Falling Up Read online

“You can shop when we go home,” Maya told her mom. “We've had enough.”

  Shannon looked disappointed, but to my surprise and relief she didn't argue. “Okay, let's get lunch. But not here. I want to go someplace nice. Do you know of anything, Kim?”

  “Nice?”

  “You know, something with good food and good service, hopefully something light. You know, California cuisine.”

  Well, I wasn't so sure, but I decided to take them to a restaurant I'd seen that wasn't far from the mall. And while I'm sure it wasn't exactly what Shannon had in mind, I thought it was okay. And fortunately for Maya's sake, they had vegetarian dishes too.

  After we placed our orders, Shannon dominated the conversation. Not that either Maya or I cared since we were both being pretty quiet. But once Shannon started talking about childhood memories, some including my mom, my ears perked up.

  “Everything was so boring when we were growing up,” she said. “Our parents and community were so conservative, so uncreative…so white bread, you know, that I could hardly stand it.” She looked at me. “But Patty didn't seem to mind. She actually fit in pretty well.” Shannon laughed now. “Come to think of it, she chose something like that as an adult too.”

  I frowned. Was Shannon making fun of my mom?

  “But I can see it was different for her,” Shannon said quickly. “I mean, from what I can tell, your parents had a real nice marriage, Kim. Nothing like what we grew up with.”

  “Your parents weren't happily married?” Now this was news to me. Not that Mom had ever said otherwise. Come to think of it, she hadn't said much about her parents.

  Shannon laughed. “The only reason our parents stayed married was because our mom was too insecure to make it on her own. But the way Dad treated her. She just shook her head. “If she hadn't gotten sick, I'm sure she would've left him eventually. Maybe after us kids were grown.”

  “Oh.”

  “He never hit her, well, not that I ever knew of, but he could just cut her down with his words. Nothing she did was ever good enough.” Then using some colorful and rather profane language, she described her father as someone I'm just as glad never to have met.

  “Sounds familiar,” Maya said in that bored-sounding voice.

  “What?” demanded Shannon. “What do you mean?”

  And that's when they got into it—right there in this relatively nice restaurant where, thankfully, I didn't know a single soul. Maya started yelling at her mother, saying how horribly Shannon had treated both Maya and Nick…and that's when I quietly excused myself to the ladies' restroom, where I sought refuge for about ten minutes or so.

  When I emerged from the restroom, it sounded quieter, and I hoped that meant the fireworks were over. But when I returned to the table I could see that they were both smoldering, and it would only be a matter of time before the explosives came out again.

  Fortunately, or not (depending on your perspective) they saved their nastiest arguments for the way home. I tried to tune them out as I drove, reminding myself that I should just focus on driving, but it was hard to ignore everything—the meanness, the bitterness, the knife-sharp jabs going back and forth. And I remembered what Maya had said back at the mall about Shannon being “high.” And I wondered if that might really be true. And if so, perhaps it had something to do with all their problems.

  Because while Maya wasn't completely innocent, it did seem like Shannon was doing a pretty poor job of mothering. And maybe if she handled things differently, well, perhaps it would be better for Maya. But then who can know for sure? Besides God, that is.

  And so as I drove, I just silently prayed for both of them. But mostly for Maya. I think I was starting to feel sorry for her.

  After we got home, Shannon announced that she was going to cook dinner tonight. I tried to tell her that wasn't really necessary, since people from both churches (mine and my parents) had been dropping off food all week. Our refrigerator was already packed. But Shannon insisted.

  “You guys need some good healthy food. All these fat-laden casseroles are going to clog your arteries and kill you.”

  I didn't mention that I had hardly been eating anything anyway. Or that my dad seems to have lost his appetite as well. Besides, I figured it would keep Shannon busy for a couple of hours or so. And when she asked to borrow Moms car to go to the store, I couldn't really think of any reason to say no. I just hoped she wouldn't get into a wreck.

