The Silver Linings Playbook(62)
Next, we give Dad his present, which is from both Mom and me. He tears off the wrapping paper and holds up an authentic Eagles jersey, not one with iron-on decals. “Why doesn’t it have any numbers or a name on it?” he asks.
“Since McNabb went down, we thought you’d want to pick a new favorite player,” Mom says. “So when you do, we’ll have the correct number and name sewn onto the jersey.”
“Don’t waste your money,” Dad says, putting the jersey back into the box. “They won’t win today without McNabb. They’re not going to make the play-offs. I’m done watching that lousy excuse for a football team.”
Mom smiles at me because I told her that Dad would say as much, even though the Eagles have been playing pretty well. But Mom and I both know Dad will be watching the Eagles play the Cowboys later today and will pick a new favorite player late next summer—after watching one or two preseason games—at which time he will say something like, “Jeanie, where’s my authentic Eagles jersey? I want to get those numbers sewn on before the season starts.”
A few dozen presents are for me, all of which Mom bought and wrapped. I get a new Eagles sweatshirt, new running shoes, workout clothes, dress clothes, a few ties, a brand-new leather jacket, and a special running watch that will help me time my runs and will even calculate the calories I burn while running. And—
“Jesus Christ, Jeanie. How many presents did you buy the kid?” Dad says, but in a way that lets us know he is not really all that mad.
After we eat lunch, I shower and put on underarm deodorant, some of my father’s cologne, and one of my new running outfits.
“I’m going to try out my new watch,” I tell Mom.
“Caitlin and your brother will be here in an hour,” Mom says. “So don’t be too long.”
“I won’t,” I say just before I exit the house.
In the garage, I change into the dress clothes I hid there earlier in the week—tweed pants, a black button-down shirt, leather loafers, and the expensive overcoat my father no longer wears. Next, I walk to the Collingswood PATCO stop and catch the 1:45 train to Philadelphia.
It begins to rain lightly.
I get off at Eighth and Market, walk through the drizzle to City Hall, and catch an Orange Line train headed north.
Not many people are on the train, and underground it does not feel like Christmas at all. But the trash-smelling steam that wafts in at every stop when the doors open, the marker graffiti on the orange seat across from me, the half-eaten hamburger lying bunless in the aisle—none of it brings me down, because I am about to be reunited with Nikki. Apart time is finally about to end.
I get off at Broad and Olney and climb the steps up into North Philly, where it is raining a little harder. Even though I remember being mugged twice near this subway stop when I was a college student, I do not worry, mostly because it’s Christmas and I am a lot stronger than I used to be when I was an undergraduate. On Broad Street I see a few black people, which gets me thinking about Danny and how he always used to talk about going to live with his aunt in North Philly just as soon as he got out of the bad place—especially whenever I mentioned my graduating from La Salle University, which is apparently close to where Danny’s aunt lives. I wonder if Danny ever made it out of the bad place, and the thought of him having Christmas in a mental institution makes me really sad because Danny was a good friend to me.
I stick my hands into my dad’s overcoat pockets as I walk down Olney. With the rain, it is sort of cold. Soon I am seeing the blue-and-yellow flags that line the campus streets, and it makes me feel happy and sad at the same time to be back at La Salle—almost like looking at old pictures of people who have either died or with whom you have lost contact.
When I get to the library, I turn left and walk past the tennis courts, where I make a right and stroll past the security building.
Beyond the tennis courts is a walled-in hill, with so many trees you’d never believe it was in North Philly if someone had led you here blindfolded and then removed the blindfold and asked, “Where do you think you are?”
At the bottom of the hill is a Japanese teahouse, which is as picturesque as it is out of place in North Philly, although I have never been inside to have tea—because it is a private teahouse—so maybe the inside has a city feel to it; I don’t know. Nikki and I used to meet on this hill, behind an old oak tree, and sit on the grass for hours. Surprisingly, not many students hung out in this spot. Maybe they did not know it was there. Maybe no one else thought it was a nice spot. But Nikki loved sitting on the grassy hill and looking down at the Japanese teahouse, feeling as though she were somewhere else in the world—somewhere other than North Philadelphia. And if it weren’t for the occasional car horn or gunshot in the distance, I would have believed I was in Japan when I was sitting on that hill, even though I have never been to Japan and don’t really know what being in that particular country is like.
I sit down under a huge tree—on a dry spot of grass—and wait.
Rain clouds swallowed the sun a long time ago, but when I look at my watch, the numbers officially make it dusk.
My chest starts to feel tight; I notice that I am shaking and breathing heavily. I hold my hand out to see how bad the shakes are, and my hand is flapping like the wing of a bird, or maybe it is as if I am hot and trying to fan myself with my fingers. I try to make it stop, and when I can’t, I shove both hands into my father’s overcoat pockets, hoping Nikki will not notice my nervousness when she shows up.