The Reinvention of Bessica Lefter (25 page)

Grandma:
I’m in the hospital.

Me:
(gasp)
Are you dying? Should we come right away?

Grandma:
It’s Willy.

Me:
Wow. That’s too bad that Willy’s dying.

Grandma:
He’s not dying. He got injured. He fell.

Me:
Off of something?

Grandma:
Yes. A small mountain.

Me:
Uh-oh! Did he break his neck?

Grandma:
I don’t think he broke anything. But a tumble like that at our age is a serious thing. Can I call you later, doll?

Me:
I guess.

Hearing about Willy made me feel a little bit guilty. Because for weeks I’d been visualizing him falling off a mountain. Grandma sounded so sad and worried. Maybe it was my low-grade fever or maybe it was my conscience, but that moment I knew that it was wrong to mess with somebody’s E-Date Me Today account. And it was also wrong to mess with the hearts of all of Grandma’s potential boyfriends. So I went downstairs, and pulled the plug on my great idea. I opened up her account.

So many wonderful men wanted to meet for sandwiches. I wished that Grandma could have given them a chance.
And I couldn’t stop myself from checking out the picture of the SS
Funshine
again. It was so beautiful.

I felt awful when I saw that Pilot Mike had written back to Grandma. In fact, I felt so bad that I opened the email in an attempt to make myself feel better. Because maybe Pilot Mike hadn’t even agreed to meet Grandma.

Rhoda, this all sounds wonderful. Give me a call at your convenience and we’ll set it up. (406) 234-0623. Can’t wait to take you waterskiing! Mike

When I read Pilot Mike’s email I almost died. Because I was staring at the biggest coincidence ever. His phone number was exactly the same as my locker combination. Twice! I blinked at it several times. Then I heard myself say, “Holy crud!” It was like I’d found the perfect person for Grandma, but because Grandma had a maniac welder boyfriend who’d fallen off a mountain, now she and perfect Pilot Mike would never meet.

Once, last year, I watched a movie on cable with my mom that was a little bit like this. My mom went through an entire box of tissues, and at the end, in a weepy voice, she called what we’d seen a “terrible romantic tragedy.” I
couldn’t believe Grandma and Pilot Mike were having one of those. But they were. And I couldn’t believe I was responsible for it. But I was.

As hard as it was, I knew what I needed to do.
Click. Click. Click
. It was so sad sending Pilot Mike back into the trash bin. His deleted message was the saddest thing I’d looked at in a long time. I thought of all the fun Grandma and I weren’t going to have aboard the SS
Funshine
. That, too, was a terrible tragedy.
Click. Click. Click
.

really wanted to practice being a mascot in my fur pants, but Mom kept saying that I had to rest. But I didn’t want to rest anymore. I was feeling better. Tryouts were tomorrow. It made sense that I should practice wearing my fur pants.

Even though my mom wouldn’t let me help her, I stood in the yard Sunday afternoon while she cleared it. My dad was going to mow for the final time before fall and the first hard frost.

“You want to make sure that you’re fully recovered,” my mom said, handing me my Frisbee.

“I know,” I said.

When my dad came out to mow the lawn, I was horrified to see that he was wearing shorts.

“Why is he wearing shorts?” I asked. “His skin is pasty white!”

“Shhh,” my mother said. “It’s a hot day. Give him a break.”

I watched his pasty white legs as he walked the yard’s perimeter. He didn’t totally trust my mom and me to clear the lawn one hundred percent, because over the summer he’d hit a few things that we’d overlooked: our thesauruses, a sprinkler head, and two cupcake pans.

“Looks good!” he said. He wiped some sweat off his face. “I might need to change into my tank top.”

I looked in horror at my mother.

“It’s hot, Bessica,” my mother said.

“But we live in civilization,” I said. “That means adults wear clothes. Even while doing yard work!”

I hadn’t realized I was yelling, but I was.

“Don’t yell at your father,” my mother said.

“I wasn’t!” I yelled.

“Bessica, I think you need to go to your room and rest.”

“I think you’re right!” Then I stomped off. Because sitting in my room and recovering was a whole lot better than watching my dad ride around our yard on the lawn mower, showing the world his pasty white legs.

Lying down on top of my bed, I found it hard not to cry. But I wasn’t sure why I felt like crying. Was it because Sylvie had become a fake person and decided to become Malory’s friend and not mine? Was it because Grandma had become a crazy person and abandoned me? Was it because I had lost my chance to board the SS
Funshine?
Was it because middle school was terrible? Was it because I didn’t have any friends yet? Was it because I was worried I wasn’t going to win the mascot contest? Which one was it?

My door squeaked open.

“Hi, sunshine,” my mom said.

But when my mom said the word
sunshine
it made me think of the SS
Funshine
, and that made me feel terrible.

“What are you thinking about?”

And I didn’t lie. “A yacht.”

