All Alone in the Universe Read online

  Fran laughed again. “Old enough for what? She doesn‧t look like she‧d be too interested in babysitting.” Her voice dropped, and I couldn‧t hear the next part.

  Then my mother said, “Well, to each his own, I guess. I just feel for the kids. It‧s not their fault.”

  That night while I was talking to Maureen on the phone and poking around the crowded fridge for a snack, something popped into my mind, a piece of the day. It was a mental picture of getting pop from the Prbyczkas’ refrigerator. Marie had opened the door and turned to ask me what kind I wanted. As she reached in to get it, something seemed odd. Now it came to me that besides the pop and the beer, there wasn‧t much of anything there. Some milk, I remembered seeing. And some ketchup.

  “How about eggs?” Maureen suggested.

  “Maybe,” I said. “I don‧t really remember. But there wasn‧t much.”

  “Maybe they eat a lot of canned food,” said Maureen.

  “Maybe they eat out,” I said.

  “Maybe they‧re vampires,” said Maureen, who watches Dark Shadows every day.

  “I don‧t think so,” I said. “They come out in the daytime.”

  five

  SUMMER RIPENED LIKE A PIECE OF FRUIT. BUT IT WAS A PIECE OF fruit with an unseen bruise, and it was ripening and spoiling at the same time. The bruise‧s name was Glenna.

  The spoiling didn‧t happen overnight, but it didn‧t take long either, not as long as I would have thought or hoped. About as long as it takes for a moth to chew holes in your favorite sweater. A moth named Glenna. Glenna Flaiber.

  Glenna had always been there. She went to school with us; her house was around the corner from Maureen‧s house. There was nothing especially wrong with her. There was nothing all that right with her either, not that I could see. To me, she was like one of those crumbs of wax that flake off the milk carton into your glass and you drink it anyway. It‧s too much trouble to fish it out, and it‧s not going to kill you.

  Glenna was small and neat and ordinary and boring and irritating. That‧s what I thought. I thought Maureen felt sorry for her. The first time Glenna came along with us to the pool, I thought we were doing our good deed for the day. Then she came again, and I thought, Oh, great.

  Pretty soon she was going everywhere with us, and I started to wonder how Maureen and I could get rid of her without hurting her feelings.

  In the middle of June our family went on vacation.

  “I‧ll miss you,” Maureen said. “Send me postcards.”

  “Okay, I will,” I said. “Have fun with Glenna.” That was supposed to be a joke, but Maureen missed it.

  She just said, “Okay. Call me when you get back.”

  We went to the ocean, to a cottage with white pebbles for a yard, on an island at the other end of twelve hours of driving. The last part of the road had ocean on both sides, then a drawbridge. When we opened the car doors and stepped out, the ocean breezes blew our sticky clothes loose from our sweaty skin, and for two whole weeks we forgot all about Seldem. I‧d never asked myself before, I‧d never had to, What if while we were off forgetting our regular life, what if our regular life, or some part of it, forgot about us? And then, what if it didn‧t ever remember?

  If I thought about Glenna Flaiber at all, I guess I hoped that she would evaporate while I was gone. But she seemed to have congealed, like cold gravy and then cement, and I was the one turning into thin air.

  There she was at Maureen‧s, the first day after our vacation. I walked over with a souvenir for Maureen, a pretty little round box with a lid, woven of straw. There were seashells around the edge, and colored straw flower patterns were embroidered on the top somehow. I had bought one for myself, too. They were cheap.

  I found Maureen alone on the front stoop, with an Italian ice. “Maureen,” I shouted, “we‧re back!”

  “Deb!” she shouted back. “Hi!”

  The screen door opened behind her, and Glenna stepped out. “Hi, Debbie,” she said. She had an Italian ice, too.

  “Oh,” I said. “Hi, Glenna.”

  She smiled. It was the kind of smile where the parts of the face are in the correct position, but that‧s all you can say for it She turned to Maureen and said, “Your mom is ready to go now.” To me, she said, “We‧re going up to the carnival, in Birdvale.”

  “Wanna come?” Maureen asked.

