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Dear Diary
One thing I've learned is that strange things do happen. They happen all the time. Today,
for instance, my best friend Jill's cat spoke. We were making brownies in the kitchen when
we heard it say, Let me out. Well, we rushed to the back door and did exactly that. We
experienced a miracle and now we're looking for more, although Franconia, the town we live
in, is not known for such things. Jill and I have known each other our whole lives. One
house separates our houses but we act as if it doesn't exist. We met before we were born
and we'll probably still know each other after we die. At least, that's the way we're
planning it.
My mother and I left for Atlantic City so quickly I didn't have time to call Jill. We told
people we were on our way to visit an old aunt, but really our departure had something to
do with love, or the lack of it, and the aunt doesn't even exist. I know other people
whose mothers suddenly pack up when their fathers drink or scream, but for us this is more
serious. My mother doesn't do things like go to Atlantic City. She doesn't order room
service and cry. She once told me that anyone who gets married had better like herself,
because there's nobody else in this world that she'll ever really know, not
truly.
We stayed in our room in Atlantic City for three days, and didn't go outside once, thanks
to room service. We ate like pigs and didn't even bother to brush our teeth until my
mother's cousin Margot, who got a divorce last summer and changed the color of her hair to
give herself an emotional lift, came to get us. She drove to New Jersey in the Ford
Mustang convertible that she refused to let her ex have, since he'd taken her very soul
and raked it over red-hot coals.
"Get dressed right now," she told us.
We were wearing our bathrobes and watching an old cowboy movie, which, for some reason,
made my mother cry. Maybe it was all those men on horseback who were so steadfast and
loyal. Their own men had disappointed them, but somehow Margot and my mother both had hope
for improvement. Frankly, I had more faith in the horses.
"I mean now, Frances," Margot said, and because she meant business, my mother
actually dressed and put on some lipstick and we went to a Chinese restaurant where the
drinks came with little paper umbrellas, which I kept as a souvenir.
Listen to me, Gretel, Margot told me when we'd gone back to the room to pack and my mother
was finally out of earshot. When a marriage breaks up, it's the children who suffer, so
baby, hold on tight. That's why Margot was relieved that she and Tony had never had
children, although she became teary whenever she saw a baby. "Margot is my best
friend, but she's completely full of baloney," my mother whispered as we were
throwing our suitcases into the trunk. "Take it all with a grain of salt. Maybe even
a whole shaker."
Say what you want about the Mustang, it may be gorgeous, but it has very little trunk
space. I had to sit in the back seat with the hair dryer and the makeup case on my lap all
the way to Franconia, but that didn't stop me from keeping my fingers crossed and wishing
we'd wind up someplace other than home.
We're in Florida for one week, the week when the turtles die on the beach and there are
jellyfish in the ocean. As soon as we checked into the hotel, my brother, Jason, who likes
to pretend he's not part of our family, went out to study tide pools and no one has seen
him since. My parents are here to try to revitalize their marriage, which seems a pretty
impossible feat to all outside observers. Gretel honey, don't get high hopes, Margot had
already warned me when she took me shopping for a bathing suit, a mission which can give
anyone with a less than perfect body a complete nervous breakdown. When it's over, it's
over, Margot told me, and I had the distinct feeling that she was right.
Long before the plane touched down in Miami we could hear our parents arguing, and at the
hotel they locked themselves in their room. If you ask me, working so hard at being
married can backfire. It certainly is making my father nastier than usual. Not that his
bad temper affects me. I keep my own counsel. I go my own way. I order room service and
eat Linzer tortes and shrimp scampi alone in the room I was supposed to be sharing with
Jason, not that he was ever planning to show up. Even though I was across the hall from my
parents, I could still hear them fighting.
I went out to the beach late, later than I'd be allowed to if anyone knew I was alive.
That's where I met Jonathan Rabbit, who is now in love with me. He is known as Jack
Rabbit, which makes me laugh out loud. Doesn't it figure that the boy who fell for me
would be a rodent? He lives in Atlanta and is in the ninth grade, and frankly he's
terribly boring. I let him kiss me once, but believe me, I did not hear bells. I only
heard the jellyfish sloshing around in the water and the noisy beat of Jack Rabbit's
heart. Florida didn't do anything for my family, but at least it's starting to be spring.
