Mom tells me that Jane is going to help out with the party. Besides being able to see my sister for the first time in a long time, I am excited because I know without a doubt now that my party will have the absolute best food of any of them—and by far. Besides finishing her degree at LSU, Jane has been working in the catering business (“catering,” not spelled with a “k” as I spelled it in my loss in the parish spelling bee a few years back). She even katered, catered, her own wedding.
That was some funny times. I remember being singularly concerned about the notion of dancing for the first time, specifically at the wedding reception. Duncan likes to dance, and so of course I wanted to copy him. I remember being worried about that like I’m worried about kissing now. I remember being in the girls’ bedroom practicing slow dancing with a pillow while Duncan stared longingly out the window. We were so dramatic. Jane was cooking Mexican for the family that night, came sneak a peek at what we were doing, and proceeded to make fun of us to Mom and Dad. Of course it was in a loving, jolly way because that’s just who Jane is. Still, it was embarrassing then and is still embarrassing.
“Ten going on sixteeeeen.”
I still cringe at how unbelievably stupid I was a few years back when Jane and Brad her husband bought me a model kit of the truck part of an eighteen-wheeler. It was wrapped, of course, and I could tell it was the size and shape of a model kit. So in my idiotic way, I told them, before I even opened it, that I didn’t like models anymore. Maybe I felt this way because I could never finish one without breaking something and because one of my friends sided with Duncan and made fun of me for breaking a part on a black Camaro I was working on. It doesn’t matter why I felt that way. Why I felt it necessary or even in the least way polite to tell Jane this, perfectly well knowing that it was exactly that—a model—I don’t know.
So when present opening time came and I laid eyes on the model kit, of course I was horrified with what I had said earlier. My brilliant plan to play it off was to explain to Jane that it was model cars I’d been talking about not liking. Not eighteen-wheelers.
“I’ve never had one of these before!” I said. It’s weird. I really was excited to get it, despite what I’d said. But I knew there was no way to take what I’d said back either. I still cringe at how it probably made Jane feel.
I’d tell Duncan what happened later and he called me a [explicit] idiot.
I pour too much ketchup onto my plate and I don’t think before I say certain things. Both things Duncan and my father agree on.
But then again sometimes I get it right like when I kept my mouth shut about the second Goofy puzzle with Muh-Maw.
Me and Jane have lost touch since she got married, especially now that she’s pregnant. It’s hard to believe that she will be having a baby and that I will be Uncle Andre for the first time. It makes me feel less young, less babyish, as if there is finally someone below me in some way. Me and Jane talk on the phone every now and then, but she has her life and I have mine. It’s nothing like what I have with Duncan, Heloise, and Frank. In different ways, I am still very close to all of them, which is nice. But I’ll always be their little brother, emphasis on little, and Jane having this baby has made me see myself in a little bit different light.
I’ve been thinking about my party way too much, especially to know whether or not She is coming, and I don’t want that. I don’t like that I seem to have so little control of my thoughts at times. I mean, it’s actually my birthday today and the party isn’t until Saturday.
My latest thought addiction is that if Holly Gale is going to kiss me, of all places it has to be at my birthday party. But I also don’t want to get caught by my dad and have to have him catch any of my other friends mouthing down. So while I’m wanting to stay clean and fresh for a smooch behind the garage, I’m also wanting to sweat freely and without fear playing basketball, which nobody else has had at their party. I envision this distinction as impressing Holly Gale and inspiring her to want to kiss me.
I can’t have both, though, the sweat and the smooch, so it baffles me as to why I am entertaining the two in different daydreams.
But there’s another “but” at the same time. (Always another but but but with me). I agree with Benny in that I don’t even want it to happen right now. I would rather wait until we’re older and it can actually mean something beyond closet kissing. So maybe that’s where the plan for the basketball comes in—focusing on that and sweating so much will keep her away from wanting to kiss me, which is what Harry was saying the other day in the first place.
I am not even considering the fact that she has already partaken in the gag-sign from hell, thereby ending any hope I have with her in the first place, sweat or no sweat.
It is mind-boggling sometimes, how my head is.
