Chapter 6

Monday, May 28, 1979

I wake up after a back-breaking night. Apparently, Mama has talked to Aunt Eva about whatever was bothering her, so we are leaving after lunch today. Good thing — I don’t know how much more I can take of her.

We get in the car, and Aunt Eva comes out with us. Putting her hands on her hips, she has one last thing to say to Mama: “Don’t forget what I told you: just stop!”

“Thank you, Eva!” Mama says. “Riley, tell your aunt, ‘thank you.’”

“Thank you, Aunt Eva,” I say with little enthusiasm.

Through the windshield, I see her standing there, staring at us as we back out of the driveway.

We drive down Main Street. It’s Memorial Day, and all of the light poles and storefronts are decked out with American flags. The town looks dead. No stores are open. No one is walking on the sidewalks. No cars are moving. In fact, there’s no one in sight. It’s like a ghost town. We hit the highway, and Mama switches on the radio. She starts humming to the song playing. It’s like a switch has been flipped.

“Are you feeling better now?” I ask her.

“Yes, I am,” she says. “Why do you ask?

“Oh, you weren’t quite yourself before …”

“Hmm, well, there was something I needed to talk to her about. She helped set me straight.”

I laugh at that.

“You’d better be ‘straight,’” I say, “or else she’ll line you up against a wall.”

“Shush, you!” she says, slapping my arm.

“Why is she so mean?” I ask.

“She’s not mean! She just … has her opinions.”

“You and Aunt Eva are so different from each other.”

“How so?”

“Well, she’s so serious. She doesn’t have a sense of humor ... And she has all those rules I had to follow. Why is she like that?”

“Hmm. Our mother liked rules, too. I guess Eva is more like our mother, and I am more like our father. Your Nana hated the antiques and junk that your Papa brought home. When I was growing up, our house was nearly as spotless as Eva’s is.”

“Wow. Is that why his antique store was down in the basement?”

“Well, his last one was there. Before that, he had a store on Bristol Street. And I don’t think Mother ever went to it. He only had the one in his basement after she died.”

“How old were you when she died?”

“I was 10.”

“Wow, that’s how old I was when Papa died.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I miss him.”

“So do I, sweetie. So do I.”

We travel in silence for a few miles. I keep thinking about what they talked about. 

“What was that last thing she said to you?” I ask. “What are you supposed to not forget?”

“Mmm, she thinks I should stop doing something that she thinks isn’t good for me.”

“That’s … vague.”

“I need to talk to your dad about it. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

“Hmm, okay.”

“Say, tomorrow, why don’t we go downtown and do some shopping?”

“Nooo,” I whine. “I wanna do something with ... my friends.”

“Your friends can wait,” she says.

I scrunch down in the seat and sulk the rest of the way home.

*  *  *

We get home late in the day. Too late to go for a run or a bike ride, too late to do anything. I go outside, sit on a patio chair, and stare up at the stars. I trace constellations with my finger: the Big Dipper … the Little Dipper … Sagittarius … Scorpius …

Sigh. Summer is off to a bad start. I was physically bullied on the last day of school and verbally bullied by someone in my own family. Now I’m wondering if I am “macho” enough for a girl to like me. What does Paige think? Am I macho enough for her? Is Kendall going to spend less time with me because I’m not macho — because I’m not a jock? 

In the privacy of my patio, I take my clothes off. The thing about being nude is that it has always made me “love the skin I’m in.” I did learn “body positivity” from Papa. Being smaller than everyone else has been hard. But when I’m by myself, just me and my body, there’s no one to compare myself to. I feel comfortable and relaxed. Lately, though, I’m not so sure. I look down at my torso, my tummy, my groin, my legs. I’m thin. I’m short. No bulging biceps, no abs, no muscles anywhere. Paige will never like a guy like me, that’s for sure. I shake my head and repeat my mantra: “Body positivity, body positivity.”

I need to stop thinking these things. I take deep breaths. My heartbeat slows. I calm down. I begin to feel at ease. One bit of stress lingers, though. Aunt Eva’s comments still stab at me. She thinks I’m too “artistic.” She thinks I’m a homo. She thinks I’m gay. She thinks I need to be macho. I start singing to myself: “Macho, macho man … I gotta be a macho man … Macho, macho man …” 

That makes me laugh. I stand up and start moving to the music going through my head. 

“Body, want to feel my body …” 

I thrust my hips, swing my arms in front of me, and point my fingers to the sky. 

“Body, such a thrill, my body …” 

I rotate my fists around each other. I jog in place. I twist and turn my body. I jump up and down. I spin and twirl. I even do a cartwheel. How’s that for being macho, Aunt Eva? 

A streak of light flashes across the sky. Wow, it was a falling star! It was probably just a space rock, a meteor. Maybe it was an asteroid! Hey, maybe it was a piece of Skylab! Nah, it wasn’t that. The space station will cause a big fiery ball of flame. That will be a cool thing to see. Whatever it is, I recite:

Star light, star bright,

First star I see tonight.

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have the wish I wish tonight.

I think about it for a minute. I think about Paige. I think about Kendall. I think about Peter Pan. I think about Miss Palomar’s last words to us.

“I wish for something extraordinary to happen this summer.”