As much as I hated having to give a speech, I didn’t want to be a no-show for Gunnar. All could be lost today if we didn’t make it back. My good standing with the principal, my self-respect—even Kjersten, who did not approve of Gunnar’s rally but would approve even less of me skipping out on him. And would Mona take the fall for this? Would my parents? No! It would all be on my head.
I cursed myself for not having the guts to say no and stick by it, refusing to go.
“Why do we all have to be at the airport?” I had said just before we left the house. “If the rest of you are there, why do I have to go?”
“Because I’m asking you to,” was my father’s response.
And as unreasonable as that was, I knew I had to go. Maybe Gunnar’s dad has forfeited his right to be respected—but I still had to respect my father’s wishes. Even if they screwed me royally.
By the time we got to the terminal, Aunt Mona was already waiting, and even before she hugged us, the onslaught began.
“Ugh! Where were you? I’ve been here for ten minutes!”
“Couldn’t find parking,” Dad said, kissing her cheek. “Your luggage come yet?”
“You know LaGuardia. Ugh! I’ll be lucky if it comes at all.” She looked at me and nodded approvingly. “I see you’re wearing that shirt I got you. It’s European, you know. I got it especially for you—the bright colors are supposed to make you look muscular.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Christina grin, and I sniffed loudly to remind her she stunk of Mona’s perfume. I looked at my watch—Mom saw me, and tried to rush everything along. Luckily the luggage came out quickly, and we hurried to the car, with less than an horn: to make it to the rally.
Air travel was not a good thing for my aunt’s mood. Our car ride was a veritable feast of unpleasantness—but rather than going through everything Mona said on the car ride, I’ll offer you a menu of choice selections.
Mona
An all-you-can-stomach experience.
—APPETIZERS—
“I see you’ve still got the same old car. Do they even make this model anymore?”
“Where are you taking us? You never had a sense of direction, Joe. Even as a boy he’d get lost on his bicycle and I’d have to find him.”
“You should smile more, Angela.
Maybe then your children might.”
—WHINE LIST—
“Ugh! I’m an icicle here—this heater gives no heat!”
“Toxic mold in your basement? Ugh! You should have had the whole house torn down.”
“Can’t we stop and get something to drink? I’m getting nauseous from the fumes. Ugh!”[3]
—SOUPS AND STEWS—
“Traffic? You don’t know traffic until you’ve lived in Chicago. Your traffic is nothing compared to mine.”
“Stress? You don’t know stress until you’ve run a perfume company. Your stress is nothing compared to what I go through.”
“Weather? You don’t know how easy you have it! Come to Chicago if you want to know what real weather is.”
—MAIN COURSE—
(Served scalding hot, and taken with a grain of salt)
“You’re taking me to
“It’s on Avenue T? Couldn’t you find a better location? Well, I suppose you’ll do better in a neighborhood with low expectations.”
“Once I move to New York, I’ll be able to give you pointers on the right way to run a business.[4]
—LIGHTER SELECTIONS—
for the calorie-conscious
“Angela, dear—I’ll order Nutri-plan diet meals for you. You don’t have to thank me, it’s my treat.”
“Christina, you’re very attractive, for a girl of your build.”
“One word, Joe: ‘Liposuction.’”
—DESSERT—
“What’s this about stopping at a school?”
“How long is this going to take?”
“I haven’t eaten all day!”
“Can I just wait in the car?”
“On second thought, no. In this neighborhood I’ll probably get mugged.”
We walked into the rally five minutes late, to find an auditorium packed, standing room only. My parents were completely bewildered. They knew I’d been doing “something” for Gunnar, but I don’t think they had any idea what it was, or how big it had become. They had never even seen my time contracts.
“Some turnout,” said Dad.
“And on a school night,” said Mom.
“This is how flu epidemics start,” said Mona, zeroing in on one kid with a hacking cough.
“What’s that up onstage?” my mom asked, pointing at the big cardboard thermometer.
“It’s measuring all the time I collected for Gunnar.”
“Oh,” she said, with no idea what I was talking about. It was actually kind of nice to see my parents starstruck by something I had done—even if it was all a sham.
I had my speech in my pocket, and as nervous as I was to get up in front of all these people, I was relieved to actually be there. This wouldn’t be so bad. It would be over quick, then we could get off to dinner and face a new menu of perspiration-inducing gripes from our own “relative humidity.”
But it didn’t happen that way. Not by a long shot. That night will be branded in my mind forever, because it was, without exaggeration, the worst night of my life.
16. The Day That Forever Will Be Known as “Black Wednesday”
The freezing rain had turned to sleet. It pelted the long windows of the auditorium with a clattering hiss like radio static. There were no seats for us—in fact, there were no seats for about a dozen people standing in the back, and even more were still filing in.
“This is very impressive,” Mom said.
“Ugh,” said Mona. “What is this, Ecuador? Do we need all this heat?”
She was right about that. Even though it was freezing outside, the auditorium was stifling hot. My father had taken off his coat, but there was nowhere to put it. He ended up holding his own and Mona’s, which was made of so many small animals, my father looked like a fur trader. Mom took out a tissue and blotted his forehead since his hands were too full to do it himself.
“Antsy! Where have you been?” It was Neena Wexler, Fresh-man Class President.
“Airport.”
Neena gave a nod of hello to my family. Mona fanned herself in response to point out the heat issue.
“Sorry it’s so hot,” Neena said, “but it’s actually on purpose. We have a whole thermometer motif.”
“Just remember to enunciate,” Aunt Mona advised me. “I’m sure you’ll do fine even with that speech impediment.” She was referring to my apparent inability to pronounce her name “Mona.”
