Two Feet Off The Ground Read online

  “I’ve got way too much hair to cut to take another day off, sweetie. Maybe you can just go with Jake.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, and then scooped his arms around the sticky napkins. “Whatever,” he said. “You’re going to miss a great time.”

  Nothing new there.

  * *

  I came home from a grueling twelve-hour shift at the salon the next day, and discovered I had a voice mail. I pressed the button to retrieve it. “Hey, Lauren, it’s Paula. I talked to Owen at practice today and he tells me you’re not coming to my party. I was really hoping you would. Any way I can change your mind?”

  I kept the phone against my ear for several seconds after to give her question a moment longer to marinate.

  I slowly closed my cell, and then placed it on the counter alongside the loaf of bread I forgot to put away that morning. A line of crumbs dotted the granite. I took a deep breath, grabbed a paper towel, and brushed the crumbs into the sink. My heart pounded and I loved every refreshing beat of it.

  I needed to tell Aziza. I grabbed my phone and called her. “Do I go? It sounds like she really wants me to. But, she’s Owen’s coach. Is this unthinkable? Or is it unavoidable?”

  “Take a breath. It’s a freaking pool party. You’ll lob a volleyball back and forth across the pool and maybe, if you’re lucky, get to slam dunk her later on.”

  “Okay, so say I go. What do I wear? My pink bikini or something more modest, like a tankini or a one piece?”

  “You’re not wearing a one-piece.”

  I shot towards the kitchen and poured myself a tall glass of wine. I gulped a mouthful. “I haven’t put on a bathing suit in eons. This means I’ll have to get a bikini wax, and you know how my skin swells. I’ll look like I placed a beacon between my legs that screams out to everyone, look at what I did. And me, in a crowd of people? I’m not going.”

  “Get drunk.”

  Down a few vodka cranberries, and I might even be able to climb on top of Paula’s shoulders and whack the ball across the net not caring if my c-section scar fell out of my bikini bottom. I gulped another mouthful of wine. “You’re a big help as usual.”

  “Just tell her the truth. Tell her you’re booked solid that day and can’t go. Hook up with her later.”

  How could I possibly cut hair that day now? “I’ll let you know what I decide.”

  “Right, like you’re going to go soak in a relaxing tub right now and forget all about this chick,” she said. “Call me when you’re done talking to her, darling.”

  “Of course.” I hung up and paced the living room with my near empty glass. A field of butterflies were taking up flight in my stomach. I felt just like I did the first time I kissed a girl, high as a kite. I floated from one end of the room to the other feeling nothing but air under my feet.

  I stared at my cell willing for it to make the call itself.

  Eat the Frog.

  This was Gran’s famous phrase. I could hear her whisper in my ear, “Imagine if you were told that you had twenty-four hours to eat a frog. Wouldn’t you rather just eat the frog in the first minute of the day rather than agonize over it for twenty-four hours?”

  I stared harder at the cell.

  Time to eat the damn frog.

  I dialed her number. Before I pressed the send button, I breathed deeply one last time. Okay, maybe more like five more times. But, finally, I stepped on the edge and took the leap.

  It rang and my heart jolted.

  It rang again and my heart bucked like a bronco.

  It rang a third time and I could no longer swallow.

  Just when I thought I’d lose consciousness, the familiar click of voice mail sounded in my ear and I felt like kissing the ceramic tile at my feet. Thank God for voice mail.

  Her voice sounded like a gentle breeze on a warm summer night, so cool and welcoming. “Hi, it’s Paula. Leave a message.”

  I paused, perhaps for longer than I should have. I wanted to sound sexy, like Angelina Jolie. “Hey Paula, it’s Lauren. I’ll be there.”

  I hung up the phone and finally exhaled.

  * *

  Floating around a pool on inner tubes and noodles didn’t exactly call for glam, but I wanted Paula to take notice. Of course, I didn’t want her thinking I spent the entire afternoon primping for her party. But I also didn’t want to show up with blotchy skin and ratty hair.

