Life Happens Next by Terry Trueman Page B

like to go—”
    Debi interrupted, sounding almost angry, “I say YETH! I want go, YETH!”
    â€œOkay, Debi,” Mom answered, “I’ll sign you up.”
    Her mission accomplished, Debi turned and stomped out of the room, hunched over and looking angry.
    This morning Debi walks into the kitchen just as grumpy as she was yesterday. “Can I say some’tin?”
    Mom looks at Debi and kind of smiles. “Of course, Debi.”
    Debi says, “No Bible camp!”
    Mom asks, “You don’t want to go to Bible camp after all?”
    â€œNo,” Debi says.
    Mom asks, “You’ve changed your mind?”
    Debi just stares at her.
    Mom says, “Debi, you have decided you don’t want to go to Bible camp after all?”
    Debi still stares, her expression confused and unhappy. Finally she says, “No go!”
    Mom says, “Okay, I’ll cancel your registration.”
    Debi just stands there looking pissed off.
    I know that my mood has been pretty rotten lately too, but I wonder what has gotten Debi all worked up. I know the frustration of having something eating away at you and not being able to express yourself.
    But you can turn your outlook around if you want to badly enough. Knowing that Rusty is watching out for me really lifts my spirits—and even though I can’t have Ally, I’m glad that she has a good guy like Paul, and proud that my brother landed such a hottie. And Cindy came home holding hands with Tim last night—you shoulda seen her face, I couldn’t help but feel happy for her. Maybe Debi will pick up on this vibe too and catch a ride on the love train.

18
    â€œW HAT THE BLEEP …?” Mom is screaming, and my mom never screams. And bleep is a swear word I’ve never heard her say before.
    Both Paul and Cindy jump up.
    â€œWhat is it?” Paul yells. I feel his adrenaline from ten feet away.
    Mom screams, “MY God … NO ,” this time more sad than angry. And now I hear her sob.
    Cindy cries, “Mom!”
    Mom says, “My albums … my God … NO! They’re ruined! They’re—” Her sobs cut her words off as Paul and Cindy reach her side. Mom’s been putting together family albums, histories made up of pictures and press clippings, school photos and miscellaneous stuff. I know how important these albums are to Mom because she’s often asked Cindy or Paul to stay with me so that she can go to the Scrapbook Store and have old pictures blown up and reprinted.
    Mom, standing stiff and clenching and unclenching her fists, cries “DEBI!” at the top of her voice. I can see Mom trying to calm down and getting control of herself as she marches downstairs. We can all hear her speaking to Debi, loudly and firmly, without any threats or violence, but making it very clear that Mom’s scrapbook albums are one hundred percent off -limits from now on.
    It takes me a while to get the whole story straight. At her day program, Debi cuts up magazines and makes collages from the pictures. She does this each week on crafts day. Every Wednesday, when Debi gets home, she proudly displays her day’s efforts. Her collages are cutout pictures of car ads and shampoo models, miscellaneous food items: pizza, a bag of frozen peas, and a hot dog on a plate. Sometimes she’s included a speedboat or a racecar and anything relating to Disneyland or Winnie the Pooh. These are often in weird combinations: a newspaper shot of some mother on trial for killing her own child right next to a picture of a kitten with a ball of string. A blurry image from a surveillance camera of a suspect in a 7-Eleven holdup and a dinner plate piled high with carrots. You can never tell what might make its way into one of Debi’s creations or why it’s there.
    Apparently Debi discovered Mom’s scrapbooks and grabbed her scissors and glue stick and made what I’m sure she felt were big