"It's a secret," I blurted out, rather stupidly.

Uncle Mickey looked at me with mild disapproval. "Juliette, the first rule in keeping secrets is: never admit there's a secret. There is no secret. There never is any secret."

---

 

14. The Perils Of Eating For Nostalgia
 

With all the confusion and mockery and near-choking, it was difficult to look at the menu at all, but my eye fell on an item I couldn't pass up.

"I'd like corned beef and cabbage," I informed the waitress.

"One boiled dinner," the waitress said as she wrote.

"Make that two," Mom put in.

"Two boiled dinners."

"You know, I haven't had corned beef and cabbage, well, since... since I was a boy."

The waitress eyed him for a few moments, her eyes twinkling, then finally dropped it on him: "So, yesterday?"

My uncle sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward as the waitress walked off, once again victorious.

He turned to my mother and said, "I hope that at least you're enjoying this."

"Oh, Mickey!" she smiled. "I'm sorry, but this is what people come here for."

"To be abused? Comically abused? I'm sorry, I don't like being the butt of every joke, and I'd love to give as well as I get, but–"

"Mmm, speaking of jokes," Mom cut in, "what is this thing you two have going?" As she asked, my mother made Mickey's signal of twirling his index finger.

"It's a secret," I blurted out, rather stupidly.

Uncle Mickey looked at me with mild disapproval. "Juliette, the first rule in keeping secrets is: never admit there's a secret. There is no secret. There never is any secret."

"So?" Mom gently demanded.

"Eh. It's just a little joke," he admitted.

I was astonished and a little offended. Mom glanced at me.

I told her, "He said he saw imaginary people, and so when he did that thing..."

"Oh, I know," Mom said.

"You do?" I asked.

"Yes, you have to count the people you see? He's pulled that one before."

My uncle shrugged at me. "No hard feelings?"

"Juliette, your uncle does this sort of thing all the time. He loves to trick people. One time, he played a very mean trick on Denise."

"Who's Denise?"

"Lou's mother. Anyway, the Samsons had a family picnic, and your uncle invited Denise. Now, she had never met his parents, and of course she was a little nervous. So your uncle–" Uncle Mickey was chuckling to himself a bit here "–he told Denise that his father was deaf, very deaf, and that she needed to yell when she spoke to him or he wouldn't hear her at all."

"But Grandpa isn't deaf. Did he used to be deaf?" I asked. "I don't see the joke yet."

"Oh, it's the way you tell it, Carly," my uncle cut in. "You make it sound like an encyclopedia article! No, of course not, Juliette. My father wasn't deaf at all.

"Look, I told Denise that my parents were deaf. Then I told my parents that Denise was deaf — that they had to speak up if they wanted her to hear. Well, it was the grandest thing. She walked over to introduce herself, and the three of them were bawling and bellowing at each other to beat the band! You could hear 'em a mile away. They kept at it for a good ten minutes. I thought I'd die or wet myself. They went on a bit here and there, until we all sat down at table, and little Mary asked what all the yelling was about. At that point, the game was up."

The two men on my right laughed so hard, they had to put down their food, but the women on my left were scandalized.

Mom, who began the story to show how awful teasing can be, tried to draw the moral. "Poor Denise!" she began, but she broke up laughing herself.

"See that?" Uncle Mickey said to me. "Not a bit of harm in it."

"Did she ever go out with you again?" one of the women asked.

"Well, no," my uncle admitted, "there was that."

"I'm not surprised," the other woman added, and my uncle sighed.

"Yes, she was one of the one or two that got away," he said, a bit more soberly, with a glance at my mother, who blushed.
 

The next time the waitress came by, my uncle pointed out that she hadn't taken our drink orders.

She actually apologized, and asked, "What'll you have, Mom?"

"Diet Coke."

"And you, young lady?"

"The same."

"We don't have that, so I'll bring you a Diet Coke. And you, Sonny Jim?"

"I'd like a Sam Adams."