Jill and I are keeping our eyes open for miracles. Jack Rabbit calls me constantly and
that is something of a miracle. He writes so often you'd think his fingers would start to
cramp up. I bring his letters to school, so everyone is well aware that I have a boyfriend
in Atlanta. They'll never meet him. They'll never know it's actually possible for a boy to
be so boring you'd agree to kiss him just to get him to shut up. I should get paid to
listen to him when he calls on the phone. I should get a dollar fifty an hour.
Minimum.
Jill told me that when you're really in love, you know right away. I'm not exactly sure
how this happens. Is it like a flash of lightning? Like an angel tapping you on the
shoulder? Or is it similar to choosing a puppy? You think you're picking the cutest one,
but really you wind up going home with the one who keeps insisting on climbing into your
lap. That's how we got our dog, Revolver. We thought he was so crazy about us, but it
turned out that Labrador retrievers adore everyone. Well, maybe that's what love is, a
state of mind ready to grace anyone willing to accept it. Anyone who cares.
School's out. Hurray. Life, however, is still so boring that I'm writing to Jack Rabbit
every day. I go to the pool with Jill and take along my notebook and write until I think
I'm going blind, then jump into the deep end. We are not going on vacation because no one
in my house is talking to each other, so going anywhere together is definitely out. My
brother's on the summer science team at the high school, so he's never home. My father is
on an exercise kick and has joined a gym, so he's never around either.
My mother and Margot and I spend a lot of time going to movies. It's dark and it's cool
and no one knows if you're crying, except for the person sitting directly beside you.
Margot buys me anything I want, even Jordan almonds, which are so terrible for your teeth.
She's the kind of person who knows about love. She has men calling her in the middle of
the night, but they're all no good, or so she says. Just like Jill, she insists she'll
know when she meets the right man. But unlike Jill, she tells me exactly what love's
evidence is. I'll just want to kiss him till I die. To me, this doesn't sound like
something to hope for, but people seem to hope for it all the same.
Jill is camping with her parents, and has sent me a postcard that it has happened. The
miracle we've been searching for, the great event, the angel's secret. It's love, it
really is. It's the boy in the tent next to hers who she sneaks out to meet after her
parents are asleep. I sit on my front stoop while Jill is away and think things over. I've
smartened up and am no longer waiting for the mailman. Jack Rabbit isn't writing anymore.
He went to camp to be a junior counselor and I guess he broke his arm or fell in love with
somebody new. Doesn't it figure that I would miss his letters like crazy? Sometimes I read
the old ones late at night, and I wonder what was I thinking when I got them. How could I
have thought he was boring? Well, I'm the boring one now. When Jill comes back I may have
to lie to her. I may tell her Jack Rabbit died in a canoeing accident. My name was the
last word he said, or so they tell me. My name brought him comfort with his last dying
breath.
Jill and I are not in the same class at school. We never are. The administration doesn't
want people who like each other to be together. They think it builds character when they
stick people who hate one another in the same room, day after day, and nobody winds up
getting killed or maimed. I'm not supposed to know that Jill's mother is seeing a
psychiatrist, just as Jill is not supposed to know my parents are no longer sleeping in
the same room. My mother spends her nights on a quilt on my floor, and she doesn't cry
until she thinks I'm asleep.
Recently, Margot and I went out for ice cream. We had butterscotch sundaes with vanilla
ice cream. Margot asked for my advice. She had spotted my father at an expensive
restaurant, the kind he'd never take us to, with some woman she'd never seen before and
she didn't know whether or not to tell my mother. I have never been much of a tattletale
myself, although I understand that there are times when the truth serves its purpose. This
didn't seem to be one of those times. For all we knew, this woman could be some business
associate, although Margot and I probably would have both been willing to bet our lives
that she wasn't.
Don't tell. That was the advice I came up with. My mother was already crying and sleeping
on the floor, what good would the truth do her now? Margot didn't eat any of her sundae,
and when she offered it to me I realized I was sick to my stomach. I think I've pretty
much figured out that in this world, it's better to stick to hot fudge.
On Halloween Jill wore all black and made ears out of felt which she glued to a plastic
headband. She was a black cat. She had a tail that was braided out of three silk scarves.
I borrowed thirty silver bangle bracelets from my grandmother. I was a fortune-teller. We
should have suspected something when we saw the moon. It was orange and so big we couldn't
believe it. It was like we could take one big step, and there we'd be: moon girls who had
fallen off the rim of the world. My brother laughed at us. Weren't we a little too old for
trick-or-treating? Well of course we were, but we didn't care. We went up and down the
block, collecting candy; then we walked beyond the high school through the field so we
could smoke cigarettes beside the creek. Jill had stolen the cigarettes from her mother's
purse, and I had gotten the matches from my grandmother.
