Saving Ruth (3 page)

“And what about you? Do you have a lot of reading to do this summer?”

“Dad, it's called summer for a reason.”

“Really, no assignments?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. I just have a hard time thinking that an English major doesn't have any reading—”

“Sam, please?” pleaded my mom. “They just got home. Can we eat lunch?”

He put his fork down and held up his hands in defeat.

“Mom, everything is really good,” said David as he spooned another gelatinous glob of chicken salad onto his plate.

“Thanks, Davey. I never cook anymore, with you two gone. This morning may have been the first time I've stepped into the kitchen since December.”

My dad nodded. “It's true.” I wondered what he had been eating all of this time if that was the case. The man didn't even know how to boil water. My mom's jaw clenched. A sore subject apparently.

“Want me to do the dishes?” I asked as I pushed my chair back.

“Did you eat anything?” David asked.

“Yeah, your face.”

“Very mature, Ruth. Wow.”

“Wow,” I replied, switching my voice to a lower decibel to mock him. I walked into the kitchen and surveyed the damage. My mom was an excellent cook, but she made messes of tornado-like proportions. Crumbs on the floor, sauces splattered across the stove, and dishes teetering in gloppy, precarious piles were always left in her wake.

It had been my job to clean the kitchen post-meal since before I could remember. Ten bucks a week to do so, when David received the same to feed the dog. The blatant inequality of our tasks had always annoyed me, but the actual act of cleaning was soothing for me. I liked erasing messes.

“What's on tap for the afternoon?” asked my mom as she brought more lunch dishes in.

“I'm going to call M.K. and see if she wants to go for a walk.” A
nd smoke a damn cigarette before my head explodes.
Her silence forced me to look up from my suds castle.

“Mom?” I turned off the water. “I'm here all summer.” I put my wet hand on hers. “We'll do a lot of stuff together, I promise.”

“Okay.” Her smile made me sad. I wasn't sure if it was her own loneliness or her worries about me that made her look so lost. Both possibilities overwhelmed me. I turned the faucet back on.

“I'll see you later,” she said. “I think I'll take a nap.” She walked away, and I continued to scrub.

3

“H
ey, girl!” yelled M.K. She was a block away—all smile and blond hair, wearing her standard summer uniform of athletic shorts and tank top. Her legs were already tan from a spring in Tuscaloosa and possibly a few trips to the tanning bed. I waved back with broad sweeping motions and turned myself around in an impromptu jig of happiness.

M.K. (short for Mary Kate, which was a name that fit her as much as “Tiffany” or “Jessica” would have fit me) and I had been friends since the third grade. Sometimes best, and sometimes not, depending on the extenuating circumstances of middle and high school. We had been through it all—Barbies, periods, boys, drugs, booze, sex—the whole gamut of the girl experience thus far. We met finally, and I hugged her fiercely.

“Reeeeeeed!” I squealed, inhaling a giant whiff of her signature raspberry lotion.

“Wassss!” she yelled back. “Watch out for my tea.” We had been calling each other by our last names since our peewee softball days.

“Are you seriously carrying around a glass of sweet tea?” I asked, laughing. This was a southern phenomenon that fascinated me. At dusk, women would emerge from their homes clutching open tumblers of sweet tea, their ice tinkling in time with their pace. They paired off one by one, not to power-walk or jog, but to gossip and stroll.

“Yeah, what about it? I'm thirsty.” She took a long swig and looked me up and down. “Damn, do you eat?”

“Reed, shuddup. You saw me over Christmas break.”

“Yeah, but you didn't look quite so Skeletorish then. Maybe it's because you were wearing more clothes or something.” She paused. “You're not into those horse diet pills from Tijuana or anything, are you?” We started walking.

“Horse diet pills? What are you talking about?”

“This sorority sister of mine got into them and lost like, a thousand pounds. Sorry. I just—I mean, I just don't want you to be doin' anything dumb, is all. You know I love you,” she cooed with a drawl. “But I guess you look good, if you like that sort of thing.”

“I love how you're givin' me the third degree, when you're skinny your own self.” My southern accent was returning. It had disappeared in Michigan about two months in. Now, breathing in the humid air of my hometown and absorbing the rhythm of M.K.'s voice, it was swimming back to the surface.

“You're smoking crack! I have ten pounds of Busch Light around my middle, and you know it. I swear, I drank more this year than the entire starting line. This summer is Operation Fat-Ass. I'm gonna run every day.”

“You're nuts. You look exactly the same. Where's Jill today?” We picked up our pace. Jill was the third member of our squadron.

“Oh, she's at work. But she's coming out tomorrow night for Bootsie Compton's party.”

“We're going to Bootsie Compton's party?” I sighed.

“Oh God, don't be such a snot, Wass. It'll be fun. Besides, you have to debut your new bod.”

“Bod?
Really?”

“Really. So, any boys to tell me about?”

