The Trouble Is

Chapter 17: Questions

The rest of the day-after-the-first-date flies by in a rush of canned goods at the food pantry, lunch at Sonic with Katie, and an afternoon of watching Katie get her hair highlighted. It's not a bad way to spend a day. I'm all caught up on the last three months of magazines, thanks to the hair salon Katie frequents. I've read lists of the top-three products for the most natural makeup, which also covers basic flaws, as well as the fastest way to glam up for an after-work night on the town. I've also learned about the ten ways your man says he loves you without really saying a thing. Personally, I'd rather not have to guess or do basic addition to learn something like that. It just seems like the words would be an important step.

After Katie drops me back at home, I check on Doug. I am relieved to find him in the house rather than holding a revival or a séance in the back yard. He's in the kitchen with Skip working on a crazy-complex puzzle of the United States. They've managed to get most of the area around the east coast outlined. I watch them from the hallway, heads together as they discuss the little icons associated with the states. I had no idea that Rhode Island had the nation's oldest carousel or that New Jersey has the most diners in the world. I can't help but feel a little relief at such an ordinary activity going on right here in our kitchen. It must have been a better-than-average day at the home front.

"There are sliders on the stove," Skip says. "Veggie tray in the fridge."

Doug chimes in, mimicking Skip's cadence a bit. "Ranch dressing right here . . . the good ranch."

I grab a plate, load it up, and then head to see Mom.

It seems like a lot has happened in my life since we talked. She's propped up in bed reading a paperback book. She's not wearing a scarf or hat, and I can see her hair starting to grow back. It's a mix of brown and gray that seems to suit her.

"Hey, Annabelle," she says as she closes the book and drops it on the bed beside her. She doesn't bend the page or use a bookmark, so I think she probably isn't really reading it at all. "How's the ramble?"

Mom and I have this thing. It seems silly when you explain it, but inside things are that way, I suppose. We both hate the word "journey." When people talk about their journey through whatever life threw at them last, we both think it sounds a bit weird. It just seems like it's become an excuse word, like if you say something is part of your journey, it's OK to totally screw it up or something. You're just learning. It's all part of "the journey." And every single person on the planet uses that word all the time. It's annoying.

So, we came up with our own word to describe a road we were traveling, whether it's temporary or long-term. We wanted a word that wasn't quite so deliberate and allowed for some spontaneity rather than a detailed plan. I suggested "ramble." I can't think of a better word to describe my life right now. I don't really have a plan beyond this summer. I'm rambling. If I said I was on a journey, I think it would imply that I have a destination, which is in no way my current reality. I know I should be doing SAT prep, checking out colleges, writing scholarship essays, and all that crap that everyone else is doing. I just can't make myself.

Katie's mom says the future is a journey that requires careful planning and preparation. The school counselor says something similar, just not as eloquently. I talked to Mom about the massive roadblock I had in figuring out this whole journey thing. I have no idea what I want to be when I'm thirty or forty or even twenty. Given that constraint, I also clearly have no idea how to get there. Mom's the one who suggested we let go of the burden of the word itself.

"Let's just ramble," she said. So, at least for now, that's what we do. We ramble.

It's interesting how changing one word can provide this feeling of freedom. I mean, just one little word, seriously. Our plans are loose now and open to sudden change, with no judgment and no pressure. Our conversations weave in and out of things that matter and things that are trivial. When she's here, and by here, I mean not just physically here, but mentally here, our "rambling" always results in me figuring out some little thing that I didn't even know was on my mind. I asked her about it a few weeks ago.