"Ooh, a beer!" she said. "What does Mom say about that?"

"He can have whatever he likes," Mom said.

"Your Mom says it's okay," the waitress said, "but I need to see some identification."

Huffing impatiently, my uncle reached for his wallet. "Miss," he told her, "a joke is a joke, but I'm a grown man–"

"Oh, I can see that," she interjected drily.

"Really," he continued, "could an underaged boy have fulsome facial hair, like mine?"

"Well, it is near Halloween," she offered, not backing down.

"My point is that I don't appreciate being belittled."

The smile disappeared from her face. She was silent as he slid his license out and offered it for her to see.

"You can understand," he continued, as she scanned for his birthdate, "that my small stature is rather a sore point for me."

She nodded. "I'm sorry," she said in a sincere tone. "It's all in fun... at least, it's meant to be."

"I understand," he replied. "No hard feelings. I'm quite a tease myself. Feel free to have at me, just not on that one point, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, and the two smiled.

"You got under my skin, that's all," he said.

"Under your skin?" she cried. "Oh, no! Let me out! Let me out! Yuck!"

"You know what I mean," he said, still chuckling.

"Sure, I understand," she retorted. By now, she'd fully recovered. "The problem is, you can't resist my womanly charms. It's my high cheekbones, I know. Sometimes I have to walk around like this–" she put her elbows out and covered her cheekbones with her fingers "–just to keep the boys away. Especially the ones with fulsome facial hair."

My uncle laughed. The waitress patted him on the shoulder, and all was well.

After she left us, Mom said to him, "You never used to be so touchy about your height."

"I'm not, usually," he admitted. "But then again, I'm not usually subjected to a non-stop barrage of height-related insults."

I watched, quite interested, since this would probably be my fate, as well.

My uncle caught my look, and said, "I expect you understand this very well, although it's not as difficult for a girl as it is for a man."

I opened my mouth to object, and Mom turned to say something as well... obviously wanting to straighten out the Victor/Juliette business, but it wasn't the moment. My uncle had a black look as he put his license away.
 

The rest of the meal was fairly quiet. The corned beef was pretty tasty, but the cabbage was very bland. I only had a few bites, and so did Mom. My uncle, on the other hand, cleaned his plate and had a second beer.

"That was excellent!" Mickey exclaimed. "It certainly brought me back. I'm sure it's been literal decades since I've eaten a corned-beef dinner."

"Did you like that cabbage?" Mom asked him.

"Eh. I ate it all, but it required a heavy dose of salt. I ate it more from nostalgia than anything else."

My uncle paid, and left a generous tip. He and the waitress, who was a heavy-set, older woman, actually hugged each other before we descended the stairs.

He had an enormous smile on his face, but the instant we walked outside, it changed to a look of alarm.

"Oh, lord!" he cried. "I feel as if a boulder has formed in my stomach. I'm almost afraid to walk; I'll upset the balance."

I thought he was fooling, so I started giggling.

"Stop that! Stop!" he told me. "I'm not joking. I'm afraid I'll upchuck."

Unfortunately, his choice of words set me off giggling again, so I stepped a few yards away and tried to stifle it.

"Oh, Mick!" Mom said. "It's all that cabbage that you packed in there."

"Yes," he agreed. "It must have expanded, or solidified, or both. Don't you? Ah! Don't you feel any intestinal distress?" he asked, in a frightened tone.

"No, but I didn't eat the cabbage. Neither did Juliette."

"Oh, dear, oh, dear," he said. "I think I'd better find a toilet, or a bucket, or a fire station. Lord!"

He began to gingerly turn around, to head back into the restaurant, when, with a grand whoosh!, he let off a copious fart.

"Oh, oh," he gasped. "Well, that's done it. Sorry, Carly. Don't mean to be indelicate, but ooh..." He straightened up and took a few tentative steps. "Oh, oh, yes, that's done it. I've still got the stone in my belly, but it's a good deal smaller. Diminished by half, I'd say. Perhaps with a bit of walking the whole thing will pass."