"As long as you're not smoking cigarettes," my grandmother had said to me, which
pretty much ruined the whole thing. I couldn't enjoy a single puff. Grandma Frieda was
visiting for the weekend and she had the ability to put a hex on any form of high jinks.
She was sleeping on my floor too, and it was getting pretty crowded there in my room. I
could never find my sneakers. I couldn't find my underwear. Every night, as I fell asleep,
I'd hear bits of whispered conversation, and every single one seemed to include the word
sorrow.
Jill had been practicing and knew how to blow smoke rings. She was blowing a misty ring
when some guys from the high school intent on trouble approached. Jill looked older than
she was, and even in costume, you could tell she was beautiful. The high school guys tried
to kiss her, and when she refused, they grabbed her. The whole thing happened so fast I
just sat there, as though I were the audience and the whole thing was a play. And then it
wasn't. I hit one of the guys, and all of my silver bracelets were so heavy he fell
backwards. The shock of me smashing one of them gave us time to run. We ran and ran, like
we really could get to the moon if we had to. We ran until we turned into smoke; we could
float across lawns and drift under windows and doors.
"I can't believe you did that," Jill said when we finally made it home. She had
lost her tail and her ears, but her face was shining. "You hit him."
I felt great for days.
We don't do holidays. We go to my grandma Frieda's for Passover, but we skip Chanukah,
which my father insists is trivial, and Thanksgiving, which he considers a meaningless
ritual. We do, however, spend every Christmas at Margot's house. It's a holiday she feels
entitled to celebrate since she was married to Tony Molinaro for all those years. My
father never goes to Margot's, and this year Jason wasn't there either. It was just us,
and we decorated the tree with all of Tony's mother's beautiful old ornaments. There's an
angel that's always been my favorite, fashioned out of silvery glass. When Tony's mother
was alive she assured me it would bring good luck to whoever hung it on the tree. Tony's
mother always preferred Margot to her own son, and when they broke up she took to her bed
and was dead by the following spring.
Even after Margot and Tony divorced, Margot always included her ex-mother-in-law in the
festivities. Tony's mother must have been at least ninety. Her hands shook as she held out
the angel. "Here's the thing about luck," she told me on her last Christmas.
"You don't know if it's good or bad until you have some
perspective."
This year we made a toast to the old lady and Margot actually cried. Right as we finished
the tree, snow started to fall. We all rushed to the front window to look. It was the kind
of snow that you hardly ever see, so heavy and beautiful you fall in love with winter,
even though you know you'll have to shovel in the morning.
Margot had made a turkey with stuffing, a noodle kugel, and a white cake topped with
coconut that looked like the snow outside. After dinner, she and my mother put on aprons
and did the dishes and laughed. I let them listen to Elvis's Blue Christmas; I hardly ever
saw my mother having a good time, so how could I complain?
In Jill's family Christmas was a big deal, and I knew when I went over to her house in the
morning she'd have a dozen great presents to show me and I'd have to try not to be
jealous. Jill and I had given each other bottles of White Musk, our favorite scent. I
envied Jill just about everything, but I didn't feel jealous right then, listening to
Elvis in Margot's house. Truthfully, there was nowhere else I'd rather be. Lucky for us,
Margot lived right around the corner from us. Her house was our house, and vice versa,
unless my father was at home. Margot and my mother intended to be neighbors forever; they
had dozens of plans, but not all of their plans were working out.
That night, when we walked home, my mother put her arm around me and told me to wish on a
star. She still believed in things like that. We stood there in the snow, and try as I
might, I didn't see a single star. But I lied. I said that I did, and I wished anyway. We
stood there while my mother tried in vain to see that same star. My fingers were freezing,
so I put my hands in my pockets. The angel was there. I knew that if I tried to thank
Margot, she'd tell me to cut it out, she'd say it was nothing, but it was definitely
something to me.
It was late, but we could hear traffic on the Southern State Parkway, even though it was
Christmas, and snowing so hard. You had to wonder who all these people in their cars were
leaving behind and who they were driving toward, and if they knew that in the distance,
the echo of their tires on the asphalt sounded like a river, and that to someone like me,
it could seem like the miracle I'd been looking for.
Reprinted from LOCAL GIRLS by Alice Hoffman by permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons, a member
of Penguin Putnam Inc. Copyright (c) 1999 by Alice Hoffman.
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