Choke Page 5

  The following Friday, Elena came by for a sleepover. We gathered all my cats, including Raindrop, and prepped them for a fashion show. “How hard could it be?” Elena said. But my cats refused to cooperate. They ran into the closet and under the bed instead. I couldn’t blame them. They looked silly with the polka-dotted tube socks we put on their tails and the ribbons we tied on their legs. We even managed to saddle a birthday party hat on Cloudy.

  At first I had fun, but after dealing with the hissing and wriggling and clawing, dressing up cats was just as lame as dressing up dolls. That was the weird thing about Elena. In some ways, her personality was as kid-like as her body. For example, she still wanted to trick-or-treat on Halloween. She still loved coloring books. And she still rode her bike along the sidewalk, a bike with tassels on the handlebars. Part of me loved hanging out with Elena, but another part of me felt embarrassed. I would never tell her, but sometimes I just wanted her to act like a normal eighth grader.

  After dressing up the cats, we spent the rest of the night redecorating my room because it seriously needed to grow up, too. “The Top Five Most Embarrassing Details About My Room,” said page 29 of my TOP FIVE notebook. “Five, the ruffled, pink comforter. Four, the plastic Playskool oven. Three, the row of five-by-seven school portraits hanging above my bed. Two, a dozen teddy bears in my old bassinet, all with chewed-off ears. And the number one most embarrassing detail of my room: a tangle of permanent marker squiggles I drew on the wall when I was six.”

  Yup, my room seriously needed an update. The only thing I liked about it was a corkboard where I tacked mementos like ticket stubs from the Stars on Ice show; the calavera, or skull, card from my Mexican bingo set; and a filmstrip of pictures Elena and I had taken at the mall. We smiled in one picture, crossed our eyes in another, stuck out our tongues in a third, and tried, but failed, to look serious in the fourth. Next to them, I wrote “BFF.”

  “Let’s get busy,” I said.

  Elena and I took down my goofy school pictures and covered the walls, including the embarrassing squiggle marks, with the heartthrob posters from my teen magazines. We got rid of the frilly bedspread and dressed up the plain purple sheets with decorative pillows. We carried the plastic stove to the garage, so I could make some money at our next garage sale.

  “What about this bassinet?” Elena asked.

  I looked at all the teddy bears snuggled within it. “I’m going to keep it after all. Too much sentimental value.”

  After working on my room, we talked late into the night — mostly about Ronnie, how cute he was.

  “Who do you like?” I asked.

  She listed a bunch of ice-skaters. “They’re supercute in those tight outfits they wear. Plus, they have talent.”

  “But they aren’t real people. You don’t know them.”

  “Of course they’re real. I’ve got autographs, remember? I know them by the way they interpret the music, by the way they dance.”

  I threw a pillow at her. “You are so corny!”

  She just sighed as she told me about her favorite skaters and routines. She went on and on. All I heard was Elena’s voice and Raindrop’s purrs. At some point, nothing made sense anymore. My consciousness hit a wall and I conked out.

  The next morning, I had a little trouble waking up.

  “Girls!” Mom called. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”

  She was taking us to Pleasant Hill, the assisted living place where she worked. Nina planned to meet us there so we could go to the mall afterward. Well, so Nina and I could go. Elena had to visit her grandma.

  “Okay,” I called back. Then to Elena, I said, “Hurry. Give me Raindrop before my mom peeks in.”

  Raindrop had made a home in the bushes outside my window. We had a little routine now. I fed him outside before and after school. Then, right before bed, I let him in, and he slept on my extra pillow. My window wasn’t high off the ground, and since cats always landed on their feet, I could safely drop Raindrop outside.

  “Remember,” I told Elena, “you can’t let my mom know about the cat.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  We began to pack her suitcase, backpack, and ice chest.

  “Why did you bring so much stuff?” I complained. “This was a sleepover, not a vacation.”

  “I believe in being prepared.”

  “You call this being prepared?” I held up an empty CD case. “And what’s this for?” I pointed to a vial of candy sprinkles and a Ziploc of crushed pecans.