By this time I was laughing and snorting so hard that I couldn't stop.

"Juliette, stop that," Mom commanded. "Control yourself."

"I can't," I cried, clutching my sides.

"Hooof!" my uncle exclaimed, as another whoosh! burst forth.

"Oh, Mickey!" my mother scolded. "Some things never change!"

"What? What!?" he exclaimed. "I never!"

"Yes," she countered. "You always!"

"No, no," he contradicted. "I never — hah!" and another sound gave him the lie.

"I'm sorry and embarrassed," he continued, "but I have never made a habit of airing my grievances in public like this. I'm sure that you're mixing me up with my brother James."

"Dad?" I managed to gasp between giggles.

"Oh," said Mom, turning red.

"Mmm," Mickey agreed, vindicated. "He was always proud of his ability in that area."

"Oh, my," I sighed, contented, though it seemed that the humor and the outgassing were at an end.

We continued through the brick-paved Market past a large greenhouse, and crossed the street.

"What's up those steps?" I asked.

"Government Center. It's a huge empty plaza for public events. The Big Apple Circus sets its tent there when it's in town. Sometimes concerts are held there. I don't think a week goes by that there isn't one sort of gathering or another here."

He climbed to the first step and turned to face my mother.

"Carly, it's been wonderful to see you. I'm sorry that I ended in such an undignified manner. Next time, let's not go anywhere where cabbage is served. In fact, to preserve whatever dignity I have left, I think I'd better leave you two and take a long walk by myself... to be alone with my cabbage." He smiled. "Let's not let so much time pass before we see each other again."

Then he took her by the shoulders, and kissed her.

I don't know how long they kissed, but it seemed like a long time. I was astonished, and couldn't take my eyes away. My eyebrows were nearly on top of my head. He didn't move his hands from her shoulders, and her hands were clasped in front of her, so it wasn't a real hug. Her head didn't move at all. It wasn't a kiss like you see in the movies, but still, it was a kiss.

I thought, He's kissing her. She's not kissing him. She's *letting* him kiss her, but she's not kissing back.

He let her go, and I could see his face. He looked... well, not sad... maybe disappointed? Clearly it wasn't what he hoped or expected it to be.

"Sorry," he told her softly.

"It's okay," she said. "For old times' sake."

"Yeah," he said. "Old times' sake."

Then, smiling a bit ruefully, he stepped down to where I was standing.

"And you, young lady, remember what I said: Damn the torpedoes! Remember your uncle!" He gave me a hug and turned to go.

"Mick, wait," my mother called. "About Juliette–"

He shook his head. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. I know." Then he turned and walked, a bit gingerly, away from us, along the high stone wall.

"I already told him," I said.

She nodded. "Vic– Juliette, there's no need to tell your father about what just happened."

"Okay," I agreed.

"It was just a kiss, but your father might think–"

"It's okay," I repeated. "It never happened. There is no secret."

She looked at me, a mite conflicted, until at last she said, "Fine. Let's leave it at that."

We walked up the steps to Government Center, and crossed the empty, brick-paved plaza.

"Is this the way to our hotel?"

"Yes, it's up that way and over."

"Oh."

"Your father and I used to spend a lot of time in Boston when we were younger," she explained. "I know this area pretty well, but I pretended I didn't, so Mick could have the fun of playing tour guide."

I nodded.

"Do you feel like walking a bit more?"

"I didn't have any cabbage," I joked, but she frowned. So I said, "No, I don't mind walking. Is there something we can see?"

"We could keep going this way to the Common," and so we did, but there was nothing to see, not really. Mom pointed out the new State House with its gold dome, and then we headed back to the hotel.

I didn't feel like talking, although a tune kept running through my head, so I hummed it, over and over.

"Will you stop that, Juliette?"

"Okay."

But soon I'd forget and be back at it.