I laughed. “They're all a bunch of pussies.”

“Wass! You know I hate that word. It's ugly.”

“Oh, okay, this from the girl who pees her pants every time she gets drunk.”

She punched me in the bicep. “I'll have you know that I don't do that anymore. I went to a hypnotist.”

“For real? In Tuscaloosa?”

“Yep. All better. And let me tell you, that cure did not come a moment too soon. My bladder was not doin' me any favors in the bedroom.”

“How's Dwight?” I asked. Dwight was M.K.'s high school sweetheart. They had gone to college as a couple, but had since broken up and gotten back together more times than I could count.

“He's sweet. For the moment, anyway.”

“You're together?”

“Yeah. He messed up real bad in the spring with this Chi O slut, but he apologized with some diamond stud earrings, so it's all good.” Dwight was rich. Well, his family was. They owned a giant shoe store chain—The Shoe Corral. Their empire stretched all over the South. Personally, I thought Dwight was an asshole, but trying to talk M.K. out of him was a fruitless endeavor. I had wasted enough breath on the subject already. Enough to inflate a baby pool twelve times over.

“You seein' anybody, Wass?”

“I was. Tony.”

“I remember him. Y'all started datin' last winter, right? Weren't you tellin' me about him over Christmas?”

“Yeah, we had started talking right before break.”

“He's the real hot one, right? Looks like Johnny Depp?”

I laughed. “How do you know?”

“That's what you told me, genius.”

“Well, I think Johnny Depp may have been a little generous.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“I did.”

“Get out of here!” She stopped walking and grabbed my shoulders. “You lost the big V?” Her blue eyes danced. We had been talking about this moment since she and Dwight had done it sophomore year of high school.

“Gone forever.”

“Aw, Wass! Congratulations! I can't believe you didn't call me.”

“Yeah, well, it's official. I'm no longer a virgin.” We began to walk again.

“So, do you like it?”

“What? Sex?”

“No, my highlights. Of course, sex!”

“Oh yeah, for sure.” This was a lie. I didn't see what the big deal was. Tony always pumped away at me like a jackhammer, came, and then collapsed on top of me in exhaustion. I would have rather been doing almost anything else, to be honest. My lack of interest in the whole endeavor embarrassed me almost as much as my virginity had.

“Oh my God, isn't it the best? When Dwight goes down on me, I am telling you!” She raised her fist toward the sky. “Thank you, Jesus!”

I smiled feebly. Tony had done that for me once, and I had been less than impressed. All of that wetness and then the worst part—seeing his expectant eyes watching me, his nose and mouth obscured by my vagina. It was like a horrible surrealist painting, or a really offensive muppet.

“Hey, you want to swing by the pool?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.

“Yeah, let's.” We made a right. The pool was at the bottom of a big hill, and we began to descend down its slope.

“How's David?” she asked.

“I guess he's okay. We barely talk these days.” I swatted at a mosquito that had landed on my thigh. “I don't think we spoke once last semester.”

“The whole semester? Dang. That's like, months.”

“Yeah.” Despite myself, my eyes filled up with tears. “I mean, it's not like we were super close before I left, you know? I dunno why I'm all dramatic about it now.”

“ 'Cuz it sucks.” She put her arm around my shoulders. “Did you try to call him?”

“Just once or twice. Okay, six times.” I wondered why I hadn't given him hell about it today. Too awkward, I supposed. What was I, a psycho ex-girlfriend stalker or his sister?

“Did you tell your parents?”

“No. I ain't a rat.” I smiled weakly at her.

“Okay, okay. This isn't
The Sopranos
.”

The mosquito was back. I swatted at it again, and this time crushed it underneath my palm. I pulled it back to find a giant red smear on my upper arm.

“Speaking of the Gulf, we have to go to the beach a lot this summer, Reed. Whenever we have days off.” I licked my fingers and rubbed the blood away, hoping that it was mine.

“Definitely. I guess I'll need to drive your ass, huh?” She smirked at me.

I smiled back. “Yes, please. I'm your Miss Daisy for the summer.”

“Bitch, you've been my Miss Daisy since we were sixteen.” I'd never had a car, and borrowing my parent's or David's had always proved to be more trouble than it was worth. My friends had begrudgingly accepted my passenger status, and as a result, I now drove like a ninety-year-old.

At the bottom of the hill, the pool came into view. It sat at the bottom of another small hill, on the left of this one's base. It was protected on all sides by a tall barbed-wire fence, which some asshole climbed at least once every summer to get in and push the giant, electric blue lifeguard stand into the pool. Cars could park at the top of the hill in a sea of white gravel—the kind that always found a way to lodge itself in your sandal or flip-flop. They could also park around back, which was basically an unused field of red dirt and bramble. Beyond that were the railroad tracks.

