Chapter 18: Tuesday Afternoon - "Trading Secrets"

Rebbecca

When I walked into art, I tried. I really, really tried. I had so looked forward to posing with Luis. Something magical happened when we posed together. With everything else that has happened today, well ... Damn it!

"Rebbecca?" Ms. Rotella's voice cut through my pity party. "I have a project for you today."

I think I stared blankly until I saw the warmth in her eyes.

"Yes, ma'am?" I really wanted to go hide and be miserable. I'm really good at that.

"I want you to produce a series of sketches for me today. I want you to do Luis's eyes when he looks at you."

At first it felt like a punch in the stomach. She was going to make me dwell on what I wanted to have right then and there. Just as I started to work up a combination of anger and pity, the creature that lives within me took over. I had thousands, no, millions of mental snapshots of Luis's eyes.

"If you'd like to do a canvas, I'll accept that."

It took me a minute to process what she said. "Thanks, Francesca. Oops. Darn. Sorry, Ms. Rotella."

"Rebbecca, that is the kindest thing you could have said." Her smile was soft and warm.

"I'm having him over for dinner tonight." I don't know where that came from.

"Well, you should get out of here and go get ready, then." Her eyes lit up. I think she was happier about what was happening than I was!

"Mom's not picking me up until after class." God, I couldn't even get fired up about getting closer to being with Luis.

"So, call her."

"Thank you." I hugged her, then called mom. She'd be there in five minutes. What the hell?

"You might want to take this home as well." She handed me the portfolio she'd been helping me prepare for college.

I'm sure I did the perfect John Belushi with my eyebrow. Yes, my parents had Animal House and had insisted I watch it more than once.

"Don't you want to show Luis?" She feigned perfect innocence.

In that moment I found something. I don't know what. It was burning inside. A new ... growth? Whatever it was, there was a lightness that came with it.

"Then how could I attract him in here to use the divan?" I swear the person driving my body batted my eyelashes.

Francesca patted my hand and said with a delightful chuckle, "You'll do just fine."

Okay, I hope so. In a daze I left the studio, Francesca's little chuckle bouncing around in my head. When I got into the car with mom, I tried to evaluate where I was, who I was, and what was going on. She had the radio on, tuned to one of her Classic Rock stations. I had no idea what the song was. Something about a white room at some station, I think. It was the same music that Luis liked. He has such broad tastes. I haven't seen much current stuff in his collection—the kind of thing I blindly listen to without really hearing.

"Hi, Becky. Ready?" Oh. My. God! It felt so good to hear that.

"Hi, mom. I think so." I tried to brighten my smile.

"You've had a day, haven't you?"

I think this new thing growing in me took over. Or, maybe I just let it out. One way or the other, I told mom about my day. Everything, including getting relief and my disappointment over not posing with Luis. I tried to explain the weirdness I was feeling. Mom listened with only the occasional question to get me to explain or amplify.

Now, the market where we shop is a fifteen-minute drive from school. Yet, here we were already.

"Becky, thank you." She hugged me. I hugged her back and started crying.

"Mom, what's going on with me?"

"Becky, I wish I could give you a simple answer that would make you feel good. You're just doing a whole lot of growing up, real quick. It's confusing. It's scary."

"Why does it hurt sometimes?"

"It always does. You're just finding ways to talk about it. That's part of growing up. Now, let's prepare dinner for your monster."

"Mountain, mom, My Mountain." She was chuckling, having said that just to get a rise out of me. I laughed with her. Then, one of the 'Oh, Crap' moments. "Oh, God, Mom! I don't know what to serve him!"

"It's okay, Becky. I've been feeding a football player for years, plus I talked to Jason about what he knows about Luis's diet. Stop worrying. Let's go shopping." She hooked her arm in mine and practically skipped towards the store. Okay, why not? Why? I stopped her.

"Mom. I'm confused ... Lost? Yeah, lost. What's going on?"

She stopped, took me by my shoulders, and looked me in the eyes. "Becky, I'm a bit lost myself. I got my daughter back last night and I don't want to lose her again."