My mother sat down next to me. “You’re thinking about a yacht, and that’s making you cry?”

I sniffled. “Yeah. I really like water sports.” I sniffled more. “Do you know who else really likes water sports?”

“Who?” my mother asked, rubbing my back.

“Grandma.” My voice broke when I said her name.

“Bessica, she’ll be home in less than three weeks.”

“But she’s going to miss my mascot tryouts and she’ll be coming back with Willy. I’m not an idiot. Things will be
different. They’ll probably rent another stupid Winnebago and go on another stupid trip. There are a lot of caves in the world. I know. I looked on the Internet.”

“Sunshine, you had your grandma all to yourself for a lot of years. You have a bunch of great memories.”

When I heard this I burst into tears. Because I remembered a part in my collaborative diary where I’d written about all the rides I’d ridden on with Grandma at the Eastern Idaho State Fair, which included the Flying Saucer, and I wished I had those pages, just like Sylvie had her ocean pictures.

“Sometimes things happen in life that we don’t want and we have to adapt. Look at poor Betty with her mallet toe and infection. That’s rough. But she’s bouncing back.”

I looked at my mom and studied her face. “Are you comparing my life to mallet-toe Betty’s life? That’s mean.”

“Let’s talk when you feel better,” my mom said.

But I didn’t think I was still sick. I felt like I was fully recovered.

“Can I at least touch my fur pants?” I asked.

My mom carried them over from where they were hanging on the door and placed them at the foot of the bed. “They’re wonderful,” I said. “But how will I keep them from falling down?” Because they didn’t have a zipper. And I’d never worn a pair of pants that didn’t.

“You’ll wear suspenders,” my mom said.

“Cool,” I said. I’d never worn suspenders before. And then I put my head on my pillow and zonked out.

I might have stayed zonked out all night, but I didn’t. Because I heard the sound of a bedroom intruder. I opened my eyes very quickly and yelled, “Get out!” But then I saw my dad standing next to me holding my bear pants.

“These look great,” he said.

“Thanks. You can stay.”

“Blake stopped by to pick up his jump rope.”

I grabbed my heart and made a gasping sound. I needed that jump rope. “Did you tell him to go away?”

“I gave it to him. But don’t worry, sunshine. Your mom went and bought you a new one that’s identical to his.”

I let out a very relieved breath. I thought my dad’s story about Blake should have started with that information.

He sat down next to me. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“Oh,” I said. I hoped it wasn’t related to the mean things I’d yelled about his pasty white legs. Because I felt bad about that.

“It’s about your bear costume. I think you’re missing something.”

When I heard this, I sat up a little. Because I loved my fur pants, but I definitely thought my costume was still missing important bear parts.

“Hind paws,” he said.

Then he held up a pair of my old sneakers. And this bummed me out. Because I didn’t want to wear those ever again. They smelled bad. I was surprised they weren’t in a garbage can somewhere.

“I don’t even want to be in the same room with those things.” I plopped my head down again.

“But look!” he said. Then he showed me a bunch of fur pieces. “They’re scraps from your pants.”

“Ooh!” I said. I thought maybe I could stick with my original idea and glue some fur pieces to my face.

“If we glue them to your shoes, you’ll have terrific hind paws.” My dad lifted my smelly shoes up in the air again.

Even though my shoes smelled, this was such a good idea that I couldn’t object. So my dad went and got several sheets of newspaper and we spread them out on my bedroom floor, and for the next hour my dad and I glued fur pieces to my shoes. He wanted to use all-purpose craft glue, but I insisted that we use superglue. Because I felt that if the word
super
was in the name, it was the best possible choice.

When we were done, my father lifted the shoes up and whistled. “We’ll have to put these in the garage so you don’t inhale glue fumes all night.”

“Good,” I said. While they weren’t as bad as hummus sandwich fumes, I didn’t particularly enjoy inhaling glue fumes either.

Before my dad could leave with my shoes, my cell phone started ringing.

“It’s late,” he said. “Who’s calling you?” But I shrugged, because I didn’t even know who would be calling me. Then I looked at my phone and saw that it was Vicki.

“It’s Vicki Docker!” I said. “She’s in high school.”

My dad stood right there while I took the call.

Vicki:
I’m calling to wish you good luck.

Me:
Oh my heck. Thanks for remembering!

Vicki:
Do you have any final questions?

Me:
I’m not sure.

Vicki:
Make sure you drink plenty of fluids so you don’t overheat.

Me:
Thanks. I’ll be wearing fur pants, so that might happen.

Vicki:
Fur pants? Really? Uh-oh.

Me:
Why are you saying “uh-oh”?

Vicki:
Have you thought about thigh chafe?

Me:
No.

Vicki:
You should think about it. Your fur-textured pants could create intense skin friction. And intense skin friction can cause chafing. And chafing can cause a rash. And a rash can cause weeks of thigh discomfort. And you don’t want that. I speak from experience. Do you own any long underwear?