  I leaned over my sink to get a good look at a new freckle that popped up on my forehead overnight. I hated my freckles. I rummaged through my makeup bag and pulled out some concealer, then plopped a generous amount onto every one of them that I saw. Then, I pulled out my eye shadow and started spreading it over my lids.

  I spent the better part of my teenage years analyzing models in magazines to see if any of them shared the same misfortune I did of having fair skin and close-set eyes. Most of them were tanned with almond shaped eyes. They wore smoky, sultry shades that swept their tiger-eyes up in the corners. The problem with my complexion was I couldn’t go too dark or bold because I’d look like a cheap whore. I also couldn’t go with pastels because then I looked like an Easter egg. So, I always played it safe and went with neutrals.

  I’ve always thought applying makeup was an annoying little routine. It’s like one of those things that once you start you can’t stop. People I know have actually pulled me aside to ask if I was sick when I wasn’t wearing any. I became a slave to it at thirteen when I covered up a pimple on my chin with a glob of foundation. I’d never felt comfortable rolling out of bed and greeting the day with naked skin since.

  Once I was finished with my makeup, I moved onto my hair. I wound sections of it around my extra wide curling iron to create a mass of soft, glossy waves.

  After an hour, I finally emerged with fly away ends sealed into oblivion, and just the tiniest tickle in my throat from the cloud of hairspray dust I left wafting behind me.

  I looked at the clock and was shocked to see I had wasted a whole hour getting ready for a pool party.

  Imagine an actual date?

  * *

  “Mom, that was it. You just passed it.”

  Sure enough, I had sailed right past her street. “How am I supposed to read the street sign when it’s all mangled and faded?” It looked like someone put it through a garbage disposal.

  When I had a clear shot, I made my big risky move for the day and pulled a u-turn in the middle of the busy, narrow East Side Street.

  Finally, we arrived on Arnold Street. Each house looked like it was straight out of the pages of Better Homes and Gardens, with pretty, arched front doors and pitched roofs. I pulled up to Paula’s, an immaculate yellow Victorian. Plump impatients of every color smiled at us from below her front windows. Her lawn, a lush, thick carpet of green, looked like something I could take an afternoon nap on. Cars spilled out her driveway and onto the street, lining both sides.

  “Where are we going to park?” Owen asked.

  “Apparently not here. I hope you’re ready to walk.”

  I drove around in circles for another ten minutes finding us a parking spot. I had to settle on one four blocks over.

  I made a mental note to never again complain about the noise of the crickets outside my window on a summer night, or the smell of timber burning in the nightly community bonfire on the lakefront, or the sap from the weeping willow trees that ruined the paint on my Beemer.

  Owen and I walked down a lopsided sidewalk. Big oak trees were growing from out of the cracks. My sandals crunched against the crushed cement, which drowned out the squeals of a group of kids playing on a swing set in a front yard. I could smell spaghetti sauce seeping from the house’s open windows.

  I carried a bowl of lentil salad, and by the time we made it down to the end of the street, my wrists were starting to cramp. I honestly thought of ditching the bowl under a berry bush we were coming up on, but I braved onward with it.

  Finally, we arrived at Paula’s front door. Owen pressed the bell and it chimed.
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br />   We waited.

  I shifted my feet a few times.

  He rang it again.

  I tapped my fingers against the plastic bowl.

  Still no answer.

  Owen twisted the door handle.

  I swiped his hand off it. “We’re not going to just walk right in.”

  “It’s locked anyway,” he said.

  Good. None of this felt right anyway. Who walked into a pool party with shiny lips and glistening eyelids? I wanted to run. I wanted to clear the white picket fence before anyone saw us. We could go back to our condo and pop a few bags of popcorn and watch movies all day.

  “Let’s just go.” I spun on my wedged sandal and flew down the walkway cradling my bowl of lentils like a baby. I felt like a mother running for her life, trying to save her family from certain disaster.

  “Wait,” he called out after me. “Do you hear that?” He twisted his head to the left.

  My belly somersaulted when I heard the faint sound of voices and splashing coming from the backyard.

  Owen ran over to the gate like he was sprinting towards a finish line. I clung to my bowl and ran after him. I wasn’t about to go in there alone.