"Mom, I promise I won't push you away again. It was all so stupid. I got lost—confused—and decided that no one could help, so I just disappeared."

"You did it well. You pulled into yourself and dove into art and writing. You pretty much stopped having anything but necessary contact with people. I am glad that you kept a relationship with Jason, though."

"You know about that?"

"I'm not blind! I've always had an idea of what you were up to. I never gave up on being your mom. I just knew I couldn't push you."

"I really convinced myself that you and daddy didn't care. I even told Jason that yesterday morning."

"Hopefully, that's the past."

"It is." I gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. When I pulled back, I had to ask, "You know, mom ... I'm standing in a store parking lot. Naked. And ... I don't feel strange. Why?"

"I'm really not surprised. That's the old you." She had a grin on her face and looked like she was repressing a chuckle. I'm sure I was doing the John Belushi thing again.

"Huh?"

"I had trouble getting you into clothes. Then I had trouble keeping you in them."

"I don't remember that."

"Oh, yeah! My little nudist. You probably don't remember the long, family vacations we used to take."

"Vaguely. I remember I got the top bunk because Jason was too young."

"Do you remember that it was a nudist resort?"

"WHAT?"

"We'd go in June for a month. I'd spend the rest of summer trying to get you back in clothes."

"No, I don't remember ... Really??"

"Oh yes! Becky, my exuberant nudist!"

"So ... This is like reverting? Escaping. Isn't that bad?" I guess all my study on psychology was helping. At least with the terminology.

"Do you think it's escapism? I don't. I see the positives of the 'old you' coming out. You're required to go nude at school and that's just awoken something that's been sleeping too long. That person was very comfortable with her body."

"Then ... does that explain why I'm suddenly so comfortable in my skin?"

"That and all that has happened in the last two days. You haven't had much time to really think about it, have you?"

"No. I guess not. It seems I've had too little time for a lot of things." I thought of Luis. We had only spent a couple of hours alone last night. I wanted more time with him. Alone. Just to be with him. Not sexual, just being with him. Talking, snuggling. Okay, the occasional kissy-face break!

I was still bothered about the nudity thing, though. "I just keep waiting for the freak-out to happen, though."

"If you wait for it, it might very well. If you just live in the moment, it won't." God! She sounded just like Luis. Which is not a bad thing, is it?

"I love you, mom." I kissed her, put my arm through hers, and started to skip into the store. "So, what are we shopping for?"

"Well, not Italian food! There is no way I can compete with his mom." Mom is actually a very good cook, but I understood what she was saying.

"After last night, I have a whole new appreciation of food." She giggled with me. Yep, there was that silly, girly sound. It felt really good, though. "So, what are we going to fix?"

"We're going to have my grandmother's leg of lamb with fresh vegetables and some homemade bread. For dessert, an old fashioned English pudding."

"Ooh ... We haven't had the lamb in a while. That sounds so good."

"Well, I'm going to teach you how to make it."

I stopped. "Really?" Can we say dumbfounded? Family secrets?

"Yes, my sweet, lovely, precious, beautiful, smart, talented princess." Okay, my eyes got moist.

"Thanks, mom."

"I love you, Becky." Okay, more than moist. Part happy tears, part regret. "Now, let's go talk to the butcher. I called this morning and he has a few choice legs for us to look at."

We were going to look at legs and I guess the butcher was going to get to look at more than legs! I tried to decide if I liked that thought or not.

'What's not to like?'

'Oh, hi Muse.'

'You're a beautiful girl. He should enjoy looking.'

'You're biased.'

'Yep! And don't you ever forget it!'

I learned all about legs of lamb. Broken bone and unbroken bone. Shanks and such. The quality and thickness of the sheath and ... And ... And not to buy frozen. He had some locally grown legs that were fresh. One was a monster that, by my guess, could feed a family of twenty. Or, as mom pointed out, three normal people and two football players.