  The house was a lot quieter with Shannon gone. Maya was reading a magazine she'd picked up at the mall. It looked like some kind of environmentalist political kind ofthing. Not exactly my cup of tea.

  Not that I don't care about the environment. I do. But not in the impassioned way Maya does. And certainly not at the moment when its all I can do to keep from falling apart. But the whole “save the earth” thing is one of Maya's hot buttons, and one that Shannon likes to push when she needs to get a rise out of her daughter.

  So while things were relatively calm, I went to my room to practice violin, and work on some homework as well as my column. But it was strange as I played violin; it's like I could feel someone listening to me. I paused for a moment and checked to see if perhaps Maya was standing outside my door, but no one was there. Then I played some more and still had that feeling. Suddenly I wondered if it could be my mom. So I played for about an hour until my fingers, which were a little out of shape, began to get sore. And now I'm thinking maybe she can hear me. As a result, I think I'll be practicing more regularly again.

  After my homework (which Nat dropped by yesterday) was finished, I decided to tackle a real letter in my column. Dad told me that I could take a hiatus (that's like a break), but I was worried that if Just Ask Jamie's column stopped at exactly the same time my mom died…well, someone might begin to suspect. And as lame as it sounds to be writing an anonymous teen advice column, I've gotten rather used to it and find a weird kind of comfort in doing it. Besides, the extra money's not bad either. It figured that the first one I'd pull out had to do with moms and daughters. Oh, well.

  Dear Jamie,

  I am a reasonably responsible sixteen-year-old. I have a driver's license, a part-time job, and my own car that I bought myself. I also pay my own insurance and get decent grades. I don't drink or do drugs. Even so, my mom doesn't trust me, and she treats me like an eight-year-old. She's always checking up on me, she doesn't let me go out on weeknights, and she gives me a really early curfew on weekends. She doesn't like my friends and says they're a bad influence, which is totally not true. I'd go live with my dad, except that it's too far away, and I like my school. I'm seriously considering trying to get my own place. What should I do?

  Desperate Daughter

  Dear Desperate,

  Based on what you've told me, it does sound like your mom is being a little overprotective. Of course, that's probably just because she loves you. Still, I think she'd be smart to lighten up. It's too bad she can't see what a great daughter she's raised. Instead of being on your case, she should be proud of you. Why don't you show her my response and see what she has to say about it. And tell her that I congratulate her for having such a fine daughter. Good luck!

  Just Jamie

  Okay, I was tempted to add something like, “and you should be thankful you have a mother who's still alive and who still cares about you,” but that might make someone guess about Jamie's true identity. I have to be careful.

  Anyway, after finishing up a couple more letters for the column, I decided to see how Shannons dinner was going, maybe even offer to help. But when I saw Mom's kitchen looking as if a pipe bomb had just gone off, it was all I could do to slip away without totally losing it. My mom's neat and orderly kitchen was blown apart, completely wrecked in just one afternoon! And to think I was worried about her car!

  Three

  Sunday, May 5

  I went to youth group last night. I even invited Maya to go with me, but she just made fun of the idea. And in all fairness, I would've done the same thing at h
er age. In fact, I'm sure I did just less than a year ago…back when Natalie was always trying to get me to go to hers. She's not doing that anymore. The sad truth is, she's not even going at all. Okay, I know she's still bummed about Ben, but she needs to move on. Last week, she told me that she's agreed to go see the counselor, but I'm not convinced she's sincere. My guess is that she's just trying to put on a good act for me, since Mom died. Like she thinks it will make things better for me if she's getting help. Come to think of it, it wouldn't hurt. But I have my doubts that she'll follow through. So far she hasn't.

  And I can tell she's still depressed. Oh, she tries to act as if she's not, especially when she's trying to “encourage” me. But I can see right through her. And instead of feeling better after her little “pep talks,” I feel more depressed than before. But I can't tell her this. I mean, at least she's trying, right?

