dropped a bag of Tootsie Rolls. “Are you sure it’s the flu?”

“The f lu, a virus, whatever. Just find something to put me out of my misery.”

“A home pregnancy test?” Mindy could barely get the words out.

“Oh my God, bite your tongue, Mindy. I am NOT pregnant.

How could you even say something so stupid? There is no way!”

“Sorry. It’s just that other than the vomiting, it doesn’t sound like the flu.”

“Well, whatever. I’m not pregnant. . . . My mother does this to me, too. Always has to think the worst. Diarrhea means Crohn’s disease. Depression is Lyme disease . . .”

“Fine. Besides, you’d know if your period was late.”

“I’m hanging up if you don’t get off this subject.”

“Plus, I’m sure you guys use protection.”

“Yes, it’s called anger and resentment. And I’m also on the pill

. . . when I remember.”

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“When you remember?” Mindy shrieked, forgetting she was in public. “This isn’t like cleaning the fish tank. You have to keep up with it.”

“Would you stop?” Beth yelled back. “You are getting me very nervous and upset now . . . I’m sure I had my period last month . . .

pretty sure. But, whatever . . . I couldn’t be pregnant now because my husband left me, I’m forty fucking years old, and I’m sure all my eggs have hatched.”

“
Um,
apparently you let your subscription to
People
lapse. . . .

Do you know how many celeb moms are over forty? That ac-tress from
Desperate Housewives
, Marcia Cross? She was like forty-four when she had her baby. And what about Brooke Shields and Courtney Cox and that one from the show about the woman president, you know who I mean. . . .”

“Geena Davis?”

“Yeah, her. I love her . . . anyway, I think she was closer to fifty, so all I’m saying is, the eggs don’t always know what time it is.”

“You’re insane. . . . I’m sure it’s just a twenty-four-hour thing.”

Or a twenty-four-year thing.
“You sure you don’t want me to pick up a home pregnancy test? Remember the other day when you said you were so hungry lately?”

Silence.

“Beth?”

“No. There’s no need. I am NOT pregnant. . . .”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

Nineteen

Aaron had gone from being enraged in the morning to exultant an hour later, and Mindy knew to attribute this sudden change in cabin pressure to f lying high at Target. Never before had he experienced the f low of oxygen to the brain from shopping, but there was no denying his joy when he picked out hair gel, body wash, and three funny T-shirts.

In fact, he was in such a good mood on the way to the district office, he was calm enough to start asking thoughtful, curious questions about school, and if he could maybe work for Artie at the store. It gave Mindy hope that this harrowing climb up Blended Family Mountain would not have to end in a free fall.

But not so fast. While filling out the school registration forms, Mindy discovered how quickly Target Man could turn into Brat Boy. It wasn’t that he refused to answer questions about his GPA, his extracurricular activities, and if he was ever tested for sco-liosis. It was that he chose to misbehave, like a puppy who peed on the rug in the hopes of discouraging a family from bringing him home.

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At first when he tried juggling the clown figurines on Mrs.

Cassidy’s credenza, she winked at Mindy as if to say, it’s fine, I understand he’s nervous. But when he laughed at her family photos and did a handstand while singing Frank Zappa’s “Weasels Ripped My Flesh,” not even quick-on-her-feet Mindy could explain his errant antics.

Plus, with his transcript and medical records still in transit, Mrs. Cassidy said she had no choice but to sum up her observations with the trifecta of labels: OCD, ADD, and immature social skills. This left Mindy with no recourse when Mrs.

Cassidy told her that Aaron would be starting school in a reme-dial program. “And make sure he’s medicated before he arrives in the building.”

“Weasels ripped my f lesh?” Mindy wanted to f ling him against the car but feared that someone in the office would catch her and add “abuse victim” to his file.

“She was a dirtbag.” He waited for her to unlock the passenger side.

“A dirtbag? All she did was ask you about your previous high school. What did you think we were there to talk about? The death of acid rock? I can not believe you behaved like that!”

“I’m seventeen. Law says I don’t have to be in school no more.”

“No, no. The only law that pertains to you is the Sherman Law, and that states very clearly that you will not only finish high school and bust your ass to get good grades, you will sit for the Regents exams, you will take the SAT’s, and you will go to college and lead a productive life. Do you want to end up selling Cutco knives the rest of your life and force us to hit up our friends every year so you can win free travel?”

“You don’t even know me. Why are you buggin’ out on me?”

“Buggin’ out? That’s what you think I’m doing? Oh, right. Because with three other kids, a job I hate, and a failing business, 220

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I was short of things that pissed me off. You want to know why I’m so angry? It’s because you blew the chance to show off how smart and capable you are. Now Mrs. Cassidy is thinking psych wards and Ritalin.”

“ ‘We don’t need no education . . . we don’t need no thought control . . .’ ”

“Don’t you dare sing “Another Brick in the Wall”! This isn’t funny, Aaron!”

“It’s just school . . . Any chimp can get through it.”

“Oh, really? Well let me tell you something about chimps,

’cause Jamie just finished a big project on primates and I happen to remember a thing or two.”

“You talk too much, woman. Let’s just go.”

“Fine, but we’re still going to talk about this.” She unlocked the door but refused to turn on the ignition.

“This is madness!” Aaron air strummed his guitar.

“Tough! I’m just warming up. And for your information, chimpanzees have this amazing capacity for exhibiting social behaviors. They’re sensitive to feelings, they help groom one another, and they’ll even risk their lives to save a fellow chimp.”

“Stop trying to be my mom, okay? ’Cause you’re not . . . and don’t mess with my life ’cause I already know what I’m gonna do with it.”

