November 8, 2007
Ms. Wilson-Scott
“Mom, please! I know it’s expensive, but it’s a BEAR.”
“But what’s the difference between the bear and…” she searched the shelf in the San Francisco store for anything under $20, “the unicorn?” She pulled out a sparkling pink unicorn, trying to sell it with her expression.
“Well, it’s not a bear.”
I had wanted the queen bear for my birthday. She was royal purple with a silver rose stitched on her left breast. I was sure I would be rich one day, considering I had over 40 of these little creatures and they were sure to increase in value. I was very wrong, however.
I reminded my mother years later, “Remember when I liked beanie babies?” She smiled and gave me the look that she gives when she knows she’s right.
“You thought you would be rich. I told you it was a scam, Gina,” she said with a satisfaction that seemed to have been waiting to escape.
“Whatever, mom; they were worth a lot at the time,” I said with attitude.
She smirked, the look remaining on her face.
My shelf, once bursting with beanie babies, is now full of books, and just as my mother thought, my once-treasured toys all sit in a cardboard box in the garage. Unloved. Unplayed with.
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I picked up the blue spray bottle from Zoë’s worn out duffle bag; a big smiling sun covered the bottle. Sun-In.
“What’s this?” I asked her curiously.
“Oh, it turns your hair blonde,” she said coolly.
She was already blonde, so I didn’t know why she even owned this product, but I was not. I looked in the mirror, unsatisfied with my brown curls. “I’m totally going to use it. I have been meaning to go blonde.”
I yelled downstairs, “Mom, I’m using Sun-In to make my hair blonde!”
“Don’t do it, Gina,” she warned me. My mother always told me that everyone looks the best naturally.
I gave Zoë a sarcastic look, picked up the smiling bottle, and confidently sprayed away.
The next morning, I awoke to Zoe’s giggles. I quickly ran to the mirror and looked at my reflection in horror. My once beautiful chocolate hair was now not blonde, but a carrot orange. I look like a Ginger Kid!! When my mother saw my new hair, she gave me the look.
“What did I tell you about putting that crap in your hair?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
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Then came the pets.
“Please, I just really, really want a turtle. I will love it and care for it and play with it. I promise!”
My mother tried to convince me that it would be just like the guinea pigs, the rabbit and the frog…its life prematurely ending due to my lack of love and attention. But for some reason, I was sure that a turtle would be a perfect best friend. She hesitantly gave in after I promised to take good care of it. He was a small, dark green desert turtle who constantly hid in himself, appearing to be just a shell. I named him Gary.
Soon Christmas came, but the first thing I got was not a present. My mom held out my turtle, and with that familiar look on her face she said, “Gina, the light bulb on Gary’s cage went out and he froze.” I couldn’t believe it. My turtle had froze? How could this have happened? If I had only paid more attention to him, or changed the light bulb earlier or…but at this point all I could really do was ask for a hamster.
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“Do you want to be on the O.C.?” Yeah…
“Are you between the ages of 13-16?” Yeah…
“Then call this number: 1 800 555-5555.”
One phone call, hours of begging, and about $1,000 later, I found myself in a room with a bunch of bizarre-o actor kids.
“Mmm…creamy, dreamy, delicious. Philadelphia Cream cheese, it’s like a kiss from heaven.”
“Good! But a bit more spark…a bit more energy, Gina. Take five.” I did not want to take five. I was sick of these bullshit fake commercials. I was sick of John Robert Powers Acting and Modeling. I was sick of these fake and overly jubilant instructors. I was sick of my crazy fire-headed teacher, Pamela. Her overly made-up face looked like a Barbie doll gone wrong. This whole program was a scam and I was not going to be a famous actress like they promised on the radio advertisements. My mother was right. I didn’t even have to get the look to figure this one out. Why didn’t I just listen to her?
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“Bye girls, have fun! Don’t go in the ocean while we’re gone - you know the current is very strong. We’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Bye mom, bye dad.”
As soon as the door creaked shut, I ripped off my sweaty clothes and put on my ocean smelling swimsuit. Ellie and I began to walk towards the water, our feet burning on the sun-bathed sand, as we hobbled down the beach. The blue green waves were enormous, rhythmically crashing down, sending a salty mist in our faces.
The water crept up to my toes, easing my hotness with its perfect temperature. The perfect sunny sky, the perfect secluded beach, my perfect place.
We ran into the sea. It stayed shallow for a while, then suddenly dropped to about ten feet. I playfully splashed Ellie until we were in a water fight. The waves towered over our heads but we dove under each time, laying flat on the ocean floor, avoiding being tossed and turned by the current.
“I’m getting tired.” Ellie yelled.
“Me, too; let’s head back,” I agreed.
We started to swim back to shore but realized we were trapped. The undertow was holding us in. The ocean was sucking out our energy, and the more we fought it the worse it got.
My head went in and out of the water. Ingesting mouthfuls of salt…I began to panic. It became a pattern. Huge wave, hold my breath, go under, come up, my hair suctioned onto my face blocking air from getting in, but once I removed the hair CRASH the next wave came collapsing on top of my weak body. I got a glimpse of Ellie and it seemed the same obnoxious pattern was happening to her.
It was a blurry mixture of muffled screams and splash and salt. My “perfect place” of solitude quickly turned into a nightmare. Nobody was there to help us.
I’m going to die, I heard myself think and everything slowed down. The minutes felt like hours and I’m going to die, I thought again.
Oh my god, what do I do? Is Ellie okay? If my parents were home they would see and help us and why didn’t I listen to my mom because my mom is just always right and if I had listened to her I would be breathing and not be drowning in this ocean and I can’t just die right now, what about my family and what about my dog and what about my friends and what about school and what about my life? Will everybody just hear that Ellie and I drowned in the ocean at my Mexico house? Shit.
Wait: UNDERTOW…there was an Oprah episode on this! It said if you ever got stuck in an undertow you should swim parallel to the beach.
My feet began to kick and my arms began to paddle. I didn’t even know which way was parallel anymore, but I took a guess. I felt like I was running on empty, but somehow my body still worked. Swim. Swim. Swim, I told myself. Suddenly I was thrown closer to the beach. With each wave, I was pushed in; my breath wasn’t even a factor anymore. I just let the ocean take me in. When the water finally receded to my knees, I trudged toward the beach, realizing Ellie was ahead of me.
I almost died. Why didn’t I just listen to my mom? She’s always been right, not just about going in the ocean when she’s not home, but about everything. None of these petty things had mattered to me before, until now when my life was at hand. My mother has been alive for so much longer than me; obviously she just knows what’s up. In fact, I should just go tell her right now how right she is and how smart she is and that I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to her before and that I will listen to her in the future and that I love her – but that could be going a little too far, and I’d rather not tell her I went in the ocean when she was out buying little Mexican decorations for the house.
As soon as we hit the shore we both collapsed, laying flat on the coffee-colored beach. It took Ellie and I a while to communicate because we were both coughing up what felt like the whole ocean.
“Are you okay?” The words barely left my lips.
It seemed Ellie couldn’t hear me with all the water she had absorbed. She banged her raisin-looking hands against her head, trying to clear her ears.
“I think so…you?”
“I guess, but we actually almost died.”
“I know, we probably should have listened to your mom.” I looked at her ironically.
“Yeah, she’s usually right.”