  “I thought we might want to make cookies. And I brought this sewing kit just in case a button fell off. The flashlight is for a power outage, and the Nutty Buddy Bars, peanut butter cheese crackers, pickles, popcorn, and carrot sticks were for midnight snacks, in case we got hungry. I brought my backpack and all our textbooks because we might’ve wanted to study if we got bored.”

  “We never study when you spend the night,” I said. “Even when we’re supposed to.”

  “Trust me, Windy, the one time I don’t bring my books, we’ll be in the mood to study, and the one time I forget my exercise DVD, we’ll feel like doing aerobics, and the one time I leave my Los Barrios cookbook at home, we’ll feel like making pumpkin empanadas.”

  “But did you have to bring your Mini-Vac, too?”

  “Of course. What if we made a mess?”

  “Girls!” Mom called again. “I’m going to be late if you don’t hurry up.”

  “In a minute, Mom.”

  Just then, she came to the bedroom door. “I’ve got to leave right now,” she said, pointing at her watch. “You don’t want to be late for your new friend, do you?”

  “Okay, okay,” we said.

  While I grabbed Elena’s suitcase and while Mom grabbed her ice chest, Elena slipped her arms through her backpack and purse, tucked her pillow beneath her arm, and with her free hands, picked up her piccolo and the case with her portable DVD player. We lugged Elena’s stuff to the car, cramming everything but the piccolo into the trunk. Then we clicked on our seat belts and headed to Pleasant Hill, so I could spend time with Mrs. Vargas.

  I’m lucky enough to have three grandmothers — my two abuelas from Mom and Dad, and my adopt-a-grandma, Mrs. Vargas. I’ve been visiting her since I was ten, the year Pleasant Hill sponsored an Adopt-a-Grandparent program. The old people had lined up along one side of the rec room while the kids lined up along the other. Then the kids reached into a sack to pull out their adopted grandparent’s name. At first, I felt shy about hanging out with Mrs. Vargas, but after we went Christmas caroling with the other Adopt-a-Grandparent pairs, I realized that she was one of the sweetest people on the planet. And we’ve been friends ever since.

  “So,” Mom said to Elena when she reached the first stop-light, “do you have any plans for summer?”

  “Yes, I’m going to band camp. I went last year and had a superific time.”

  “Superific?”

  “Super and terrific. Get it?”

  Mom nodded and laughed. “Maybe there’s a camp for you, too, Windy.”

  “I don’t think so, Mom.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to investigate. Isn’t there a space camp in Alabama?”

  “You’re the one with the astronaut dreams. Not me. All I want to do this summer is watch soap operas and buy cold raspas when the snow cone truck comes by.”

  “Soap operas and raspas are not interests,” Mom said. “Don’t you think you’d have fun at something like a band camp?”

  “Maybe. If I played an instrument.”

  “I love playing my piccolo,” Elena said. “Right now, we’re practicing famous movie tunes for the spring concert. Like the themes for Star Wars and The Simpsons.”

  “Do you get to play any solos?” Mom asked.

  “No. There isn’t much for a piccolo to do, but Nina has a really cool solo. She gets to do Indian drumbeats from this movie called Last of the Mohicans. It’s mag-tastic.”

  “Sounds like she’s talented. I’m glad I’ll get to
meet her.” Mom then focused on me again. “See, Windy? All your friends have interests. There has to be something you like to do.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re taking this too seriously, Mom.”

  “I’m just saying you should try different things. Get a hobby like the rest of us. You didn’t even look at the health career brochures I gave you.”

  “I looked at them. I already did my presentation, didn’t I?”

  Mom pulled into the employee parking lot. “I want you to ask your counselor about summer camps,” she decided.

  All I could do was roll my eyes again.

  We got out of the car and walked toward the building. Pleasant Hill is a three-story retirement home with walls made of large, irregularly shaped stones. It’s built like a square horseshoe with a courtyard in the middle. By the front door is a circular drive where a van picks up the residents for outings, and toward the back is another, more secluded drive for the ambulances. Sometimes, instead of an ambulance, I’ll see a hearse.

