Williams - Amalee

Imagine six kids packed into a car, laughing and talking on their way to get pizza and root beer, planning to see a great movie afterward. Now imagine that five of those kids are actually forty-two years old, and theyre still packed in that car, and the sixth passenger is eleven years old. Thats me, Amalee Everly. The other five would be my dad and his four big, goofy friends.

And there I was, on a freezing night in early March, going to the movies with them.

Theyd all gone to college together, and then they had vowed to continue having fun together, to hang out together, and to be there for each other forever, till death do they part. I dont know what they would have done if theyd all had kids, but only one of them did. That, of course, was my dad, David, who was driving and smiling as each of them squoze in.

First stop was his oldest friend, Phyllis. Hed known her since he was six. Phyllis was tall and had a big smile that made me think of all the pictures of her and my dad from when they were kids. She would slide into the front seat and immediately swivel around to ask me about whatever I was studying, or drill me on a new word, which, I have to admit, I always liked. I loved new words. Tonights word was illuminate, or ih-LOOM-in-ate, ih-LOOOOOM-in-ate, as Phyllis pronounced it, widening her large brown eyes. It means to shed light on something, like a floodlight illuminates the street or, if a person wants more information, she can say, illuminate me. The same way she could say enlighten me. They both mean show me the light.

So a person can be illuminated, too.

Carolyn jumped in next. Youre lucky I called the movie theater ahead of time, she announced as she got in the backseat. I had to reserve tickets, it was so popular. I told you this town needed more foreign films. I groaned quietly. That was Carolyn unsmiling, with her short red hair sticking out in all directions. She always had a lot of energy, but not cheerful energy. She was very serious, especially about her favorite topic (herself) and she was a painter who often expressed disgust for a world that didnt care about art (especially her art).

We got to Joyces house next, and, true to her nature, she hopped in beside me, black hair bouncing, a bright scarf spilling all over her coat. She moved into the car, gave me a hug that said, I know you dont like to be hugged. This will be short, squeezed Phyllis and my dad on the shoulder, and nodded to Carolyn, who practically had a DONT TOUCH ME sign around her neck. Joyce was always looking out for peoples feelings, because she was a therapist. After her round of hellos, Joyce quietly started straightening and retying her scarf, smiling and humming to herself.

Finally, John opened the door, and it was time for me to ride on someones lap. He was mostly bald, very twinkly this was the best description for his eyes and the way he laughed and altogether pretty hefty.

It was crowded, it was pretty boring, and the worst thing was that we did this every single week. Every Friday I sat on a different lap, and a different person would complain about his or her life except for my dad, who always drove and never complained.

This week I was on Joyces lap. Her lap was actually the best one, because she would always sneak me breath mints. Her minty breath was the best in the car.

Tonight, as it turned out, it was Johns turn to complain. He was the headwaiter at a fancy restaurant, but he wanted to be a chef.

I swear I almost quit my job last night! he said in his broad Georgia accent. He was always saying he was going to quit his job. But he never did.

Really? My dad sounded surprised, even though wed already heard this on plenty of Fridays.

John wanted to have his own restaurant. So how far had he come in making his dream come true? Well, he was good at giving detailed reports about how awful his job was. Oh, David! he moaned, the chef doesnt know how to cook! Customers keep sending their dinners back to the kitchen. Too cold, too soggy, burnt. And you know what else? Even when he gets it right, his food is plain. Just plain food that people could have made at home. Going to a restaurant should be special. People go there for birthdays and anniversaries. They need special food! They need exciting food! I left a wonderful linzer torte recipe for him, you know, with a few tips, just to get him excited about cooking again. Hes such a mean-spirited, depressed, lazy cow! Do you know what he did?

Phyllis chimed in. She had a terrible problem with talking. And talking, and talking. John found the recipe folded up at his headwaiter station, she said now. No comment and no thanks.

So you know what Im going to do? John asked. Then he answered himself. Im going to march into that bank on Monday, get a loan, and start my own restaurant. And the first dessert on the menu will be my own linzer torte.

Oh, John, thats a very healthy way to deal with your disappointment! said Joyce. Being a therapist, she loved it when people said nice things about themselves or made big, bold plans for their future. She was very popular in this car on Fridays. Using your anger as rocket fuel to start your own project. That is a great use of energy.

Joyce had almost a little girls voice. Phyllis liked to call her tenderhearted. She cried whenever she saw something sad, beautiful, happy, or related to the autumn. Oh, the fall! she would say in her slightly munchkin voice. Yellow leaves, yellow school buses! Kids walking to school. And then wed see the tears, and Phyllis would pull a tissue from the bottomless pocket of her sweater and talk a little too long about anything that would help Joyce quiet down. Joyce thought she was a bad therapist because she cried so much. She learned to get two boxes of tissues one for her clients, one for herself.

John was very happy to hear Joyces opinion.

Thats right, Joyce, he said. My anger gives me energy! Henris unworthiness as a chef is the last straw!

I couldnt stand it. I felt so cramped, so annoyed, and so sick of the same conversation every Friday.

You always say its the last straw, John, I pointed out.

I felt Joyces legs stiffen beneath me, even as she wiped her nose.

Phyllis said, What do you mean, Amalee?

I let it all out. I mean that every week is the last straw! Every week we pretend that John is really going to start a restaurant.

And Im sure he will, Amalee, Joyce gasped.

And Im sure he wont, I answered. I didnt mean to say it. I meant to say that John should just do what he said he was going to do. But instead, I felt like Id just put a curse on him.

The silence that followed made it hard to breathe.

Carolyn spoke up from where she was wedged against the window. Wow. That was mean. As always, Carolyn didnt hesitate to tell us what she thought.

The car was silent again. Joyce sucked on her mint nervously. In her little bird voice she said, Well, really But nothing after that.

Amalees right, said John sadly. Im always saying Im going to do something, and then I dont. Im unmotivated. Im the lazy cow.

You are not! Phyllis protested.

John, you work harder than anyone I know, said my dad.

I couldnt say a thing. I had no idea I could say something that would hurt a person so much. John sounded like a different person, as if hed taken off a bright mask to show that he was just some really depressed guy underneath. I liked John. Id always liked him. He annoyed me, too, but hed always made it clear he would move a mountain for me if he had to. Now suddenly everyone was jumping in to defend him against what Id just said.