Lambie-pie in the cart and we were off for the veggies. I learned which should be hard, which should be soft, or which should be 'just right.' How smell really mattered. What worm holes looked like. How to look beyond the outer leaves of some. What bruises looked like on the outside and how to avoid them. A graduate course in veggies.

"Mom, Luis got me to eat anchovies last night. I really liked them on a thin slice of sweet onion. What can we introduce him to that I can feed him?"

"Appetizer?"

"Yeah, I guess." We talked strategy, family history, and spent more time than we should have finding the perfect things.

We rushed home and I learned how to cook. Okay, I began to learn how to cook, really cook. It is part art, part science, and a whole lot of experience. Spending time with mom was great. She even stripped and found aprons for both of us. Mine said, 'Kiss the Cook' and hers, 'It's My Kitchen/I Have Knives/Questions?'

I never realized how much there was to learn. It really is an art with a lot of science, just like painting. You don't just chop each vegetable the same way. Instead, you have to treat each as a unique individual and find a way to bring out its flavor.

The leg of lamb preparation was part religious ceremony and part arcane science with strange incantations. We worshiped for about fifteen minutes. I kept thinking how I wanted this to be perfect for my new boyfriend.

Best of all was the way mom and I were interacting. Two nude females—am I a woman yet? Well, two almost nude females working together in the kitchen. Mother teaching daughter new skills and family secrets.

"Thank you," I hugged mom, just before we put the leg in the oven.

"Becky, I..." Sniff. "Love..." Sniff. "You, too." We enjoyed a mutual, happy tears fest.

"So, do tears add flavor?" I asked, trying to wipe the tears off my cheeks.

"The best. This will be our secret ingredient."

We put the leg in a very hot oven and set the timer, then took a break.

"Secret ingredient?"

"Becky, my mom was ... Let's sit, we have nothing to do but talk for fifteen minutes." We sat next to each other at the breakfast bar. She put her arm around me. "Honesty?"

This honesty thing seems to be a two-way street. WOW!

"Sure, mom. If we can't be honest with each other..."

"Well said." Mom collected herself. "Your grandmother was a total bitch. She wanted to control every aspect of my life, including the way I thought. I hated her. Her mother, for a while, was my only savior. So, when you changed ... I'm so sorry." Tears streamed down from her eyes.

"It's okay, mommy. I made my choices, not you."

"I know sweetie. But I let you because of my mother. I should have talked to you, understood you, instead of abandoning you. There was a middle ground I didn't see between the controlling bitch I grew up with and the hands-off mother I became. I fucked up."

"MOTHER!"

"Yes, Becky, I fucked up. I gave you the freedom I thought my grandmother had given me without realizing how important all the talking we did was. I let you stop talking to me. I'm so sorry."

"Mommy, I didn't give you a choice."

"Oh, but I did have choices. I left you to it, figuring you would come out of it. Five years later, you hadn't. I insisted you be in the Program."

My arms and my mouth went into independence mode because my arms ended up wrapped around my mother's neck and my mouth saying, "Thank you!"

Who is this person driving my body around? Well, after two days of ... Yeah, two days of! Actually, I kind of like her and I think I'll keep her.

'Good idea.'

'I'm glad you agree, Muse.'

"I really mean that, mom. Thank you for putting me in the Program."

"I know you do, sweetie. It's been tough, yet..." She struggled to find the words.

"Me, a writer, and I can't come up with the words either." I hugged her tighter than I ever have. I could feel our mutual happy tears on my shoulders and chest. "This is what you mean by the special, secret ingredient? Love."

"Yes." We added an extra helping.

My father walked in and did the most perfect thing. He laughed. Not mocking. Trust me, my observer is well attuned to that. No, just pure joy and love.

And the stupid, fucking timer went off. Oops. I hope I kept that one to myself.

Dad's laughter and the well-intentioned timer were a catalyst. Mom was laughing and chuckling as she tended to the leg. I was trying to suppress a snorkel as I started prepping the veggies. Daddy hugged and kissed us. I noticed that the one he gave mom was more like what I'd do with Luis. That put a big grin on my face. Mom whispered something about later to him, and then he headed out to change, shaking his head on the way and still chuckling.

