My Name Is Venus Black(39)
Back in Echo Glen, Little Women was my favorite novel. I must have read it at least three times, drawing hope from the stories of the March sisters, dreaming of the day when I’d get out of Echo and be the same kind of smart and brave as Jo.
And yet one chapter never fails to make me angry. It’s the one where Jo’s younger sister Amy gets mad at Jo for something dumb and so she burns all of Jo’s precious writing. There is no second copy. My fury on behalf of Jo is always so great that when Amy falls through some ice, I almost want Jo to just let her drown. Instead, Jo helps to save her and then goes ahead and totally forgives her before the chapter is even over.
Maybe if I had a sister I’d understand. Maybe if I’d had a mother like Mrs. March, I’d be a kinder, more forgiving person.
One Saturday, after I get off from the Dipper, I take Piper on the bus with me to the library. I have this harebrained idea that if she gets the right books in her hands, she’ll fall in love with them the same way I did at her age. I get her to check out The Boxcar Children and A Wrinkle in Time.
She pretends to read them, sometimes lying on my bed next to me. But after a while I figure out they’re just too advanced for her. She admits she can’t read that well, and I can tell she thinks she’s dumb, which couldn’t be further from the truth. But her aversion to reading means that now she’s constantly begging me to read to her aloud. Something I should be happy to do but often resist.
Inez read plenty of books to me when I was little; I’ll give her that. But once I could read by myself, she stopped. I think I was six when Raymond decided to pick up where she left off. Inez thought it was the sweetest thing. And Raymond acted like it was required, kind of like brushing my teeth before bed. But even at that young age, I didn’t like Raymond sitting on my bed, especially when his words sounded mushy and his breath reeked of beer. Those nights, I picked out the shortest books I could find in my collection. Even if I liked a story, I couldn’t wait for it to be over.
* * *
—
THANKSGIVING IS A quiet affair at the Porter household. Mike has a new friend named Curtis—and the two of them make a traditional meal with turkey and gravy and all the usual fixings. I enjoy their banter and the old-fashioned music they play on a boom box in the kitchen.
I don’t see it coming until Piper refuses the peas. For some reason, the memory of how Leo would arrange his peas on his plate comes smashing down on me. Grief barely ever caught me off guard this way at Echo Glen, perhaps because the place didn’t resemble a home in any way. Now that I’m part of a pseudo family, it seems I’m getting more flashes of the past.
The same thing happened recently when I was helping Piper clean her room. I came across one of those xylophone toys with the bright-colored keys you hit with a stick to make music. Leo was obsessed with that thing one Christmas. He loved it because all the colors were the “right” colors.
Both the peas and the xylophone are happy memories of Leo. What I can’t figure out is why good memories hurt as much as bad ones. Maybe it’s because you’re not on guard against them, so they hit full force, like a slap from a wave.
* * *
—
IT HAD TO happen sooner or later, or at least that’s what I tell myself. I’m in the middle of a shift at the Dipper when I look up from the register and realize I’m peering into a very familiar face.
Shit. Gloria Crocker. She once owned a beauty school back in Everett, and our family used to go there to get our haircuts. I wish it were anyone but Gloria, because Inez might still be going to her salon, and Gloria is exactly the type of person to look up Inez and tell her where I’m working.
She’s obviously as startled to see me as I am to see her. “Well, Venus!” she says, sputtering with surprise. “I knew you were…but I didn’t expect…”
“Out? Yes, I am. How can I help you today?” I quickly note with relief that Julie is out of earshot.
“Um…just a large coffee,” she says. I can see the wheels spinning madly in her coiffed blond head.
“To go or to stay?” I ask matter-of-factly.
“To stay.”
I know she only wants to stay because she’s curious. I turn away to get her coffee and in a single quick motion unclip my ANNETTE name tag and stick it in my apron pocket.
“Cream or sugar?” I ask, setting her cup on the counter.
“No, thank you. Black is fine,” she says with a big false smile.
I tell her the price and watch as she fumbles with her wallet.
When I hand her the change for her five-dollar bill, I say with a deadpan face, “It was so nice to see you, Gloria.” And then I look past her to the next person in line.
For the next ten minutes, I watch her out of the corner of my eye and she watches me.
Eventually she leaves, waving in my direction, which I ignore.
Unfortunately, just after Gloria came in, so did Danny, and Julie waited on him. I’m sorry I missed him. Something about his silly persistence in trying to flirt with me feels like a safe way to practice. Kind of like third grade.
“He left a note,” Julie whispers in my ear, and I whirl around.
“Who?”
“That guy. The cute guy.”
“Danny? You think he’s cute?”