Page 75 of Life Out of Order

“Thank you,” I say. Next time.

We bundle up, leave the restaurant and stand together under the awning. A sense of awkwardness has returned. “Come and visit my studio,” Beck says. “I’ll text you.”

“I’d like that,” I say. We part with a hug. I walk east, to the parking garage; Beck heads west, to her apartment. I still have no idea if that was a date, but a wave of delight passes over me, irrational euphoria. I turn and see Beck waiting at the light, about to cross Wabash; she turns and looks at me. She waves; I wave back. Then she crosses the street and I lose sight of her. Walking through the icy spring rain, I realize that this is what it’s like to choose someone; nothing is certain, everything is possible. I feel my future blossom.

Red Galoshes

Wednesday, April 7, 2010 (Alba is 8 and 46)

Alba: The bad dream again. I’m in the Yellow House, upstairs in the music room. It’s dark and the sheet music is all over the floor, torn and dirty. I can’t read it but I try to pick it up anyway. There’s water downstairs. I am afraid and I wake up.

I think it’s morning because it’s light, but Other Alba is sitting in my chair with the reading lamp on, and I see it’s dark outside. She’s wearing Mama’s bathrobe and she has a book and a juice glass full of maybe wine? Her hair is really long and half gray, what Mama calls “salt-and-pepper.” Other Alba comes and sits on the bed next to me and puts her arms around me like Mama does.

When I stop crying, she says, “It’s okay. Go back to sleep, Alba. It’s two a.m.”

“In a sec.” I get up and go to the bathroom. When I come back she is sitting in the chair again. She says, “What year is it?”

“2010.” I get into bed. She turns off the lamp. I don’t want to sleep. “What year did you come from?” I ask her. We talk quietly because we don’t want to wake Mama.

“2047. It’ll be Christmas in a couple weeks. When I left there was a big storm coming.”

“Snow?”

“Rain, probably. I just got Mama some bright red galoshes.”

“For Christmas? That’s a boring present.”

Other Alba makes a little huh sound, like she’s trying not to laugh. “Some people like to keep their feet dry.”

“I guess.” Mama already has a lot of galoshes; she wears them in the studio when she makes paper.

“Alba,” says Other Alba, “have you met Beck yet?”

“No.” I don’t say Who’s Beck? because I’ve been told more than once. “Am I going to meet her soon? Mama seems depressed. Will Beck cheer her up?”

“Yes,” says Other Alba. “Beck will be good for her. And for you, too. I’ve always liked her, she’s clever and no-nonsense. And fun.”

“How can she be fun and no-nonsense?”

“No-nonsense means she doesn’t take any guff from anybody. Including you.”

I think about this. “Will I want to give her guff? What is guff?”

“A hard time. Stupidity. If I’m giving you guff, you’re not going to like it.”

“If she’s nice I won’t want to.”

“Beck is nice. But you might feel strange about her. Mama will spend a lot of time with Beck, and you might resent that.”

“Will Mama stop crying so much?”

“She’ll hardly ever cry. You might think she doesn’t miss Daddy anymore, or she’s forgotten him.”

“Oh,” I say. I don’t want Mama to be sad, but if she is happy without him, what do I say to Daddy? “Does Daddy like Beck?”

“That’s a complicated question,” Other Alba says. “Daddy doesn’t know Beck. That is, he met her once, but he didn’t know who she was.”

“Is she a secret?”