When I'd notice her staring at me, I'd stop. But after a few steps, I'd automatically start humming again. I was stuck with it, the thing kept playing like a tape loop inside of me.

At last, when we were a block from the hotel, she said, "Are you doing that on purpose? To tease me?"

"What?" I asked.

"That song!"

"What song?"

"The one you've been humming!"

"What song is it?"

She sighed in exasperation. "Oh, Miss Innocent! Never mind!"

What song was it? I ran the tune through my head, and then I got it. Ever since we left my uncle, I'd been humming I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.

---

A short while later, the two of us were sitting on our respective beds in our respective pajamas. Mine, which of course Mom had bought, were a pair of long pajama pants and a short t-shirt with half-sleeves. The pants were light violet, and the top was pink. They were decorated with horses, hearts, and stars — some pink, some pale blue. They were cute, and they were very soft.

Mom was busy putting lotion on her legs. I just sat and watched.

"Do you want some?" she offered.

"No, thanks."

"My legs get so dry," she explained. "I have to do this every night."

"Hmmph," I said. "Hey, is Dad going to have breakfast with us tomorrow?"

"No, hon, he won't get here until ten. And that means you probably won't see him."

"Oh, bummer."

"I know, but it's probably better, what with you in a skirt and all."

"Yeah, I guess," I admitted glumly.

"So, can we talk about it?"

"About what? About dresses? Mom, I told you: it's just for Halloween."

"Yes, I know you keep saying that. But what about after, when Halloween is over? Are you going to miss it? Will you miss being Juliette?"

"I don't know," I mumbled. "It's not like I want... I mean, okay, sometimes it's fun to be somebody else, to have a secret identity. And the clothes are... I don't know. Sometimes I feel dorky, like a boy in a dress, but other times I feel really good. Boys clothes are... they don't have the, uh..."

Mom sucked on her lower lip and listened. She didn't try to finish my sentence. She just waited to see what I'd say.

I drew a deep breath. "Okay. So. Sometimes the clothes are fun. They have more colors, and cuter designs. They fit a lot better and feel good..."

"Do you like being cute?"

"Oooh," I moaned. "I don't know. I don't always feel cute. Like now. I mean, I know these are supposed to be cute, and I don't mind wearing them, but once I put them on, aside from being really soft, they just feel like regular pajamas."

"Yeah," Mom said. "I know what you mean. Sometimes it's all about how others see you. You don't get the same effect; you just give it to others. It's like perfume. After you put it on, you don't smell it any more. Some older women, they just keep spraying it on and spraying it on until they can smell it themselves, and by that time, they've put on 20 or 30 times than anyone ever should."

"I guess," I said.

"They do," she confirmed, and came over to sit next to me. Putting her arm around me, she looked me in the eyes and said, "Will you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"I told your father that after Halloween, all this will disappear: the costumes, the clothes, everything. But I'm not going to get rid of it. I'll pack it all away, just in case. And if you want to be Juliette for an hour or a day or a weekend, I want you to tell me, and I'll help you. Okay? Can you do that?"

"I guess," I said, "But I won't–"

She cut me off with a wave of her hand. "If it never happens, then it doesn't matter. Right? But I want you to promise that if it does, you'll come to me. I want to know when you're doing this. Will you promise?"

"But I don't–"

"I want you to promise me, Victor. I don't want Diana's mother to call and tell me that you're at her house in a skirt and pigtails. I don't want to come home to find you and the girl who lives behind us playing hopscotch or dressing dolls."

"I won't–"

"Don't promise me that you won't or you don't. I want you to promise me that you will come to me first if you ever want to dress like a girl. Will you promise me that?"

"Yes," I said. "I promise. But–"

"No buts! If you do this behind my back, I'll be very angry, and your father will go through the roof. If you come to me, I'll help you. But mainly, I want to know."

"Okay, Mom, I get it. Don't worry."

"Worry?" she repeated. "Of course I'll worry. That's what mothers do!"

She hugged me and tousled my hair. Then she went to her bed and turned off the light.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way