  “Is there room in the car, with your brother and sister?” Glenna asked Maureen.

  “We can squish in,” said Maureen.

  “I didn‧t bring any money,” I said.

  “That‧s too bad,” said Glenna. “Maybe another time.”

  “My mom can give you some,” Maureen said. “Come on.”

  So we went.

  It was weird.

  The carnival in Birdvale is a little weird, even when you‧re happy. It‧s one of those fake fun places where the flashing lights and the music, the spinning rides, the booths full of prizes, and the smell of the food are all trying to convince you that you‧re having a great time. Personally I always have more fun when nobody‧s telling me I‧m supposed to. I do like the rides, though. And the pizza. And I guess the lights and the music. And it‧s always fun to see who‧s there, especially who‧s there with who. Okay, it‧s fun. But slimy.

  Slimy, because it‧s on the football field, which is down by the river and would rather be a swamp. The carnival people spread straw around, but it doesn‧t take long for all the polished toenails and white sandals to trample the straw into the mud, which then oozes up until everyone is dirty and wet up to the ankles. And slimy because of things like the prizes, which seem extravagant and luxurious while you‧re there, but if you ever win one and take it home, it turns out to be cheap and stupid.

  Three is a lousy number in a lot of ways. One of those ways is that carnivals always have rides with seats that hold two people, so one person has to act as if she doesn‧t mind waiting by the fence or riding in a seat by herself or with some other leftover. This is why the Three Musketeers became friends with D‧Artagnan. Not because of carnivals but because the number three is not a happy number. I know that in geometry the triangle is supposed to be an extremely stable shape, as in the pyramids, but in real life triangles are almost never equilateral. There are always two corners that are closer together, while the third is off a little ways by itself.

  I was off a little ways eating some french fries from a paper boat, watching Glenna and Maureen ride the Calypso, when the idea first came to me that Maureen actually liked Glenna. Glenna was shouting over the noise and music of the ride. Whatever she shouted, it made Maureen laugh, and Glenna was laughing, too. They were spinning around together and laughing, their hands up in the air, slammed together by centrifugal force against the painted metal shell of their twirling car. I was in some other not-laughing universe, leaning on a fence that was standing perfectly still. The ride ended, and they tumbled and spun, still laughing, out of the car and through the gate. It seemed as if they might tumble right past me then, and I blurted out, “Anyone want a frenen fry?

  Maureen spun my way and said, “Oh, yum!”

  Glenna said, “No, thanks, I don‧t like greasy food.”

  This was wise, because I was planning to put a curse on her french fry that would make her throw up on the next ride.

  “Oh, well.” I shrugged. “More for us.”

  Then I said, “I love greasy food.”

  “Especially when it‧s salty,” added Maureen.

  We gobbled up the french fries, and now it was Maureen and I who were together while Glenna remained on her greaseless, unsalted planet.

  “Let‧s go on the Zipper,” I said to Maureen.

  “Okay,” she said.

  So we did, and then we all played a game of tossing quarters onto plates balanced on bottle tops. I won a lime green cross-eyed bunny, which I gave to Maureen. I said, “Here, I want you to have this because you mean so much to me. And because I don‧t want to carry it around.”

  She g
rinned and said, “Oh, wow. Thanks a lot.”

  She glanced down at the bunny as she took it, then held it up to Glenna and said, “Does this remind you of anything?” Glenna crossed her eyes, they both laughed, and that was one for Glenna. Then it was her turn to ride with Maureen, and that was two. Glenna and I weren‧t taking any turns together, but no one mentioned that. Maureen was too busy having a great time to notice. Glenna was having a great time, too. I wasn‧t exactly having a great time. I felt off-balance, as if someone kept borrowing my right foot for a few minutes. As if someone were moving into my house while I still lived there.

  The three of us wobbled around the dinky midway like a triangle trying to walk I could see the grass already turning yellow under the parked trailers and their thick tangled piles of extension cords. I could feel some odd new feelings—uneasy, spiteful, shapeless ones—creeping in.

