When we begin a new school year, mother makes good use of her AMEX. She spends her time away from cleaning our house and making us dinner by shopping. Resentment does not come close to defining my feelings I have toward her lifestyle choices. Poor. Her purchases of frivolous hot pink head bands and teal blue socks are absolutely ridiculous to me, but thoughtful in her eyes. Laura, of course, is always excited to see Mother walk in our dusty living room with three shopping bags labeled Justice and Limited Two. Our need for dish soap and toilet paper means less to her than the new Clinique bronzer she wants the day after it comes out. Mother is delusional as to what her role is as a "mother." I want to feel like I’m Linda Jackson’s daughter, which is nearly impossible since she acts like we are best friends. Nevertheless, her constant efforts to use materialistic objects to buy my friends fall less than short as my only friends are from dance class. I have a feeling that they only like me for my ability to make them laugh and my vast collection of 2000s pop CDs. Bummer.
“Jenna, clean out your room, it’s pitiful. We can’t have guests over with your room looking like that.” Why did she go in my room in the first place?
“Yeah mother, I know. I’ll get it done.” Where do I even start?
I look around at all of the posters lining my bedroom walls. Nick Jonas, you have got to go. I start by ripping the tape off of the poster aggressively to reveal the greyish concrete under the pink paint that is now plastered to the tape instead of the wall itself. After the Nick Jonas poster comes down, I can’t stop and continue on with NSYNC, Hannah Montanna, and lastly, but most importantly, Hilary Duff. After I noticed my walls were becoming polka-dot patterned from all of the paint I took off with tape, I move onto my shelves. I sneeze after my eyes level with the white shelves lined with a thick layer of dust. I quickly take off every trophy I have ever earned since kindergarten from field day all the way through now from last season’s volleyball tournament. Dust floats through the air and lands on my rainbow striped comforter that I also need to change. Time to grow up Jen. I open up my closet door to start hanging up my clean clothes that I usually just toss on the floor after I wash them. I hate folding clothes. I push a dress all the way to the left to make room for the rest of my clothes that need to be hung. The blue dress covered with shimmer is too big for me now, but I keep it because it reminds me of the time Mrs. Guettler and I went see Annie at the Sunrise Theater last year.
Mrs. Guettler used to go see a play every year with her daughter; however, since Emily is gone now, she has taken me with her for the past four years. Lilly had died in a car accident in 2009 when she was fifteen, on the night of the high school’s homecoming football game. All of the students usually hung out after the game, so Emily had done just that and went back to her friend’s house. After they watched a movie, the girls had decided that they wanted a slushy. They took their bikes over the 17th street bridge where 711was sitting at the bottom. The 17th bridge was suspended over the Atlantic Ocean and served as the overpass from beachside to the city. Both Emily and her friend were riding their bikes on the sidewalk after they had gotten their slushies, when a drunk driver hit Emily from behind. Emily was dead on direct impact, but was propelled over the side of the bridge and landed feet first in the water. As one can imagine, this impacted our small town that consists only of 1,300 people.
I am almost through with organizing my closet when Laura comes into my room.
“Looks like you have a lot more to do!” No shit. “Laur, I know. Please let me get this done, and then we can go to the grocery.” “Nah, I don’t wanna go to there.” “You have to, Mom is going to lunch with Evan and you can’t stay here alone. We’ll get you your favorite cupcake, chocolate on chocolate, you can’t resist that!” “OK fine, I’ll go as long as I can sit in the front seat!” “You know you can’t do that Laura.” “I’m not a baby Jen, I know,” she said as as the whites of her eyes stare back at me. She storms out of my room and my eyes twitch at the sound of the door slamming. A second grader with an attitude. Gotta love it! Laura is just starting school at Saint Elizabeth’s, where she is lucky enough to have Mrs. Guettler as her teacher, who hopefully will fix up her attitude.
As we skim the produce aisles for possible hors d’oeuvres for Laura’s First Communion party, I contemplate even having one at all. Just as my willingness to fill our refrigerator with foods other than frozen pizza and Lean Cuisinesruns out, I feel someone over my shoulder.
“Whatareya shopping for, Jenna?” “Oh my goodness, Mrs. Guettler, I didn’t even see you! How are you?” “I’m doing OK, keepin’ busy.” “I was going to stop over sometime this week to tell you about Laura’s First communion celebration. I wanted to get started on the shopping since—“ “Since your mother ain’t gonna do it.” Bold choice of words. But true. “Yeah, I just figured I would get this part done. She hasn’t even thought about Laura’s dress. Go figure.”
Mrs. Guettler’s eyebrows tighten to create yet another wrinkle between her eyes. “Well, let’s get to it, what are we gonna get?”
After making ourselves at home in Publix for three hours, our cart is a beautiful array of colors lined with everything from mini carrots to giant watermelons. This is going to take forever to unpack. Mrs. Guettler is still with us and escorts us to the checkout line. She is not about to pay for this, is she? After what seems like 2,000 scans later, my total comes out to $246.75. As I hand the clerk Mother’s AMEX, Mrs. Guettler beats me to it.
