“What do you think of that voice?”
“I said I don't wanna talk about her. But Allen looked good, didn't he? Lost some weight, huh?”
“Yeah. Adam said he thinks Aunt Marie and Uncle Allen hate each other.”
“That's not true. Did you tell him that's not true?”
“I didn't tell him anything. I don't know how they feel about each other, Mom!”
“Well, don't get in those kinds of conversations with kids if you can't handle it. You needed to reassure him that his parents don't hate each other, and that they love him and his sister a whole lot.”
Ugh! You're turning from Fun Mom to Real Mom.
“What are you two still doing in the kitchen?”
It was Ava, coming in to mix one of her protein shakes.
Why do I get chewed out for my eating habits, and Ava doesn't?
“What kind is that, Ava?” Mom asked, blinking her eyes the way her sister did a couple of hours before.
“Wheat germ and honey, Mom.”
Gross!
“That doesn't sound so tasty, sweetheart. Did you have some pie?”
“No, thank you.”
As she poured the gook into the blender, I was sure I was going to puke up my pie any second. She finally sat down with her mud concoction.
“How are things going, Ava?” Mom asked.
I was quiet. Sometimes I felt that my sister was a stranger.
“Things are going good, Mom. We have a new minister at the church, and he wants to start an outreach effort, so we're working to get that off the ground.”
“Oh, that sounds productive. Will you guys be going door to door, ministering to people?”
“No, not that kind of effort, Mom. We're reaching out to employees of capitalist companies that support and practice research efforts that are contrary to human morality.”
Is she insane?
Mom's left eyebrow rose, which made me glad. Ava was over the top, and somebody needed to say something to her.
Ask her about the minister, Mom. Ask her about the church.
Does she have to give blood samples to be a member? Do they all
wear black Nikes?
“Ava,” Mom asked, “will you be going to these people's workplaces?”
“We sure will.” She smiled in an almost sinister way.
“Isn't that a bit radical?”
Mom must be starting with the easy questions. I'll just keep
quiet and let her flow.
“We
have
to be radical, Mom, to awaken the sleeping spirits of those people who work for those awful corporations. Most of them have no idea what's going on, or what kind of company they work for.”
I was about to say something, but Mom put her hand on mine, so I closed my mouth.
“Ava, you're supposed to be spreading God's word, aren't you? Why would you go to a business and talk to people about the company they work for? That has nothing to do with saving souls or leading people to God.”
“It has
everything
to do with leading people to God, Mom.
By exposing the cruel intentions and practices of those demon corporations, we're opening the eyes of their employees to see what kind of evil they work for.”
Mom put her hand up to stop Ava from talking.
This is getting scary.
“Ava, you are not allowed to go to anybody's job and inform them about anything their employers are doing. If your church wants to do community outreach in the traditional way, that's fine. I have allowed you the freedom to express yourself, and you can protest everything under the sun. But I don't see you spreading the word of God, or even practicing the forgiveness and tolerance the Bible advocates. You are
forbidden
from participating in this outreach effort. Do you hear me, girl?”
“I
will
participate in this effort, Mother. I'm sorry if you don't agree.”
“
What
did you say?”
Slap her, Mom! Slap her!
“I said, I
am
participating.”
“Mom said you can't,” I said. “Are you going to be disobedient? Doesn't the Bible speak about obeying your parents?”
“Anaya, your nefarious attempt to make me a villain with your dogmatic views of my Christian conduct is nothing but a trick of the enemy, and I recognize it. Good night.”
Did she call me a dog?
I looked around to make sure she wouldn't hit her head on anything when Mom slapped the crap out of her. But my effort was in vain, because the longer I sat there, the more I realized there wasn't going to be any slapping going on. Mom was changing. Ava kissed Mom on the cheek and walked out of the room.
“Good night, Mom,” I said, leaving the room shortly after Ava.
She's letting Ava turn into a fanatic.
M
y workload at the faculty office was especially heavy because the application deadline for the master's programs was approaching. I don't know why the school chose a deadline so close to finals, because it caused twice as much work as normal. Despite the constant interruptions from the new office assistant, I managed to get through the day, albeit tired and grumpy.
Earlier that morning, Professor Alexander sent me an e-mail inviting me to lunch. I was surprised, but I accepted. Turning down the boss for lunch didn't exactly seem like a good idea, and even a short time away from work was appealing.
When lunchtime rolled around, he came out of his office, and we walked over to a tiny café near campus.
“Thanks for accepting my invitation,” he said as we walked.
“Oh, thank
you
. But if you plan to fire me, you could have done that by e-mail,” I said jokingly.
He laughed.
“I do not plan on firing you. You don't have to worry about that. You are one of the best workers our office has had since I've been here.”
“You think so?” I asked as we went through the last crosswalk.
“Really,” he confirmed. I relished the well-deserved compliment. I worked my butt off in that office.
When we got to the café, we sat in a booth near the window. I ordered a Caesar salad, and he ordered a hamburger.
“Have you ever been here?” he asked.
“No, I normally bring my lunch. I'm a starving student, you know,” I said with a grin.
“Ah, a starving student with a sense of humor,” he replied.
The conversation was seamless. We talked about the office, our goals, law school, and family. For the briefest time, I almost forgot he was my boss.
“Can I ask you a question?” he said.
My mouth was full of chicken and lettuce, so I nodded my head.
“How do you like working in the department?”
“Honestly?”
“Preferably, yes,” he said.
I chewed fast and swallowed a huge bite of chicken. “I like it enough. The pay's decent but the work isn't all that interesting.”
“Have you ever thought about working off campus?”
“No,” I replied, wondering where this talk was leading.
“Why not?” he pressed.
“I like the flexibility, I guess. I can schedule work around my classes and not the other way around. I like that.”