  I hate this stupid carnival, I thought, sitting on a bench across from the Ferris wheel as the other two points of the triangle rose up into the blue sky.

  When we had spent all the money Mrs. Berck was willing to throw down the drain, we walked back to the car, where she was waiting reading a book It made sense geographically for me to be dropped off first I got out and watched the car pull away. It was no different from a million times before. Through the rear window, beyond the collapsed Kleenex box and the green bunny, I saw Maureen‧s and Glenna‧s heads turn toward each other, and I felt myself falling away behind. But what could I do? I lived here; it was where I had to get out.

  I walked over to rinse my feet off under the spigot. I didn‧t know how to wash away a crumminess that seemed to be swimming around in my heart The garage door opened, and my dad pushed the lawn mower out from inside. He put a pretend surprised look on his face.

  “Why, hello there, long-lost daughter,” he said. “How‧s every little thing?”

  “Okay,” I said. I mustered up a smile from somewhere, mostly from his words and the sound of his voice. His words and his voice and my scrounged-up smile pushed the crummy feeling a little way off to the side, and I thought, Probably it was all in my mind.

  It‧s because I was on vacation, I thought I‧m back now.

  Don‧t be a dope, I thought. Maureen is your best friend.

  But something was happening; something I couldn‧t see was shifting. When Maureen and I were together without Glenna, everything seemed fine. Almost. We had fun. We still laughed a lot. But before, when we laughed, we were just laughing. We couldn‧t help it; it just happened. Laughing and other kinds of thoughts or feelings traveled between us like breathing. Now I found myself holding on to good moments as if I could save them up and prove something to somebody.

  It was getting hard even to be with Maureen without Glenna because Glenna was there so much. When I called Maureen on the phone, Glenna had already called. Or Maureen wasn‧t at home because she was sleeping over at Glenna‧s. Or I could hear Glenna‧s dippy voice in the background. Maureen always invited me to come along. And I would go, even though being together with Maureen and Glenna was not that much fun.

  I couldn‧t figure out how Glenna managed to make so many plans so far ahead all the time.

  On summer mornings, when you first wake up, you hear the birds chirping, and a shady green light filters through the leaves, and a coolness in the air means it still feels good to have at least a sheet pulled up over your shoulders. Maybe there is the faint whining and clanking of a garbage truck on a nearby street. For a minute or two you don‧t even think of any personal facts, like what your name is, or what town you live in, or what kind of life you might be having. Then you hear your mother outside talking to a neighbor or banging around in the kitchen, or you roll over and see your sister, still asleep in the other bed. You know who you are now, and your mind eventually gets around to what you might be doing that day. Which is when your heart feels light or sinks a little bit, depending.

  From the backseat of the Flaibers’ car, Glenna asked her mother what day they would be leaving for their vacation. My ears pricked up. An unexpected ray of hope lit up little dioramas in my head: happy pictures of a week (or two?) without Glenna. A scrap of song from a passing radio furled through the open window.

  Finally, I thought. Finally.

  Trying to keep my face calm, I waited for Mrs. Flaiber‧s answer.

  “Saturday,” she said. “But early. So probably Maureen should stay over Friday night.”

  What for? I thought giddily. So she can wave good-bye?

  “That way she‧ll be sure to get up in time,” Mrs. Flaiber went on. She threw a quick grin over her shoulder at Maureen. Maureen and Glenna grinned at each other. “We‧ll just roll you out of bed and into the car, Maureen!” said Mrs. Flaiber in a jolly way.

  A tide of comprehension rushed in all around me, separating my little island from the shore where the three of them stood, getting into the car to drive away.

  “Where are you going?” I couldn‧t help asking.

  Apparently they could still hear my voice, although it sounded far away, even to me. At least Mrs. Flaiber could.

  “Borth Lake!” she answered. “We have a camp up there! We decided to let Glenna take along a friend this year! We‧ll be sitting on each other‧s laps, but we figure, the more the merrier!”