I never realized how much fun cooking actually was! Mommy taught, I learned. We talked the whole time. We laughed; we cried a bit more. To me, watching the food we bought a few hours before become a feast was awesome. I hoped My Mountain would like it.

"Becky, think of it this way. I watch you create with a brush or a pen. No matter how hard I try to learn and how patient you are as a teacher, I'll never be able to do what you can. This is my canvas. I'm not as talented as Ms. Contadino, but I ain't half bad!" I felt like I got it.

"Cooking is more like what Francesca does when she sees a block of marble. I cheat, in a way. I don't worry about the painting the canvas wants to have on it, or the story the paper wants to tell. I see that cooking is listening to the food and what it wants to become."

"That ... You amaze me Becky. You're so smart. But, you don't cheat. You see a picture in your head and can make others see it as well." She paused and dabbed at her eyes. "When you say it that way, it is the same with relationships. It's about two people finding the best in each other and finding ways that build on that to make a strong relationship."

As I said, we talked. We laughed. We cried a little bit more. Not that we were being weepy females, just five years of shared tears that needed to come out. As mom pointed out, finding the best in each of us. I had ignored her and closed myself off from her. Now I felt deeply connected to her.

The dinner hour slowly approached. The meal only needed occasional tending. So, we prepared the dining room. Even daddy pitched in to make it right. When mom started talking about the meal in the store, I knew how the dining room had to be. After all, that's my gift—light and texture. They followed my direction without question.

Mom told me that she'd already asked Jason to pick up a flower arrangement for the table. I was impressed the way my family was jumping in to help. Daddy even ran out and picked up the finishing touches. While he was gone, mom and I talked about attire and our presentation. We traded time for showers and prepping ourselves, she also gave me advice on makeup and hairstyles. We even raided each other's closets and dressers looking for the right things to almost wear.

Quarter to seven rolled around and Jason came home. Right according to plan. Mom and dad briefed him on the evening and attire while I tended to the feast in the kitchen. The smells were wonderful. So good, in fact, that my tummy growled impatiently. Fortunately, no one heard it.

Then we waited for My Mountain to come to the Maiden. Or should that be the Virgin Princess?

Nervous? Me? Without mom's help, I'd have locked myself in my room and dove into a painting for about a month. Instead, here I stood in the kitchen, of all rooms of the house. I'm wearing high heels, sash, and one of mom's hats. Waiting.

Waiting and hoping that Luis and I could find some time to be alone. I just wanted to snuggle into him and feel him next to me. I want to get lost in his eyes. Hell, I just wanted to see him again.

Luis

Coach Ames, the defensive coordinator, and Coach Hammer, the offensive coordinator, just stared at me. They didn't move. Just examined every pore on my face and, from the way they were looking, the detestable, fetid sewer beneath.

My bowels churned.

"Charlie," Coach Ames asked his counterpart, "where did I go wrong with this one?"

"Scott, I'm sure you did your best. Some of them just ain't gonna get it."

"Do you think this one can be salvaged?"

They pulled out their microscopes again and examined every square inch of my soul with their eyes. I couldn't tell if there was a change in their assessments. If I had had the nerve, I'm sure I would be shaking.

"Well, maybe. Might be more work than it's worth." Coach Hammer turned his head and spit into his Styrofoam cup—always in his hand. He loved his Red Man. I felt like the bottom of that cup.

"Let's see if we can purge the devils out of him. It seems he likes to lift heavy objects. Think we can find his limits?"

"Either that or we break him." They both grinned. It flashed through my mind how Lucifer must look as he got ready to torture a new soul for eternity. I think they outdid him.

"What do you think, Olympic lifts?"

"Yeah, I think he needs to burn a little energy. Snatches first?" They just chuckled as they loaded the bar with weight. One of them hit the button on the boom box. Donna Summers, later followed by the Bee Gees and other alleged scions of the Disco era blared out. Oh, they knew how to torture every part of me! At least it wasn't Abba or most of the current crap clogging the airwaves today.

