Ginny Moon

He smiles and he shakes his head. “I do,” he says, “but the trucks aren’t mine. I drive them for different companies. I’m even getting a special license so that I can haul some really important freight. Yep.” When he says Yep he smiles with his mouth a little on the side and he tugs with both hands on his jacket.

“So where is your little old Honda?” I look at myself swaying back and forth in his glasses. I wonder which one is Ginny and which one is (-Ginny). I wonder which one is the real me.

He points to the parking lot. I see a gray car there.

“Gloria has a green car. The window was broken,” I say. “But then it got fixed.”

“You remember your mom’s car? Heck, I remember that car, too.”

“I saw it on September 14th in the parking lot at school.”

“I think it’s time to go on the swings,” my Forever Dad says.

“You two can go on the swings,” I say. “I’ll stay here and talk with my Old Dad Rick.”

My Forever Mom laughs. “Sorry, but we need to stick together.”

I point at the swings. “You can stick together over there if you want,” I say, “and we’ll stick together right here.”

“Ginny, we’re not letting you out of our sight,” my Forever Dad says. “Not after what happened before.”

He means the kidnapping.

“You know, going on the swings sounds like a great idea,” says Rick. “I’m in the mood for a good swing.”

We walk to the swings. All of us together. I am mad because my Forever Parents won’t let me out of their sight. I’m wondering if they’ve got my number too.

I get on one of the swings and start swinging. Rick gets on the one next to me. The chains are cold. My Forever Parents stand in front of us watching. I don’t think I’m going to get to ask what I want to ask so I say, “Do you know if anyone is going to check on my Baby Doll?”

And he says, “Check on your Baby Doll? No, I don’t know anything about that.”

And I say, “I need to find it because it might be hungry. Do you think Gloria is acting pretty reasonably?”

Rick looks at my Forever Parents. They move their shoulders up and look back at him. Rick pushes back and starts to swing. “So, what should we talk about?” he says.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Heck, I don’t know,” he says. “It’s just a doll, right? Isn’t there anything else you want to talk about?”

“Yes,” I say.

“What?” he says.

I look at my Forever Parents and put my head down. I know they can hear me so I can’t ask what I really want to ask. Instead I ask the next best thing. “I want to know if you’ll go to Gloria’s apartment to make sure she’s taking care of it.”

Rick drags his work boots on the sand. He looks at my Forever Parents. They look back at him. “That’s really the same topic, isn’t it? Your folks told me you think about your old Baby Doll all the time,” he says. “You must really miss it.”

I nod my head. “Yes, I do,” I say.

“Maybe we can go to get you a new one, then,” he says. “I’ve never been able to get you a present, so maybe—”

“No,” I say. “I do not want a new one. I want you to go make sure the old one is safe. Gloria can’t take care of it.”

“Okay, okay,” says Rick.

Then my Forever Mom says, “No, Rick, don’t say okay. She’ll take you literally.”

“What? Oh, got it,” says Rick.

“Ginny, he means okay, he won’t go get you a new Baby Doll. So don’t worry. We wouldn’t let anyone do that to you.” Then to Rick she says, “This is what we were talking about. She won’t let go of the idea. There’s no use trying.”

“I always thought it never hurts to try,” says Rick in a quiet voice. He looks at me. “Do you have a favorite color?”

I try not to get distracted but I have to answer. “I like red,” I say.

“I like red, too. Red and blue.”

“Those are the Patriots’ colors,” I say.

He laughs. “I do love the Pats,” he says.

“When can we have a respite?” I say. “When can we give everyone a little break?”

“It’s too soon for that,” my Forever Dad says right away. “Isn’t that right, Rick?”

Rick is quiet for exactly three seconds. “Right,” he says. “It’s too soon. But maybe we could set up another time to visit.” He turns his head and looks right at my Forever Dad. “Would that be all right?”

My Forever Dad’s eyebrows get pointy like a V.

“Of course it would,” my Forever Mom says. “After all, we want the two of you to spend a lot of time together. As much as possible.”

“But no respite yet,” says Rick.

“Right. No respite yet,” my Forever Dad says.





47


EXACTLY 12:41 IN THE AFTERNOON,

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 22ND

At the table it is only me and Larry. Alison Hill and Brenda Richardson and Kayla Zadambidge are in line getting their lunches. Ms. Carol is standing next to the water fountain talking with another teacher. She is watching me but she isn’t close enough to listen.

“How did things go with that Rick dude this weekend? Was he nice?” says Larry.

That was two questions but I know he means the same thing by both so I say, “He was the man from Special Olympics.”

“You mean the one your other dad always talks to?”

I nod my head yes. Larry nods too.

“Whoa,” he says. “Who knew?”

“No one knew,” I say. “Only my Forever Dad.”

Larry makes a funny face. “How come you call him your Forever Dad all the time? I mean, I know you were adopted, but couldn’t you just call him your dad? I mean, it’s not like you’re going to go live with someone else.”

I think. “I’m going to go have a respite with Rick,” I say. “My Forever Parents need a little break.”

“A break from their own kid? That’s weird,” says Larry. “Say, you’re not thinking of going to go live with that Rick dude, are you? Because, babe, if you went away...”

He stops talking. Then in a shaky voice he starts singing a song about how God only knows what he’d be without me. Sometimes he stops singing and says Dum-dum, Dum, Dum starting low and marching up.

“You dig?” he says when he finishes the song.

He means Do you understand? So I say, “No, Larry, I do not dig.”

“Don’t you want to be my—Don’t you want us to be boyfriend and girlfriend? Someday, I mean.”

“No, Larry,” I say again.

“Man, that stinks,” he says. And throws one of his arm braces down. It clatters and bounces. His face is tight and there are tears coming out the corners of his eyes. Then he says, “I mean, us special kids—we need to stick together, you know? It’s not like either one of us has a shot at getting with a regular girl. I mean, a regular person. So fine, I get it. You’re not interested. We can just be friends. But I still don’t want you to go anywhere. You’ll always stay right here in Greensborough, right?”

I don’t say anything. In my tray I use my fork to turn some spaghetti over. I have to answer the question unless I take too much time thinking of an answer and Larry says something else.

Which is exactly what happens.

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