  I guess I'm just feeling pretty bummed tonight. And going to youth group did not bolster my spirits one bit. Maybe it's just me. Or maybe things are changing. I'm not sure. But for starters, Josh had someone else give the message tonight, and it was pretty lame, or at least I thought so. And Cesar wasn't there, so I didn't even have someone to review it with afterward. Usually Cesar and I see eye to eye on most things, and when we don't, it can be a pretty interesting discussion. Anyway, the whole evening was pretty much a letdown.

  Oh, I don't know what I really expected, but sometimes it's so cool to be there, and I feel so much at home. And I guess I thought, well, especially after losing Mom…that I'd get some kind of encouragement.

  As a result I probably seemed a little moodier than usual when I got home. I walked right past where Shannon and Maya were sitting in front of the TV without even saying “hey” and headed straight to the kitchen. And of course, Maya jumped right onto this.

  “So your little youth group didn't cheer you up tonight?” she said when she found me standing in front of the window of the dark kitchen, a can of unopened soda in my hand.

  Without turning, I told her that it wasn't their job to cheer me up.

  “Then why do you go?” She pulled up a chair, as if I'd invited her to join me.

  Okay, normally on a good day, I might see this as an opportunity to share my faith, but this wasn't exactly a good day. To be honest, I had no desire to have a conversation with this girl. So I said nothing.

  “Oh, I get it,” she said. “You go because it's the right thing to do. I know people like that. They do all kinds of crud they don't enjoy, but it's the RIGHT thing to do. So without questioning and acting like preprogrammed robots, off they go just so they—”

  “That's not how it is.” I turned to look at her. Okay, I wish I'd taken just a split second to pray—to ask God to help me say something helpful or enlightening or even kind. But I did not.

  “How is it then?”

  “I go because I want to go.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I get that too. Some people get this weird kind of pleasure when they do things they don't enjoy. Is it like that for you?”

  “No.” The impatience in my voice must've been obvious. “It's not.”

  “So what then?”

  I shook my head. “I guess it's a personal thing, Maya. Maybe someday when you're older you'll understand.” Then I took my soda and went up to my room. And naturally, once I was up there I felt bad. So ungracious. So unkind. So unlike my mother. I think I am a total failure.

  Wednesday, May 8

  It was a relief to return to school this week. A kind of mind-numbing relief of being in my element, my comfort zone, where I could go through the paces and perform with perfection without hardly even trying. The only times I got uncomfortable were when someone offered me sympathy for losing my mom. I could've done without that. Still, after the first day, I managed to come up with some pat responses that made these moments pass more smoothly.

  “Kim,” someone would say, “I'm so sorry to hear about your mom. Are you doing okay?”

  To which I'd respond. “Yes, I'm sorry too. I appreciate your concern. Thanks.” And somehow that just stopped it all right there. No more explaining or hugging or tears. A relief to me, because I just don't think I can take much more.

  And going to school provided a nice escape from my relatives too. At least during the day. After that, I get pushed to my limits every night. Shannon really believes that she can cook now. But just like before, she makes these big horrible messes and shanky food that no one, even someone starving, would want to eat. And I end up cleaning it all up.

  Last night, as I was scrubbing down the stove Shannon had turned into a grease pit, enjoying a bit of solitude since no one besides Dad (and I always tell him no) offers to help me, I felt somewhat reassured that at least it would be the last time for this kind of KP. Shannon and Maya would be leaving the next morning. So I was in a little bit better spirits.

  It even occurred to me that I'd probably found a tiny bit of solace while working so hard to put Mom's kitchen back in order every night. In a way, it was like a small connection to her. Almost like when I'm practicing violin. So I suppose I should've been thankful for Shannon's “cooking efforts.”

  Just as I was finishing up, Maya made an appearance. “Need any help?”

  I kind of laughed. “Good timing. I'm just about done.”

  “Oh.” Now she actually looked slightly disappointed. Sorry.

  “Here.” I handed her a sponge. “You can wipe down the microwave if you want.”