If my friends don’t like the basketball idea, maybe we can set up a tennis net like me, Duncan, and my cousin did that one time. I picture taking the gold this time and having them all say wow you’re good in tennis tooooooo? Then I picture her wanting to kiss me for that, and I find myself right back in the beginning, dreaming something I’ve already decided I want to wait for anyway.
The first words out of Pop’s mouth today are “big teenager,” and Mom comes down the hall saying, “Where’s the new teenager?” They are making a bigger deal about this teenager aspect of it than I am. All I’m concerned about is Holly Gale coming to the party and whether or not I will be 99 years old before Duncan quits the Chrissy Dunne threats.
And also kissing someone for the first time since it seems all true teenagers should have done that by now.
I ask Mom and Pop if I can just go to Mass with Duncan at 10:30 and they say that’s fine. It’s my birthday, after all, and if I don’t want to go to Mass with them then they’ll just go without me this time. It’s all a joke and we laugh, but what I’m really thinking is freedom and not having allergies (maybe). I tell Duncan that Vernon Maxwell scored 30 points in a quarter for the Rockets last night and ask him if he thinks he’ll ever do something like that. He says, “No, but you will.” Hearing that even though it’ll never be true is as good as any birthday present, as good as a Gatti’s buffet.
I don’t end up having to make Duncan that sandwich (and fries) after all, even though it hangs over my head all morning and even into Mass. To distract myself, which I know is bad because I should be focusing on God in the first place, not trying to distract myself from my distractions, I calculate days in November and December and January and add the numbers up from November 10 to today and it comes out to 78 days. It’s been 78 days since that night, that 42-40 night.
78. Year of my birth. 7-8. July 8. I smile for reasons no one would understand.
Me and Duncan watch the Lakers-Celtics game on NBC, which has just started televising games. The Lakers win 104-87 at Boston, leaving both teams at 30-11. It is nice, watching this game between these two teams just like we used to do as a family, even though Bird is out with a back injury that’s likely going to make him retire. Neither Bird nor Magic are going to be around very much longer, and it’s kind of sad. I am finding myself respecting Bird a whole lot more than I used to. I’m also finding my loyalties moving more and more to Jordan and the Bulls.
Duncan goes back to Thibodaux Sunday night. Unless he tells them on the phone, it is another weekend I have escaped him telling Mom and Pop about Chrissy Dunne. I figure that’s somewhere around eight consecutive years of weekend escapes. The thought crosses my mind that Duncan is never going to tell them. The thought crosses my mind again that even if he does, they’re not going to care. I’m 13 years old now.
Monday comes and goes. The party is a pretty hot topic of conversation. I feel very popular, as Barb and Del like to say. Me and Holly Gale don’t talk at all. When I do ask her if she’s coming to the party, she just shrugs her shoulders. Cold. Distant. I leave it alone and burn even more with anxiety.
At the same time, though, it feels really good to be talked about so much. I get a lot of “happy belated birthdays” and excitement for this Saturday’s party. Part of me even feels cooler than Holly Gale because she is not partaking in this anticipation. It’s a strange feeling I’ve never felt before. She is one of the most popular people in the class, and I don’t see myself that way, yet I feel bigger than her today. I like the feeling, but I also don’t like the feeling because I can tell immediately that it is puffed up with that pride Monsignor and Ms. Jones talk about quite a bit.
Tuesday. Again, we don’t really talk. I think about asking her again if she’s coming, but I’m glad I don’t because I recognize that that would be aggravating her. I remember how cold she was yesterday. So I say that the Bulls have not lost since I gave her the latest update and that they’ve beaten the Pistons twice in that time. She nods her head, and I count this as a minor victory.
Wednesday. We make eye contact once in reading, twice in math, and once during lunch recess. I talk to friends about the party around her, raising the volume of my voice just a bit. She doesn’t take the bait. I’ve never been much of a fisherman.
Thursday. She’s sick and not at school. I’ll ask her either tomorrow at school or at the game I’m not at all going to or call her tomorrow night with a phone and fingers I will never have the final courage to use.
Friday. She is sick again and not at school. Gone.
This is going to be a long couple of days. If she doesn’t come to this party…
Man.