“What if you found a job with all the flexibility you needed, which paid you more than you make now, plus medical benefits?”
“Well, I would take that job into serious consideration,” I said, narrowing my eyes. I chuckled, and he laughed a little, too.
There was a brief lull in the conversation, and I quietly concentrated on my salad. I opened my mouth to say something but thought better of it and continued eating.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“You really wanna know?” I countered.
“I asked, didn't I?”
I blurted out, “Why did you ask me to lunch?”
“Because you looked hungry,” he laughed. “And by the way you are chomping down that salad, it seems as if I was right.”
I giggled.
“Actually,” he said, “I'm looking for a case clerk for my firm, and I think you'd be a good fit. You're a hard worker and I like that.”
Huh?
“So, what do you say, Anaya?”
“Um, I don't know,” I stammered, taken aback by his suggestion, which seemed out of the blue. I knew nothing about law and felt ill-equipped to be anybody's case clerk.
“If you need some time,” he offered, “you can get back to me when you've thought it over.”
I said tentatively, “It sounds good, Professor, but I've never worked in a law office.”
“You have clerical experience, and you're organized. You'll pick everything up fast.”
“I don't know,” I said slowly.
“Just think about it, okay?” he pursued.
“Don't I need to apply and interview, or something?” I asked suspiciously.
“So this is your interview,” he obliged. “Tell me about yourself.”
“Well,” I said lamely, “I like volleyball, clothes, and peanut M&Ms.”
“Great!” he exclaimed facetiously. “You're hired.”
We finished our lunch and headed back to campus.
“Thanks again for your time,” he said as we approached our building. “I'll be in deposition all week,” he explained, “so I'll only be on campus for my lectures. I do have a couple of assignments for you,” he winked. “I'll e-mail you the instructions. I won't see you again until the Wednesday after next, unless you'll consider having lunch with me again on Friday.”
“Can I get back to you?” I asked, wanting time to think more about his job offer.
He laughed, but I was serious.
“You're funny. Okay, you get back to me with your schedule.”
“I'll send you an e-mail.”
“You know what?” he said. “Why don't you take my cell number and just give me a call?”
The rest of the day went fast. Our wonderfully incompetent assistant had to leave early, so, ironically, I was able to get more done. I felt good about what I had accomplished that day and headed home.
When I got home, I saw Roscoe sitting in the den with the TV blasting, and I noticed that Ava had company in the dining room. I wasn't accustomed to Ava having company. It was a pleasant surprise . . . sort of.
“Hi, everybody,” I said to Ava and her two friends.
Ava smiled at me from the head of the table.
“Hi, Ny. This is Camel and Noah from the church. Guys, this is my sister, Anaya.”
What kind of name is “Camel”?
“I see beauty runs in the family,” Camel said.
“Thank you,” I said, unaccustomed to being flattered. Ava smiled.
“What are you guys up to?” I asked.
“Just discussing one of the greatest gifts that God gave us,” Noah said.
“Oh. Life?” I ventured.
“The Earth,” Ava said dramatically.
Right.
“Nice meeting you guys,” I said, trying to make a fast exit.
I walked into the den where Roscoe was sitting. I hadn't seen him take a drink, but I knew he'd been drinking. We'd been dealing with his alcoholism for as long as my memory allowed me to go. I have so many memories of ruined family outings and cleaning up puke. The history of his alcoholism ran deep. He almost lost his job a couple of times, and once he had to take a long leave of absence without pay. Mom had covered all the bills during that time, and I remember her being worried about losing the house.
“Hey, Ny-Ny!” he yelled out to me as I walked in.
His face was shiny, and his eyes were red. I had mixed feelings about him. Sometimes I felt sorry for him. Other times I was angry. I simply stopped wanting to be close to him because of all the pain he caused the family. There comes a time in your life with an alcoholic when you feel like enough is enough, and you don't want to keep giving to someone who isn't giving back.
“Hey,” I replied.
“How you doing in school?” he asked cheerfully. He had on a black t-shirt and black jeans. He put his legs up on the ottoman and wiggled his bare toes.
Gross!
“School's fine.” My head was feeling light.
“That's great. You always were good in school. I remember that when you were in kindergarten, they wanted to advance you to first grade. Your mama wasn't having it, though. She said she didn't wanna put that kind of pressure on you. Your mama always wanted what was best for you, Ny. I always felt there was somethin' special about you.”
“Right,” I said, as I quickly went up to my room.
I needed some time to myself, because I had agreed to go out to dinner with Carl. I knew that Carl was a nice guy and, to be honest, my love life needed a boost. I started getting ready for my date. I totally enjoy the process of getting dolled up, no matter where I'm going. I was excited about hanging out with a guy who thought I was cute. That's what youth is about, right?
I agreed to let Carl pick me up, but told him I'd meet him at his car.
When we got to the restaurant, I was in a better mood than I'd been in for a while. Carl was the perfect gentleman. He opened doors, let me order first, and complimented my outfit.
While we examined the menus, Carl turned on the charm.
“So,” he grinned, “I'm happy you finally decided to go out with me.”
“I'm glad, too,” I said. “This place has a good wine list.”
“I didn't think I was your type,” he teased, his eyes flashing.
“Oh?” I countered. “And how would you know what my type is?”
“I don't know,” he said, shaking his head. “I'm a little more . . . you know . . .”
“No, I don't know,” I pressed, curious. “You are a little more what?”
“Never mind,” he said, turning his face to scour the Mediterranean menu. “So how do you like living with your parents?” he inquired, changing the subject.
“It's okay sometimes. Lately I've been wanting to move. When I graduate, I'm going to get a place, I think.” I hadn't really thought that plan out, but it sounded good.