David and Jason stood inside the empty pool, surrounded by the bleached whiteness of its sides. They were examining the bottom drain and hadn't noticed our approach. Shirtless and pale, their muscled torsos gleamed. Jason looked up as the gate creaked and we made our way toward the pool.

“Who the hell is that?” Jason asked. “We're closed, dumb-ass!” he yelled from the bottom of the pool as we rounded the corner and entered the snack bar area. The concrete floor had just been washed, and the smell of ammonia was amplified by the heat. M.K. and I shielded our noses with our hands.

Jason leaped over the shallow end's wall, ready for a fight.

“Who's the dumb-ass now, dumb-ass?” I asked.

“Look who's here!” He grinned. Jason's blond hair would be white by the summer's end, and his torso mahogany, but for now he looked as sun-starved as the rest of us. “If it ain't the famous Yankee herself.”

“Hey, Jason.” I broke into a jog of excitement and hugged him. When I pulled back, his sweat had imprinted itself on my tank top like a fingerprint.

“David, you didn't tell me Ruthie was here!” He looked me up and down. “Or half of Ruthie. Girl, you are skinny as hell. They don't feed you up in Michigan?”

I wondered if everyone I saw that summer would have the same thing to say—behind my back rather than to my face most likely. It reminded me of going over to my rich friend Julia's house once when I was little. Her mother had been holding court in her giant kitchen with her friends, all of them poised daintily on bar stools and grasping glasses of amber-colored liquid with their manicured fingers. Their myriad wrist bangles clacked and jangled as they gestured dramatically about whatever it was women like that talked about. I couldn't imagine. They were the yin to my mother's yang.

Julia, y'all come in here and say hey to Miss Paula/Andie/Sandra/Sue!
We had trudged into the room with false smiles plastered to our faces.
Hey, Miss Paula/Andie/Sandra/Sue,
Julia said dutifully. As I took secret issue with the whole concept of “Miss” in front of a first name, I just emitted a general hello. We rambled on about nothing for a minute or two as the women ogled us, before being dismissed with a
Y'all be sweet, girls!

I was old enough to expect that they would say something about my chubbiness after I left, like the ever-familiar
Such a pretty face, but. . . .
I was surprised to hear something else entirely once Julia's mom thought we were out of earshot.

“Isn't Ruth precious?” Pause. “Y'all know she's Jewish,” she tried to whisper. My face had burned red, out of anger or embarrassment, I wasn't sure. It was the first time I had realized my Jewishness was something people could whisper about like a terminal illness. Weight comments stung, but at least I could change that. The Jewish thing, not so much.

“No, they don't feed us, Jason. I haven't had one meal since last August,” I replied.

He cocked his head and scrunched up his nose as if he were smelling something bad. “Well, I guess ya look good. Gonna be nice to see you in a bathing suit.”

“Hey, man, take it easy,” said David as he pushed himself up and out of the empty pool.

“Yeah, you perv,” chimed in M.K., her eyes glued to my brother's flexed arms.

“Hey, M.K.,” said David.

“Hey, David,” she replied, blushing slightly. Damn him and his good looks. Even M.K., who'd known him since he was in Underoos, was susceptible.

“So, how's she lookin'?” I asked.

“Who, M.K.?” asked Jason. “She looks pretty good to me.”

“No, jackass, the pool,” I answered as M.K. punched him softly in the arm.

“Oh! Not bad, actually. We just had her mildewed ass cleaned, and now we just have to fill 'er up and shock her.” “Shocking” was pool-speak for chlorination.

“Just in time to have twenty kids take a leak in that same water,” said David.

“You betcha,” said Jason. “David and I are gonna fill 'er up now. Want to help?” I glanced over at David, who tensed at the mere mention of me invading their afternoon, and my heart hurt.

“Uh no, that's okay. Gonna head back to my house soon and take a nap.”

“Cool, cool. I'll have your lifeguarding schedule tomorrow, at the swim team meeting.”

“Okay, see y'all,” I said, looking to David for some sort of fraternal nod of approval. Something. Anything.

“See ya,” he said, mostly to M.K., and walked back to Jason—who was already jabbering about some sort of new pool-filling technique. M.K. and I climbed the hill back to the street.

“Want to have a cigarette?” she asked.

“Do I ever.”

She smiled. “C'mon.” We trudged up another hill in the back of the elementary school.

“How many hills can there be in one damn neighborhood?” she huffed. M.K. lived right across the street from the elementary school—the very one we had met at so many years before. We cut through its massive backyard.

“Is your mom home?” I asked.

“She is. She's watchin'
Judge Judy
.” Sheila was the mom who let us drink and smoke in high school. With her acrylic nails, tanning-bed face, and affinity for all things bedazzled, she was a walking cliché. That said, she had always been really good to me, and I adored her for it. Once, when she found me in their bathroom lying in my own drunken vomit, she had patiently cleaned me up and put me to bed without a word until the next morning.