“That’s okay.” She reaches over with her good hand and squeezes my fingers. “I’ll be your family.”
Chapter 64
Being on the wagon doesn’t seem to bother Aimee a bit. She actually appears a little relieved about it. It’s great to see her so confident, though. She even takes the initiative and starts in on some of her own stories. Used to, you had to get about four drinks in her before she’d bust loose with anything very personal, but now she’s completely comfortable with it.
This evening, she has another paper route story, a good one too, about the time she met up with the tough girls. I recognize her tactic—telling me a story to make me forget I don’t have a real family.
She was fourteen—still had to walk her part of the route at that age—when she ran across these two fifteen-year-olds all dressed in baggy black with silver chains looping down from their belt loops. More mascara than Cleopatra. They’d been up all night and were obviously high on something—drain cleaner, for all Aimee knew.
At first, they’re like, “Look, it’s Little Red Riding Hood. Whattaya got in the bag, something for your granny?” It was looking bad. Aimee pictured them ripping her bag from her shoulder and scattering her newspapers down the street, which is probably exactly what would’ve happened if she hadn’t somehow come up with the perfect thing to say.
“Did you see that UFO that came through here a while ago?”
They’re all, “UFO? What UFO? Are you high or just insane,” but Aimee goes on with this detailed description of what it looked like—blinking purple lights, a big banana-shaped hull, a mysterious sound like a music box playing a song previously unknown to humans.
All of a sudden, the girls completely changed. They looked at the sky, and expressions of wonder drove the hardness from their faces. Aimee kept on making stuff up. This wasn’t the first time anyone had spotted this UFO, she said. There were stories about it in the news. People had reported positive effects from having witnessed it. “It’s the music,” Aimee told them. “It leaves people feeling smart and happy and good-looking.”
Suddenly, the girls became her best friends. They helped her throw her route, hoping to see the UFO, to hear the music, to transform into new, beautiful beings.
“That is a splendid lie,” I tell her.
She’s smiling at the memory. “And it didn’t even seem like a lie when I was telling it. Then I saw them about a week later at Little Caesar’s. They didn’t even say anything to me. It was weird—they didn’t seem tough anymore. They just seemed kind of pathetic and small and lost.”
“I guess they needed some UFOs to believe in.”
“Yeah. Luckily, my UFO did come for me.”
“It did?”
“Of course. You’re it.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I mean, look at how much I’ve changed in just these last couple of months.”
“Yeah, you’ve changed, all right.” I can’t help but glance at the mammoth cast on her arm. I mean, this thing is so elaborate she has a hard time walking through doorways.
“And now we’re heading to St. Louis. We’re really going to do it. No way would I have had the nerve to tell my mom I was going there before I met you.”
“Well, I have the feeling that St. Louis is really going to be your own special Bright Planet, you know it? And you’re going to be the Commander Amanda Gallico of the whole thing.”
“I thought you said there weren’t any Bright Planets.”
“Oh, that? I was just in a bad mood. I’m over all that.” I take a hit off my 7UP. It tastes weird, whiskyless and all. “But the thing is, I’ve kind of like been wanting to talk to you about this St. Louis deal.”
“I know, you’re still worried about staying with my sister in her little apartment, but that’s only for a couple of weeks. She’s got that job all lined up for me, and I’m sure you’ll get one too. We’ll have our own place and rent furniture and everything. Don’t mention that to my mom, though. She still doesn’t know you’re going to live up there too. She just thinks you’re helping me move.”
“Yeah, no, that’s not what’s been worrying me.” My hand moves back toward the 7UP glass, but it’s just instinct. Plain soda won’t change anything right now. “See, there’s, like, something I haven’t told you. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
She’s still smiling her little smile, and it strikes me that, actually, she is drunk, not on alcohol, but on her St. Louis hopes and dreams. I wouldn’t sober her up for anything, but she doesn’t need me anymore. She can hang on to her dreams by herself now.
“What happened was, you know how I wasn’t doing so hot in algebra? Well, Mr. Asterhole wouldn’t cut me a break. I tried to tell him I’d take more algebra in college, but I guess he thought he’d teach me a lesson for thinking he was so boring.”
Her smile flatlines. “So, does that mean you didn’t graduate?”
“Kind of.” I take a drink, but of course it doesn’t help. “Looks like, if I want my diploma, I’ll have to go to summer school.”
“Summer school,” she repeats, the disappointment seeping into her pale blue eyes.
“Yeah. It doesn’t start for a couple more weeks.”
“Don’t worry,” she says, forcing herself to be positive. “I’m sure you can take algebra over in St. Louis somehow.”