  Mrs. Vargas lives on the first floor. She has diabetes, so the nurses constantly monitor her insulin and diet. “And they clip my toenails, too,” she once told me. Other than that, she can take care of herself. In fact, her room is like an apartment, with its own bathroom and kitchenette. Only the PA system reminds me that we’re in a hospital. When Mrs. Vargas wants company, she goes to the general area and watches CNN. Sometimes she does crafts or plays card games and Scrabble with her friends.

  “There’s Nina,” Elena said, and sure enough Nina was waiting by the front door. She wore black jeans, a white shirt, and a solid red scarf.

  I introduced her to my mom.

  “Hello, Mrs. Soto,” Nina said as she shook my mom’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Windy and Elena have been really nice to me at school. It’s tough joining the class so late in the year.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Mom said. “Where are your parents? I was hoping to meet them.”

  “They wanted to meet you, too,” Nina replied, “but my dad’s out of town and my mom had a lot of errands to run, so she just dropped me off.”

  “Well, we are a little late.” Mom glanced at me and Elena as if to say, “I told you so.” She walked us inside, and when we got to the elevators, she said, “You girls have fun. Windy’s dad is going to pick you up in a couple of hours.”

  We waved as she disappeared behind the elevator doors. Then we went directly to Mrs. Vargas’s room.

  As soon as she saw Elena and me, she hugged and kissed us. “Who’s this?” she asked about Nina.

  “Our new friend.”

  “Hello, ‘new friend.’ Come in. Come in. What’s your name?”

  “Nina. I go to school with Windy and Elena.”

  “Well, any friend of Windy’s is a friend of mine. Isn’t that right, girls?”

  We nodded.

  “Come and help me with this puzzle.” We followed her to a table next to a sliding door that opened onto the courtyard. “I’m having lots of trouble with the sky part.”

  Mrs. Vargas loves 1,000-piece puzzles. Most of them are landscapes of beautiful places — cottages surrounded by ice-capped mountains, seascapes with colorful sailboats, or villages with cobblestone roads. She decoupages over her favorite scenes, then frames them and hangs them on the wall.

  “We had our speech presentations last week,” Elena said. “Ronnie, the guy Windy likes, showed us how to lift weights, and I talked about ice-skating.”

  “And Windy?” Mrs. Vargas asked.

  Nina answered for me. “She did a great job telling us about office jobs.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “I focused on receptionist duties.” Mrs. Vargas had trouble hearing, so when she didn’t respond, I said, “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “So what did the receptionist say?”

  “Nothing. I mean, I was telling you about my speech presentation.”

  “What speech presentation?”

  She never got this confused. I felt embarrassed since Nina was here. I didn’t want her to think Mrs. Vargas was senile.

  “Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

  Mrs. Vargas put down the puzzle piece and sighed deeply. “I just can’t concentrate today.”

  “Why not?” Elena said. “Are you feeling sick? Do you need a nurse?”

  “No. I’ll be okay. It’s just … seeing you three … makes me think of all the friends I’ve had over the years … of Mrs. Williams. Remember her?”

  “She had the room across the hall, right?” I said.

  “Yes, but she’s been on the second floor for a long time. Now she’s on the third floor because she had a stroke.”

  I’ve never been to the third floor, but the second floor is where Mom works. It has a strange mix of alcohol and vegetable broth smells. It also has the constant beeps of call buttons because the patients need help with walking, dressing, taking a bath, or eating. My poor mom walks back and forth all day, making sure her patients are clean, fed, and given the correct medicines. She takes their temperature and blood pressure and scribbles on their charts. She fills their water pitchers, fluffs their pillows, and delivers their magazines and lunch trays. She works harder than anyone I know, and the only thing she complains about is her feet. Only a person as special as Mom could handle nursing all these years. So I admired her. I really did. But I also thought it was time for her to try another kind of job — an office job.

  “What’s on the third floor?” Nina asked.

  “Oh, honey,” Mrs. Vargas cried. “We call it the last stop before heaven.” She put her hands over her face and sobbed a little. Elena quickly handed her a tissue.