“Absolutely not, Mother’s got it.” “Absolutely yes Jenna! Don’t insult me, let me get this one.” “Mrs. Guettler, that is so unnecessary. Mother can pay for it...she’d be so piss—mad if she knew you—.” “What? Helped y’all out? Gave y’all some TLC?” she laughed sarcastically as she inserted her credit card. “Thank you. It seriously means a lot that you care so much about me and Laur. How can I repay you?” “Jen, I don’t need repayin’. Its my pleasure.”
A loud smacking of shoes on our front step interrupts me as I unload our groceries into the fridge. Mother beats me to the door to greet Mrs. Guettler. I hear her soft voice speaking about the foggy weather and the fresh look of our front lawn. I walk up behind Mother after I hear Mrs. Guettler mention Laura’s First Communion. My gut drops as I know Mother would be enraged by Mrs. Guettler’s innocent efforts. Little does she know she just paid for all of these groceries. She expresses to Mother how very important it is to her that Laura wears her daughter’s white dress. Mother takes the dress with gratitude and acknowledges her absent-mindedness about buying Laura a dress of her own. After the door slams shut, Mother whirls around and glares at me. Shocker.
“Does she think we can’t afford a dress for Laura?” she shouts as she holds up the pure white dress with her polished fingertips. “She lost Emily a couple of years ago, Mother. It’s a miracle she had even left the house with something so important to her.”
As she sits down at our dining room table she says, “Well, Jenna, we all have to deal. Deal with broken hearts. Deal with death. Deal with our kids. It just sometimes happens like that.” It is almost as if she had forgotten that about Emily’s death. She is often preoccupied with herself, surprisingly, and rarely takes a second to care for her children, let alone other people in the town close to her children, also surprising. Because of Mrs. Guettler’s thoughtfulness, the burden of getting Laura a dress is lifted off of my shoulders and is sitting on our dining room table, beautiful and white.
I am peacefully sitting on our distressed leather couch waiting for Mother to sit down to watch a movie with Laura and me. I should be preparing for Laura’s First Communion in two days, but my laziness is taking over.
“We should watch High School Musical.” Laura suggested. Per usual. “I was thinking something more intense. Maybe the Incredibles or Shrek?” I usually tend to like movies that keep me on the edge of my seat.
As Mother walks in with a bowl of popcorn in hand, her phone rings. She hands me the popcorn to answer.
“Evan! Hey! Yes, nothing much. You—oh yeah! 9 is perfect.”
Evan is the financial adviser from Wells Fargo who Mother constantly brags about. He’s apparently awesome, rich, handsome, and funny. Sounds super fatherly to me. Ha. He calls at the most inopportune times in my opinion. Last week, he called just as we sat down for spaghetti dinner prepared by me and convinced Mother that steak sounded better. This time, it is to tell her that he made reservations for dinner. Good one, that’ll get her. Since Mother never passes up steak and wine and most certainly never rejects a date with a rich man, she is quick to say yes. Soon after clicking the “End” button on her iPhone screen a thousand times, she walks abruptly into her room. I follow her and leave Laura with the remote. I guess it’s High School Musical for me tonight.
“So, you’re not going to hangout with us tonight?” I said as I sat down on the edge of her California King. “You know I can’t say no to Evan. I’ve told you about him.” “Yeah I know, but I just thought we could all watch a mov—.” “No no, none of that. Do not make me feel guilty for going on a date. I deserve this. I work and work and just need a break away from the house sometimes. You’ll see when you’re older.” Always defensive, never apologetic. Why do I even try?
“Alright, well you have fun then. I’ll just be here.”
I watch as she puts on her Prada dress, given to her by the last flavor of the week. Her outfit choice always takes precedence over her makeup since she feels that her face is already pretty enough. I am envious of her ability to put on her face with ease. She lightly fills her cheeks with blush and carefully applies her lipstick. Her eyelashes, always filled with thick mascara lacking the usual clumps, I would do anything to have, are beautifully curled to accentuate her green eyes. It is natural and easier for her than it is for me. My spiral curls take hours to straighten whereas her pin straight hair falls flat after she walks out of the shower. After only thirty minutes, she starts to head out of her room. I follow but stop and sit on the couch just as the summer bell in High School Musical rings. Her Louboutin shoe choice makes me resentful as I see a new laptop I need for school walk out of our door. Bye bye! Mother’s swift capability to go from a dedicated Mother to an egotistical hussy is marvelous as it takes me ten times as long to get ready for school that it does for her to have a night out on the town.
“Ya know what Laur? No, we are not going to do this!” I said as I flipped my ashy blonde hair off of my left shoulder. “Jen, you said we’d watch a movie common, please!” “Yeah, we’ll watch Laur, of course, but let’s ask Mrs. Guettler to come over to watch with us. She would love that!” Mother will too. I smirked. “OK yay! Call her! Tell her to bring those chocolate brownies she made in class for us this week!” “Hey Siri, call Mrs. Guettler.”
The phone rings and rings until I get her voicemail. “Ugh, I’ll have to go over there. Laur, hang tight I’ll be right back.”