  So she did it. I finished up the sink, and then we really were done. “Thanks,” I told her.

  “Yeah, right. Big deal.”

  I wasn't sure how to respond. “So…are you guys all ready to go? Dad said you have an early flight in the morning.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. I'm ready, but then I travel light. Don't know about Mom. She just went up to start packing. I'm guessing she'll be up past midnight, but knowing her, she might stay up all night anyway. Hope she hasn't disturbed you guys, although I'm sure you've noticed by now she's kind of a night owl.”

  I nodded without mentioning that Shannon has, in fact, woken me several times, or how Dad and I would both be relieved to see our guests leaving tomorrow. No need to be rude. “It does make me curious though.

  “About what?”

  “Well, I know you're homeschooled, but if Shannon stays up all night and it seems like she sleeps a lot during the day, how do you do homeschool?”

  Maya just laughed. “Oh, I have my books and my computer and the assignments I get online. And if I'm in the mood, I sometimes get them done.”

  “But what if you're not? In the mood I mean?”

  “Then I get behind.”

  “So, are you? Behind?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Does Shannon know?”

  Maya shrugged. “She doesn't pay much attention.”

  “Maya?” I began, knowing that I was getting onto shaky ground. “Is it true what you said about her, that time you said she was high? Was she really on something?”

  She smirked then said, “Well, yeah,” like she was stating the obvious.

  “Does she take a prescription? Like antidepressants?”

  “Not exactly a prescription,” she said, “But something like that. It's her own little formula. Some are from various doctors. Some are from the street. Whatever it takes to keep Shannon going, Shannon will take.”

  “So is she like an addict?”

  Maya threw back her head and laughed.

  “I take that as a yes.”

  Sobering, Maya nodded. “Yeah, Shannon's an addict.”

  “Has she ever gotten help?”

  “Help?” Maya looked slightly puzzled. “You mean like rehab or counseling?”

  “Yeah, some form of addiction therapy.”

  “Well, according to the research I did a while ago, back when I was young enough to think things could change, I heard that an addict can't be helped until she admits she has a problem.”

  �
�And your mom hasn't done that?”

  Maya firmly shook her head. “No way. Shannon thinks that Shannon is perfectly fine. It's the rest of the world that's messed up.”

  I sighed and actually put my hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry, Maya.”

  And to my surprise this simple gesture seemed to touch her, and she even got tears in her eyes, but she didn't say anything.

  “If there's ever anything we can do,” I continued, not even knowing why, “please, let us know. I mean, we are your family after all.”

  And so we agreed to stay in contact via e-mail. And then I even hugged her. “You are my only cousin,” I told her with actual tears in my eyes. “And while we may not be related by blood or genetics, we are related by mothers, and I know my mother would want to help you—if it's at all possible.

  And now that they're gone—Dad said he took them to the airport in plenty of time for their early flight—I am even more certain of this. If Mom were here, she would do whatever it took to help Maya. And of course, she'd want to help Shannon too. That's just how she was.

  Not that it would be easy to help Shannon, since I've heard the same thing about addicts that Maya heard. I do think it's true that they have to want help, and they usually don't. But I told Maya I'd be praying for Shannon to wake up and figure things out.

  Of course, I didn't tell Maya that I'd be praying for her too. That might've overwhelmed her and been enough to intimidate her and keep her from e-mailing me. And for some reason, I think this communication link may be important.

  So as much as I've blown it with Shannon and Maya this past week, this is one thing I might've done right— reaching out to Maya. And I think maybe Mom would be happy with it. Of course, I'm sure she'd be sad to find out that her little sister is a drug addict. Or maybe she'd had suspicions all along. Anyway, she must know these things by now. It's not like there are secrets in heaven, are there?

  It's probably because ofthat conversation with Maya that I decided to answer a couple of letters about addiction tonight. And I'm thinking that when the paper comes out, I'll forward them to Maya, pretending like, “hey, look at this.” And who knows? It might help.