"The Dyke and her Ghostwriter"

When I emerged from the shower this morning, McGee in the Morning himself was blasting out of our kitchen radio, informing us in his tacky, wanna-be-but-not-even-close impersonation of Barry White that it was going to be another “hot, hot, sweatin’ in the sun, and oozin’ off the ozone kind of day.” So I pulled on my I Don’t Think So t-shirt and slipped into a pair of camouflaged cargo pants. To complete the dyke look Sam Fluchter would die from I grabbed my Grandpa Frank’s flannel shirt and threw it over my big boobs. Dad had worn it enough times for mom to remember. The shirt was as much a comfort to me as it was a source of irritation for her.



But when I walked into the kitchen, Sam Fluchter was singing along to Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds and swinging her non-existent hips my way. With spatula in hand, she embraced me. “Amelia, did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?”


“Uh, no…” The kitchen table held an uneven stack of pancakes with chocolate chips melted in the shape of a smiley face. Jack was diligently carving out his smiley face, eating every chocolate eye, nose and mouth on his plate.


“Good morning, Amelia Bedilia,” Jack sang through the Jack-o-lantern pancake he held to his face. And the kid wondered why he was bullied at school?!


“Well you are young lady. You are so beautiful.” She looked at me with such intensity I thought I was bound for a flight to Siberia. “Isn’t your sister beautiful?”


“Oh, yes. She is definitely beautiful. Amelia, you are definitely beautiful,” Jack agreed through his massacred pancake. Jack would agree that I’m a toilet if mom asked him to.


“Please sit down, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” Her tiny fingers tapped on my back.


Home-made pancakes, mega-eye contact and diabetic compliments told me one thing: Sam Fluchter was wracked with guilt. She knew I knew. “You should have been a Catholic.” I grabbed a smiley face and tore a piece off to eat.


“Please, use a plate honey.” She nervously pushed one toward me. I just stared at her and continued to eat the pancake with my fingers. If she was going to ignore me, I could do the same.


She sat down beside me, a hand behind her neck just itching to be bitten. “Look, you shouldn’t take what this Meeka girl said seriously. She’s probably just jealous of you.”


“Yeah, you’re not ugly. You’re definitely not ugly and especially not the ugliest person in the world,” Jack said, nodding his head like a Pez dispenser on Speed.


“What are ya’ll talking about?” They looked at me like I was an injured puppy, except the only broken part came from Sam’s smooch on the front steps.


“It’s okay sweetheart. Seth told me everything,” mom said and rested one of her doll hands on my arm.


“He did.” Seth’s smug you’re welcome rung in my ears.


“Yes, and I want you to know that I’m going to take care of this.” She smiled and there were actual tears in her eyes.


Jack grabbed his Incredible Hulk backpack (Super-Geek!) and wrapped his spindly arms around our mother. “Happy Birthday mom!”


“Happy Birthday!” I chimed in. Crap—I’d completely forgotten.


“Oh Amelia Bedilia,” she jumped out of her chair and took a card from the kitchen counter. “Thank you for this.” She hugged the card to her chest. More tears filled her eyes.


“Sure.” It was only after she went to the bathroom that I opened the card and read my ghostwriter’s words.






You’re an awesome mother! Happy Birthday!


Love,


Amelia xxxooo


I recognized that perfect penmanship from the CD mix Seth made me. The fact that Sam Fluchter didn’t know her own daughter’s handwriting from someone else’s just hurt.