  His hand reached up for the latch. Through the crack I saw blurs of skin and bathing suits, of people enjoying a day in the sun without a care in the world how they looked or what Paula thought of them.

  How lucky for them.

  He pushed the gate open and all the blurry people came into focus.

  Rich, green shrubbery circled the property, like sentinels keeping the city outside at bay. A fountain and a gazebo sat next to a carp pond. Intricate masonry decorated the patio. Each stone fit with the next like a jigsaw puzzle. In the center - the kidney-shaped pool. Thank God I chose to shave instead of wax.

  Paula had managed to squeeze the entire soccer team and their parents into a twenty-by-fifty-foot hole in the ground. Everyone, aside from one pretty brunette standing at the grill, lounged in the pool. A man with a funky two-foot hat played “Piano Man” on a keyboard, as others sang along out of tune in between sipping on drinks. The air smelled like hotdogs and grilled chicken.

  I latched onto Owen’s arm and walked ahead with him. He weaved us through the maze of folding chairs and end tables littered with soda cans and beer bottles. I’d be needing several of those.

  A Frisbee whizzed by us, skimming the top of Owen’s head. He scrammed over to it and flung it right back over to the deep end of the pool towards a hefty man sinking like a whale. When the guy reached for it, pool water gushed out and onto the interlocking stones of the patio.

  Owen threw his backpack on the ground and dashed off to a herd of kids by the diving board, leaving me standing alone. One skinny kid shot up in the air like a rocket and slammed his tucked knees into the last ten square centimeters of water that was free from rowdy partygoers.

  I tucked my bathing suit strap more securely under my sun dress. No way in hell would I be getting into that pool with all those people. Where would I fit anyway?

  The sun beat down on the patio, making it feel like I was standing on top of a fire. My skin already felt like it was getting crispy. I shaded my eyes with my hand and scanned the area. I spotted Paula perched on the top rung of the pool ladder prepared to jump into a circle of blonde mommies. I didn’t remember seeing them at the PTA meetings.

  She radiated confidence. She wore a navy bikini. Her skin was perfectly tanned. Not a freckle in sight. Her body, toned, curvy. She arched her back, and swan-like, dove in without making a splash. She surfaced and the sun danced across her shoulders, making the water droplets look like glistening diamonds on her skin. Someone tossed her a Frisbee and she caught it with one hand.

  I stood alone on the patio in my polka-dotted sundress, oversized tote bag and bowl of lentils. I wanted to blend, to become as indistinctive as one of the stone puzzle pieces below my feet. I dug out my water bottle and chugged some lemonade. I should’ve spiked it before leaving home. What the hell good was sugar water from Trader Joe’s going to do me at that moment?

  The people clung together like maggots on a grain of rice. We all clamored to breathe the same air. How could there possibly be enough? I opened my mouth wide to take in a deep breath, but couldn’t. Suddenly, the yard began to shrink. I looked towards the pool and the scene blurred as if bound in saran wrap. Then, the people in the pool, the trees, the fence, the keyboard man, even the sky, thudded towards me like a bowling ball slated to strike me down. My vision tunneled and in the center of it all was Paula pointing the Frisbee at me.

  God not now. Not here. Not in front of all these people. Not in front of Paula.

  I panicked and the adrenaline pumped into overdrive. I couldn’t stop the anxiety attack now. It blew me off balance like an F-5 tornado, spinning my mind backwards and forwards and flicking my heart beat in and out too fast to keep up with. I tossed my water bottle to the ground and clutched my chest. It pounded like an out of control jackhammer. I broke out into a cold sweat and then my body started to tremble like I took one too many amphetamines.

  I drew a breath, long and deep enough that surely I must’ve vacuumed up all the air left. I curled my eyes back towards the pool trying my best to ignore the flood of prickly needles scratching through my body. I looked up just in time to see Paula launch the Frisbee at me.

  “Heads up!” she yelled.

  It flew towards me at train derailment speeds. To my surprise, I actually caught the damn thing, lentils in hand and all. The crowd cheered me on like I’d just won a gold medal at the Olympics. If I didn’t throw my hand up in front of my face when I did, I would’ve been spending the next week on the couch with a bag of frozen peas on my face.