“Oh. So that’s the grand plan? Help Rainbow with the baby, then sit around and write music and wait for some big producer to call and say ‘Hey, Aaron, you’re the bomb. Have your people call my people’?”

“The bomb?” Aaron groaned. “You are too cool for me, but yeah, at least I’d be doin’ somethin’ that made me happy.”

“And you think this the life your mom envisioned for you? To drop out of high school, write a few chords, and call it a day?”

“Don’t talk shit about my mom!”

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“I’m not. We’re having a discussion. I’m just trying to get you to understand that you could have an amazing future doing all the things you love, but it has to start with a decent education.”

“Whatever . . . Art told me you guys don’t have enough money for college.”

“We don’t have enough money for most things, but it hasn’t stopped us yet. . . . And who knows? We could end up with that life insurance money. If not, we’ll take out student loans. But trust me, if you think college is expensive, wait until you see what it costs you not to go.”

“School’s bullshit.”

“Some of it is, I agree. I’ve always said they should make the kids take classes on handling money and crises. And it kills me that they don’t teach leadership skills or how to make the most out of your creativity. But that’s the thing. It’s not what you learn in the classroom that makes school so important, it’s what you learn about yourself: the things you’re good at, how to get along with different kinds of people. And if along the way you do study something you enjoy, or you read books that move you, you’ll have things to write about forever. But if your music is only an expression of your very limited experiences, then your songs will reflect that and nobody will buy them.”

“Nobody’s gonna buy them anyway . . . music sucks now . . .

people are buying crap.”

“Sorry. I was voted most negative in my family. You do not get to take my place.”

“I’m not negative. . . . I know the truth.”

“Oh my God, you do sound like me. People always tell me I’m so negative, and I say no, I just tell it like it is. But you know what? Maybe I do have a bad attitude.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that. I need pizza.”

“Really?” Mindy lit up. “You like it now?”

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“I dream about it. . . . Back home the box tastes better than the pizza.”

“Then you know what? You just gave me a great idea. I have to drop something off at Beth’s, we’ll go get lunch and then have a little adventure.”

Some adventure! Any time Mindy sat in traffic on the Long Island Expressway, she either fantasized about shooting out everyone’s tires or having a car that could f ly. Anything not to have to focus on all the drivers who should be ticketed for EBD (everything but driving). Was it too much to ask fellow motorists, especially the ones on her tail, not to shave, send text messages, or read the paper?

Clearly this spur-of-the-moment jaunt to Queens was a bad idea, and that didn’t even speak to what the return trip would be like in the middle of rush hour. Fortunately, her kids all had after-school activities, so she didn’t have to play beat the clock. But no question, her time would have been better spent had they gone home so she could have caught up on the bills and thrown in some laundry.

What stopped her from ripping the steering wheel out of the dashboard was the hope that her father was watching from heaven, as they were en route to visit his mother at the Beth Hillel nursing home, and bringing her favorite food, Sicilian slices from La Piazza.

Although this trip was intended to alleviate Mindy’s guilt over not having visited in weeks, she also thought it would be good for Aaron to meet a Holocaust survivor. Grandma Jenny was proof that although life could be brutal and unjust, one need not ever lose faith in God.

A great plan until she hit traffic. Not that Aaron noticed.

Like a battle-fatigued toddler who could turn any car ride into Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

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siesta time, Mindy had to smile. Aaron’s baby-smooth cheek was pressed to the window, gold streaks sunning his hair. He appeared so young and unencumbered, a boy for whom the light would still shine if he chose an illumined path.

Oh to have a navigation system that could lead you through life, she thought. To be able to hear the soothing voice of a nice lady telling you to take a left at the intersection of Not Sure and Totally Confused. Or to make a quick U-turn before crossing a line in the sand. Or mostly to watch for road signs that pointed to danger ahead.

How ironic that at this point in the journey, she spotted a familiar sign for Little Neck, home to the Denny’s children’s clothing store where she’d first met Artie. It was also Aaron’s place of birth.

What did her father used to say when she’d try to tell him a story? “Mindeleh, I can’t understand if you don’t start from the start.”

Two weeks after she returned to the University of Buffalo to begin her senior year, her father was diagnosed with colon cancer, and she could not fathom leaving her mother to bear the responsibility of caring for him. In less time than it took her to decide what to wear to a frat party, she made up her mind to move home and finish school at Queens College.

It was a tough transition, juggling classes and hospital visits while filling in for her mother at Denny’s, the children’s clothing store in Little Neck, where Helene had worked for years. With her husband sick, rather than leave her boss in the lurch, she asked Mindy to fill in.

Trouble was, Mindy hated the job, as it required waiting on whiny, manicured mothers who’d wheel German-engineered strollers that cost more than her car and who weren’t fazed by 224

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dropping hundreds of dollars to outfit their kids while the little darlings tore through the store, delivering ear-shattering cries if Mommy dared to try to stop their fun.

But the dad shoppers were even worse, screaming at their kids to hurry up and pick out what they needed so that they could get back in time to watch the game. And God forbid they had to wait in line to pay. They would groan about the long wait, fully expecting that if a woman was ahead of them, it was understood that they step aside, as their time wasn’t nearly as valuable.

So it was an unexpected surprise when one Sunday afternoon, Mindy was shadowed by a young father who cared very much about picking out the right winter jacket and pajamas for his two-year-old son, Aaron.

His name was Artie, and though he was obviously married with a child, Mindy thought a lot about his gracious smile, quick wit, and undeniable love for his boy. She hoped one day she would meet a man as special as he was.