Watch Me Disappear

break! For once, if my mother could relax like a normal person, maybe I could go out and have a normal teenage experience.
    “I just think we need to meet the girl and her parents first,” my mother says, shaking her head.
    “If you drop me off tomorrow afternoon at the library, you can meet her then. We were hoping to meet at the library around 5:30 and then walk over to the park from there. It isn’t far,” I say quickly, trying not to be too hopeful.
    “I don’t know, Lizzie,” my mother says.
    “You can meet her parents sometime soon. You can pick me up early from the concert if you want. Please.” I am close to begging.
    “Maybe your mother and I should go to the concert, too. That way, if you need us, we’re there,” my father says. I know he’s trying to be helpful, but really, I do not need my parents hovering around the first time I meet Missy face to face. And besides, it’s a high school battle of the bands. Maybe the parents of the kids playing will be there, but seriously, what kind of dork will I be if my parents are there chaperoning me?
    “Please, Greg. Do you think I want to spend my evening listening to amateur rock music with a bunch of kids?” she asks.
    “Okay, okay,” he says. “Well how about this: We’ll go pick Missy up at her house and then drop the girls off at the park. You and I will go out for a nice dinner right down the street from the park and pick Lizzie up when we’re done. We’ll be close by in case Lizzie needs anything.”
    “I don’t see why you’re bending over backwards to take her to some silly concert,” my mother says.
    “Maybe I’m bending over backwards to take my wife on a date,” my dad answers.
    “Don’t expect to stay late at this thing,” she says, turning to me. “You be ready to come home at 9:00.”
    “Okay, sure, 9:00,” I say, standing up from the table. They are going to let me go! I can hardly believe it. My dad really is the best. I have no clue how he puts up with my mother.
    I help clear the table and load the dishwasher, and then I wait for my mom to leave the kitchen before calling Missy to tell her the news.
     
    *          *          *
     
    It’s been drizzling all morning.
    “I don’t think you should go in the rain,” my mother keeps saying. “They’ll probably cancel.” But they’re holding the battle of the bands in one of the picnic pavilions where the rain won’t make a difference, and the website says rain or shine, so I’m ignoring her.
    My biggest problem right now is deciding what to wear. Even though it’s raining, it’s hot as hell, being August. The rain hasn’t cooled things off. Everything is sticky. I can’t wear jeans. I’ll roast, and besides if it does turn to an all-out downpour, they’ll be heavy and miserable. I always have my trusty jean skirt, but in the heat my legs will stick together and be ridiculously uncomfortable. I’m going to be uncomfortable enough in a crowd of strangers—my clothes at least have to be okay. At the beginning of the summer my mother bought me a pair of long shorts, “Bermuda shorts,” she called them. I have worn them once. I’m pretty sure they are not flattering on me (I have never met a pair of shorts I could agree with), but they are black and sort of dressy-looking for shorts. I can wear them with a black t-shirt and look okay, if my mom’s fashion sense is to be trusted.
    Maybe with the right jewelry, I can even make my outfit look cool. I have this habit of buying funky jewelry when my family goes on vacation, but aside from vacation I never manage to wear it. Chunky necklaces or bracelets, dangling earrings, colorful beads—it all just looks over-the-top when I look at myself in my bedroom mirror at home. But I’m trying to turn over a new leaf, to be more outgoing, to get noticed a little. I take out the coral-colored bangle bracelets and a silver necklace with a coral pendant I got in Hawaii. I lay out the outfit and study it. Put together but not overly coordinated like an old lady. The jewelry is stylish. My poor hair is beyond help in the muggy weather, though. All I can manage is a stubby pony tail. It will have to do.
     
    *          *          *
     
    My parents and I don’t talk on the way to Missy’s house. When we get there, Missy is sitting on the front porch waiting for us. She and I planned this out to make sure my parents (well, mostly my mother) don’t have to get out of the car,