I run over to Mrs. Guettler’s, which is directly across the street from us. Unlike our house, Mrs. Guettler’s house is painted eggshell white and lit up along the driveway with lanterns flickering to mimic a candle’s fire. I can see that she has her kitchen light on and her living room is illuminated with flashes of the TV screen against her light blue walls. I knock.
“Mrs. Guettler, it’s me, Jenna!” I say into the door as I ring the doorbell.
There is no answer. I lightly clutch the door handle and let myself in.
“Hello! It’s me Jenna.” I say loudly hoping not to scare her as I find my way to her kitchen. “Mrs. Guettl--!” I pause when I see her in the bathroom.
She is laying on the floor, with her phone in her hand. I am mortified. I am sweating. Panicked. What do I do? I take the phone from her hand and dial 9-1-1.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
I try to communicate clearly, but it is difficult to do so between compressions. “I am at 746 Oak Street. My teacher is dead I think. I don’t know. She looks bad. Help. Send help.” 1,2,3..30… I compress her chest every second. Is this working? “Help is on the way.”
I place the phone down next to me and continue to do CPR. She is still passed out. No response. After what seems like an hour, paramedics enter the house. Please! Please!
“In here!” I scream as tears pool in my eyes and stream down my face. They take over CPR and inject needles into her arms one by one. I watch from the doorway. Nothing is working. A man approaches from behind and leads me into the kitchen, my initial destination before I found Mrs. Guettler.
“Honey, we have done everything we could do.” Really? “I—can’t—believe this—she—it’s not her time.” I said in between my sobbing. “Where do you live? Let me walk you back to your parents.” “I live across—the street.”
As we walk, I can’t help but think and wonder how or why this happened. What am I going to tell Laura? We open the door to find Laura exactly where I left her. Half of the popcorn bowl is empty and she is sitting there with a smile painted across her face. “Laur, this is Tim.” “Uh, hi Tim. Who are you?” “Hey, it’s Laura right? I am a paramedic, kind of like a firefighter expect I help save people if they are sick. Your sister was telling me about your movie night. How is it going?” “It’s good! I’m not sick though. Jenna, are you?” “Laur, you know how I went to Mrs. Guettler’s to invite her over?” “Yeah, I know, where is she? Is she sick?” “Well, yeah she was. She—.” Tim chimes in when he notices my voice becoming quiet, “She is, was very sick. I’m afraid she was too sick to stay alive anymore sweetie.” I put my face in my hands as I watch Laura’s face become red. “You mean she died?” Laura cried.
I held Laura in my arms as I gave Tim Mother’s number.
“Hey is this Linda? No—your girls are fine and at home safe. It’s your neighbor, Marcie Guettler. No, she didn’t do anything to them. Your daughter found her in her house. She has passed away. I was wondering if you could come back—yeah right now would probably be—OK I don’t want to leave them here without yo--. Thanks.”
He hangs up and hands me back my phone.
“Is she coming?” I ask reluctantly. “Yes, she said she is finishing up dinner. Are you OK here until she gets back? I can wait for her if you need.” “Yes, we are OK. I don’t want to hold y’all up.” “It’s really no problem—.” “We are OK. I appreciate you walking me back. Thank you.” I hug him on his way out.
Laura and I continue to cry after he leaves. Her tiny body is shaking from crying so hard, and I feel her heart breaking. Mine is breaking as well. I have lost my go-to person. Mother storms in our house shortly after our crying seizes. She bends down and embraces us both. Her scent is comforting for some odd reason.For a second, I actually feel relief as Mother gives us a tight squeeze.
“We don’t have to talk about it for a while until you’re ready. I am here.” She says as she pulls away, looks at us, and pulls us back in together. Mother can be genuine when it’s the right time. I just wish she was like this all of the time.
I woke up in the same position I fell asleep, and I the smell of pancakes and syrup lingering throughout our house makes me hungry. As my feet meet the cold wooden floors below my bed, I am reminded of Mrs. Guettler. Who am I going to confide in? No one will ever take her place. I walk into the bathroom and stare into the mirror. My eyes are puffy from crying last night and my face is a washed out shade of pink. I wander into the kitchen to find Mother with a spatula in one hand and the handle of a pan in the other. Laura is sitting in her white dress eating. It’s Laura First Communion today, how could I forget?
"Hey honey. Here, sit. Pancakes or waffles? Or I can make you eggs if you want,” Mother says. Very unusual, but I’m not complaining. “I’ll have pancakes. What else do I need to do for today, Mother? Is everything set for the party later?” “Yes of course, Jenna! I wanted you to sleep so I got up early to do everything.” Woah, am I dreaming? “Everything is in the fridge, ready to be put out after we get back from the church.” Laura gets up to open the fridge. I see three platters full. One of fruit, another of veggies, and a small one with bite size sandwiches. I felt my heart ache. Mrs. Guettler would be thrilled to see all that Mother has done for this party and for us in less than 24 hours. She would be ecstatic to see Mother in the kitchen. She would be thrilled to see Mother being involved. Mother managed to become supermom overnight. This is all that Mrs. Guettler ever wanted for Laura and I. She wanted someone to serve as a motherly figure substantial enough for us to love and feel loved in return. I wish she could be here.