  In a mad attempt to escape still dignified, I raised the Frisbee above my head and purposely overshot it back to Paula, then turned and bolted towards the gate. At first I heard Paula yell out at me and when I turned back to see her, her mouth opened like a guppy snacking on goldfish. She waved her hands in front of her like she was signaling the start of a drag race. Her words garbled and fell short of my ears.

  I just smiled over my shoulder at her and kept running forward like I was having the time of my life, then wham! I smacked my shin right into the cast iron fire pit. I shot up in the air, still hugging my lentils. I could’ve eaten an entire hotdog and swigged a can of beer in the time it seemed to take me to reach full height. Then, just like a popped balloon, I deflated and fell to the ground, my chest pounding into the cement like an angry hammer.

  My body was squashed up against the hot patio like a sizzling hamburger over a charcoal grill. My arms tingled and it took a few seconds for me to feel my injured leg. I lifted my head to find Owen. He stared at me in horror with his hands covering his open mouth.

  I looked to the pool and watched my bowl of drowning lentils float away.

  It took a few more seconds for my leg to come alive, and when it did, the pain ripped through it like a cheese grater. I rolled over and squeezed it to my chest.

  Paula landed by my side first. Drops of water trickled down from her arms onto my skin. She yelled out to the brunette still standing at the grill, “Can you get us some ice?”

  She placed her hand on mine, soothing me better than Aloe.

  “I tried to warn you,” she said. ”But you were too quick. What were you running from?”

  “A bee,” I said. I was so good at lying. Truth be told, though, it did feel like a million of them were piercing my leg with their stingers. I had to grit my teeth to keep from crying. Blood pooled around the fresh cut. I couldn’t look at it. I started to shiver in the hot sun. “Is the bleeding bad?”

  “We may need a tourniquet,” she said.

  I imagined blood squirting out of my leg and gathering in pools below me. I wanted to throw up.

  The brunette handed Paula a first aid kit and an icepack. First Paula plunged her hands into a pair of latex gloves. Then, she poured peroxide onto some gauze and delicately patted it against my sk
in. I winced with every pat.

  Aziza was going to love this story. The irony in it was so typical. I prayed for Paula’s hands to be on me, and my wish was granted, alright.

  When all the blood was clear, she wrapped up my leg like a slab of beef.

  “Let’s get you up on a lounge chair so you can elevate your leg,” she said. “Owen, can you give me a hand?”

  Owen jumped to my side and helped her launch me off the ground. She propped several towels under my ankle, then pulled up a chair. The brunette headed back to her grill, spatula still in hand. A few others jumped back in the pool to swim with the lentils. Some refilled their drinks and munched on chips. Me? I sat there looking like a soldier wounded from tripping over a rock on her way to battle.

  “Hey, how about a beer?” she said reaching behind her into the cooler. “Or would you rather have some wine? Or maybe some straight grain alcohol?”

  “Beer is perfect.” I couldn’t reach up for it fast enough.

  She leaned back, took a swig and laid her eyes on mine. “I warned my brother not to put the fire pit in the middle of the patio. And look at him over there.” She pointed to a handsome blonde look-a-like on the diving board. “He doesn’t even realize you almost broke your leg on it.” She straightened. “Let me call him over—”

  “No. Don’t do that.” I wrapped my hand around her arm and I swear I felt a current pass between us. I think she felt it, too, because she curled her eyes up at me. “I’m fine, really,” I said to her.

  Suddenly, a pretty girl wearing a bright orange bikini walked up from behind us and draped her arm around Paula’s shoulder. “Hey, sweetie, we’re going to need some of your special Margaritas soon.” The girl then flung her red hair over her shoulders and straddled the lounger next to Paula, like she was staking out property in the Wild West.

  “When did you sneak in?” Paula asked, bending over to give her a hug.

  “Apparently not in time to enjoy the show.” She skimmed over me and smiled. Her hair was perfect and her skin like a china doll. I felt like the ugly duckling next to her. God, please let her not be Paula’s girlfriend. They’d make such a pretty couple. I immediately diverted to the icepack.