  Now I knew why Mom never talked about the third floor. A lot of her patients must have died over the years. When her feet hurt, her heart must hurt, too.

  “Don’t cry,” Elena said.

  “I don’t mean to ruin your visit,” Mrs. Vargas apologized. “I just wish my friends could stay on the first floor forever. I like having them nearby when I need to talk.”

  “I understand,” I said. “But I’m your friend, too. You can always call me. That’s what we do, right?”

  Elena and Nina nodded.

  “When I feel bad,” Nina said. “I bang on my drums.”

  “I pet my cats,” I said.

  “And I play my piccolo,” Elena added.

  “Your Pinocchio?” Mrs. Vargas said.

  “No.” Elena laughed. “My piccolo.” She opened her case and took out the instrument. “We all have to close our eyes. It’s the only way to feel the music.”

  We did as Elena asked, and she began to play. The notes jumped lightly up and down, and in my imagination, I saw an orange balloon. Not a helium balloon that floats away, but a regular birthday party balloon, slowly bouncing as a child played volleyball with it. Then Elena played a more energetic piece, and I imagined Raindrop chasing a ball of yarn.

  When Elena finished, she asked Mrs. Vargas, “Where did you go?”

  “I was the red umbrella. I was that beautiful splash of color in that puzzle over there.” She pointed above her dresser to a picture of a busy, rainy street with one red umbrella in the black-and-white scene. Nina was standing near it.

  “How did you get over there?” I asked. She’d been sitting at the table when Elena began the music.

  “Just felt like dancing,” she explained.

  “See why I carry so much stuff?” Elena said. “You never know when you’re going to need it. I made Mrs. Vargas smile and Nina dance. That’s why you should always be …”

  “Prepared,” I said. “Do you know you’re starting to sound like my mother?”

  We got back to the puzzle, and little by little, Mrs. Vargas cheered up. I knew we couldn’t stop her friend from being on the third floor, but at least we could make her forget her troubles for a while.

  We walked out of Pleasant Hill and discovered that Dad had switched cars with Mom so we wouldn’t have to transfer Elena’s stuff. When he saw
us approaching, he got out of the car.

  “Dad!” I exclaimed. “What did you do to your hair?” Normally, my dad has dark brown hair, a little long and unruly on top, but that day, his hair was superlight, almost orange.

  “I went to HairQuest. Thought it was time for a change.”

  I couldn’t believe this. Dad wouldn’t let me lighten my hair, but the first chance he got, he lightened his.

  “You know I’ve wanted to change my hair since forever,” I complained.

  He glanced at Nina. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said. I figured he probably didn’t want to argue in front of someone new.

  Just then, Nina held out her hand and introduced herself. “Thanks for giving us a ride to the mall,” she said, all pleasant. “HairQuest is a great place. Sometimes I go there, too.”

  Dad nodded, then held open the door so Nina and Elena could climb into the backseat. Once they were in, he held open the front door for me. He was acting like such a gentleman, but I was still mad.

  When he started the car, I heard the familiar radio jingle of the station where he works. Then a doctor started an infomercial about a dry skin remedy. Every five seconds, Dad glanced at himself in the rearview mirror.

  Did he really think he looked better? How could he betray me this way? What about my new style? Why couldn’t I change my hair? I couldn’t believe how ridiculous Dad looked, wearing his fancy suit on a Saturday when he didn’t even have to go to work.

  Elena and Nina chatted and giggled about the other girls at school, but I was too angry to join in. Instead I took out my TOP FIVE notebook, secretly hoping Dad would notice. But he was too busy listening to the infomercial and glancing at his new hair.

  “The Top Five Reasons for Throwing a Sheet over Dad,” I wrote. “Five, his hair looks orange. Four, he looks like a traffic cone with ears. Three, rats might think he’s cheese. Two, he’s not looking at the road anyway, so why does he need to see? And the number one reason to throw a sheet over Dad? Can I have a drum roll, please? He’s a hypocrite. A well-dressed hypocrite with Ronald McDonald hair!”