The two assistant coaches kept me in the weight room for over two hours. From the snatch to the clean-and-jerk, then on to individual muscle group lifts. Penance for my sins? Atonement for my mistake? I paid the gods in sweat and muscle mass. Free weights the whole time, setting personal bests for each exercise and got close to Olympic records on the snatches. It never seemed "good enough" for the coaches as they continued their discussions about me while ignoring me.

Then the bench. I swear they sat on the bar or brought in the whole team to do it. They certainly offered no positive feedback or spotting support. They were at least positioned to keep me from being too crushed should my hands or arms fail.

They didn't talk to me after the opening "SIT", yet kept up a constant chatter between themselves. They talked about the interior offensive line of East. They mentioned, more than once, what an honorable man Dr. C was. Respect was the common theme. There seemed to be a constant, underlying theme of how some good people can turn out to be pure scum.

When it seemed I couldn't raise a thought, they brusquely dismissed me. I don't think I've ever been so glad to stagger out of the weight room. I'd rather have Becca's version of rubber legs than the rubber body I had at the moment. Somewhere in the process, they had removed all the bones and just left a deflated, pulverized mass behind.

Dressing for the rest of practice was easy, at least in terms of logistics. The actual process was hell on Earth. Tuesday's were padless walk-thrus. Pair of socks, cleats, and my helmet and I was dressed. And, I wanted to die. When I got onto the field, one of the equipment managers helped me into a mesh vest indicating I was playing defense on the first string. It was a good thing I had help. Lifting my arms seemed the insurmountable obstacle at the time.

Coach Ames was all business as he walked the first string defense through formations and plays with the second string offense pretending to be East. I was secretly pleased that many of the maps I had done the night before were being used. Every now and then, Coach A would call me over to discuss and tweak one of them. No mention was made of the weight room, Dr. C, or Coach Mc's opinion of me.

For the moment, I could only assume I was still on the team. Perhaps in a bit of the doghouse—okay, the doggie basement, but still on the team.

After a bit, I came out of the exhaustion induced fog from the weight room. It dawned on me that no one was making contact with me. Normally, there was a fair amount of banging about in the walk-thrus. I pulled the defense together.

"Guys, is it bothering anyone the way I'm dressed?"

I got the expected denials and bullshit.

"Do you want East to win just because I'm in the Program?" Some head shaking, at least. "Well, if we don't get fucking serious, right now, you're gonna find out I can hit you a lot harder than those wusses from East can."

Grumbles.

"What, if you touch me, you might be a fag? That's bullshit and you know it." Nods from most everyone this time. "Let's show this offense that we mean business. Let's lay these little puppies on their asses this next play. Maybe the next play they'll want to get serious too."

Less grumbles, but a long way from enthusiasm.

"Okay. Here's the deal. This week I'm in the program. Next week, any one of you might find yourself this way. Get past it. Yeah, this is the first year they've targeted football players during the session for the Program. Let's show them it doesn't matter."

That got their attention.

"Let's lay them out." Thanks, Marcus—our wrecking ball of a middle linebacker. After the next play, not a member of the offensive unit was standing. Coach's whistles and the phrase "next week it could be you" were heard all around the field.

As the center came up to the line for the next play, I said, "Just think, next week you could be showering with the cheerleaders."

Things straightened out after that. We got serious and people forgot I was naked. Hell, so did I. I'm sure it was because of the attitude my parents had about it. While we're not formally nudists, clothing has never been an issue around our house. Well, maybe not in the moment. I was too worn out to think that deep. Maybe not!

I was doing good getting through plays at half speed after my "little" workout! We spent the last few minutes of practice in the gym running through our secret plays. Out of the sight of scouts and spies for East and the other schools we would be playing this year.

When practice ended, the coaches called us over. They covered our game plan for Friday and reminded us that tomorrow was media day. The juniors and seniors would have to stay late and handle questions from reporters. Standard stuff and necessary for getting more players onto All-Conference and All-State teams.