  I don‧t know what else she said, but all the sentences had exclamation points at the end. The water rose over my island and lapped around my ankles. I pressed my fingers into my knees, then lifted them and watched the yellow-white spots disappear. Maureen‧s knees were right next to mine. There was her hand on the car seat, with the fingernails bitten down below the nubs, as familiar to me as my own. I looked out the window at whatever was passing by. I felt mean and small, like something wadded up. Weightless, like something that doesn‧t even matter.

  Mrs. Flaiber‧s voice chorbled merrily away, cramming the air with colorful pictures of capsizing row-boats and dinners of fish fried with their heads still on and the eyeballs looking right at you. I could hear Glenna telling Maureen that Borth Lake was the seventh largest man-made lake in the state.

  “Really?” I heard myself say. “That is so interesting.”

  Suddenly it seemed to me that if I didn‧t get out of the car, I might completely disappear, and I said, “Mrs. Flaiber, can you let me off here?”

  All three heads turned my way, and the abrupt quiet told me that I had probably interrupted someone.

  “I just remembered,” I said. “There‧s something I have to do. For my mom. I have to pick something up for her.”

  “Where do you need to go?” she asked. “We can take you there and wait while you run inside.”

  “No, no-that‧s okay,” I said. “Actually I feel like walking.”

  “Are you sure?” she said, pulling adroitly over to the curb.

  “Yep,” I said. “Thanks. See you guys later. Have fun on your vacation.”

  Then, looking right into Maureen‧s eyes, I said, “Call me when you get back.”

  I tried to keep my voice steady, but my eyes were shooting out messages and questions and SOS‧s. I saw them reach her eyes and spark there in a flash of surprise. She turned to Mrs. Flaiber and Glenna and said, “I‧m going to get out here, too.”

  She was out of the car and closing the door before Glenna could follow. She leaned her head inside to say good-bye. Glenna and her mother wore the startled expression of fish twitching in the bottom of a rowboat or fried on plates. Mrs. Flaiber turned forward, and the car moved slowly back into traffic, crunching pebbles and grit musically beneath its tires.

  I was surprised, too. A rush of exhilaration went through me. Maybe Maureen just hadn‧t seen what was happening, what Glenna was doing. Maybe I just needed to tell her. She dropped her beat-up tennis shoes onto the sidewalk and slid her toes inside.

  “Are you mad?” she asked.

  I just needed to explain it to her. Make her see. That was all. “Not mad,” I said. Then I said it, what was in my heart:

 
“I just miss when we were friends.”

  I waited for her to get it.

  “We‧re still friends,” she said, standing on one foot to pull the back of her shoe up over her heel. She looked at me as if I had said something really humorous. “You goof,” she said. “Hey, let‧s go down by the river.”

  She started off across the spongy, shimmering parking lot of the Seldem Plaza, leading the way through the canyons of wavy heat made by the parked cars. I followed her, like maybe I had my whole life. But wanting only to keep on doing that.

  “You know what I mean,” I said. A few shades less certain, though, that she would. “I miss the way we used to be friends. Before Glenna.”

  It crossed my mind that to anyone who happened to see us there, we would look the same as we always had. Debbie and Maureen. There they are. “Frick and Frack,” my dad said. We would look the same. Did that mean something?

  “You should give Glenna a chance,” said Maureen. “She tries to be nice to you.”

  We moved through a short tent of shade next to the AS-P and then the scrubby weeds that are the native flora of Seldem, the kind that can grow up through concrete as long as it‧s not the middle part that cars drive over all the time. The kinds of scratchy weeds that grow about ten inches high, then branch out and blossom forth in stiff, itchy exploded seedpods.

  “Glenna doesn‧t want to be my friend,” I said. “Glenna wants to be your friend. Glenna would be happy if I disappeared from the face of the earth in a puff of smoke.”

  We looked at each other. We both knew it was sort of true, and we smiled a little bit the way you can smile at something that is true when it is said out loud for the first time. It was a relief, in a way, to know that Maureen saw that part of it. For the moment that seemed enough. Going further seemed dangerous, like stepping off a cliff. Because I could also tell that Maureen wasn‧t going to be deciding right then and there to dump Glenna. She didn‧t see why she should.