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Okay, I am leaving out the next part out that deals with Rebecca and Toby going into town to a
candy shop, and having a brief conversation with it’s crazy and colorful owner, Dada (Damona).
This part also featured Rebecca and Toby going to Toby’s house to unpack with his mom
Allison. There Rebecca finds out about Toby’s sister, the TV actress Nina Jacoby and Allison’s
talent as a potter/sculptor from Philadelphia. Hazel is soothed on contact with such intellectual,
artsy, DIFFERENT people than what she has been dealing with in her own world. She and Toby
decide to go next door to Hazel’s abode and watch TV as Allison doesn’t have one. And here we
begin:
I wanted to start with some action and also this part brings us to Hazel in 2008. Not sure where I
should place this part (the current Rebecca??)
Oh and about the music. Music is SUCH an important part of my life as a human and writer. Its
my time machine, my inspiration, my fuel. I am SURE MANY of you can understand this! I will
cut much of the songs mentioned but some I simply cannot. 
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“What the fuck is this?”
I awoke, hunched over and cramped in pain. Cool air washed over my body from the
open kitchen window. Wrappers surrounded me, empty pixie sticks, Lick Em Aids, gum
wrappers. Toby was scrunched up against me.
“Answer me Rebecca! Who the fuck is this kid?”
Mom stood over me, her mascara smeared, forming an eerie stitched like line against her
right cheekbone. She wore a red, fringed, suede jacket over a black low cut dress.
“Val, get to bed.” Dad came up behind her, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, tie undone. He
looked tired with bags beneath his blue eyes.
“No! No Martin...there’s a...a...strange kid in my house with our daughter.” Mom burped
and swayed backward. She smelled of smoke, hairspray and Babe. Her hair fell down around her
shoulders and into her eyes. She shuffled around in high heeled black boots, as if trying to regain
her footing.
“You need a haircut kid” she said, laughing loudly. She pointed to Toby who sat there
horrified, his eyes wide.
“Valerie! Enough! Go to bed!” Dad tried to guide her in the direction of the bedroom.
“Hands off Marty!” Mom pushed him away. “Wait a sec...” she paused and placed a
manicured finger on her perfect chin. “Ah yes, I remember now, the new kid. The Stringer
house.”
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“Yes” I replied softly, hugging one of the corduroy pillows to my chest. Please go mom I
prayed silently. Just got to sleep.
“Candy too, did Damona set you guys up?” Mom was eyeing the discarded wrappers and
other vestiges of our sugar fest. “Or did my money, my good money go to this…this… junk?”
She picked up a stray grape pixie stick and dumped out the remaining purple powder onto Toby's
lap.
“Did you kids at least eat dinner?” Dad asked, pulling the blue tie above his head,
mussing up his thinning hair.
“My mom made stew.” Toby said softly. I could tell he wanted to bolt and I didn't blame
him.
“See Val? His mom made stew.” Dad pushed mom towards their bedroom, his thin gold
wedding band glinting in the low light. They hadn't even asked Toby's name.
Mom huffed and tossed back her hair. “Okay, but you’re cleaning this mess up. All of it.
And then you’re gonna go do the kitchen, mop the floor too, it’s fucking gross.”
“And you’re going to bed Val; you had a bottle of wine, the big bottle.” Dad sighed and
shot Toby an apologetic glance.
“Can I have one more cigarette Marty?” Mom pleaded, digging into her small fake
leather clutch for a smashed pack.
“Smoke it on the porch Val.” Dad sighed. “Becca, walk that boy back to his home.”
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That boy. Dad took mom's arm and led her to the kitchen door that opened up to the
porch with its torn up screen.
After they were gone, I looked at my new friend. Toby looked stunned. His face down,
baseball cap tilted unevenly. My heart ached for him.
“I'm...I'm sorry” I whispered.
“It’s s'k...”he managed a small smile.
“No its not!” I felt hot, my chest tied up tight. “Those were my parents, my family is
messed up.”
He might as well know now.
“So's mine.” Toby said softly, his brown eyes peering at me under the stained baseball
cap.
“Really?” I bit my bottom lip.
I loved Allison so far, but where was Dean? Toby's dad? They had never told me. And it
was clear they didn't exactly get along with Nina or Jon. I wanted to know more.
“Let’s go.” I got up and Toby followed me to the door. In the light of the waning halfmoon, mom was hunched forward puffing on a cigarette, crying. Deep gasps and sobs, dad sat
behind her patting her back.
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“I get so emotional when I drink.” I heard her mutter into the spring night air, riddled
with the sound of crickets and cicadas. “I just fucking miss you Marty, do you miss me? Do you
baby?” She turned and pressed her lips to dad's forehead.
I took Toby's hand and led him down the steps and over the tangled lawn, covered in crab
grass. How many times could I say I was sorry? “So's mine,” Toby's words radiated in my head
like a lullaby, “So's mine”.
We walked up the steps of the Stringer house, the Roth house, and I felt a swarm of
anxiety as I looked at Toby's dark eyes. I wanted to walk in with him. I wondered if Allison was
up. I had no idea what time it was.
“Well.” Toby smiled.
“Well...”
“Until tomorrow Rebecca”
Until tomorrow...so much better than goodbye. I smiled and nodded.
___________________________________________________
Philadelphia PA. 2008
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My apartment was freezing. I rubbed my hands together, how could hands get so dry, so
fast? Hand cream, that was the ticket, and loads of it, economy size tubs. My whole body was
itchy and I knew if I pulled my black turtle neck off the white flakes would scatter everywhere in
the glow of my single bulb. I stumbled to my desk and swatted for the banker light's switch in
the dark. “Come on, come on, come on.” I mumbled. God, why was February so freaking cold
on the East coast? Fucking Damp.
My hand felt for the beaded cord and I pulled lightly. Dim, mellow, green hued light lit
the desk area. I pressed the round button of my CPU and sat down on the swivel chair, one of the
rejects from Kip's place in Old City.
I heard sleet on the window behind me and turned around. I was relieved I had gotten
home before the ice turned the Schuyl “kill” Express Way into a luge track. Now safely home in
Manayunk I waited for the computer to boot. The familiar buzzing sound of my computer and
the rapping of the sleet held a strange comfort.
I brought up my e-mail. I had to mail a few of my classmates in my English 1 class, we
were sending other classmates papers to edit and I was curious to see if any of mine had come
back.
Bath and Body Works, Cheap Cruises. com, GAP bill.I scrolled down the highlighted
unread mail, boring, boring, boring and then shooting up in lit up text. Tobias Roth.
Tobias Roth.
My heart compressed. Hot sparks of discomfort shot up from the tips of my still cold
fingers, so dry, to my scalp. My tummy, empty now from the sandwich I stuffed in my mouth
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before work, turned over and I felt a sudden sharp poke of nausea. The curser blinked on top of
the text, steady blinking. Tobias Roth. Toby Roth.
Oh my God.
I placed my hand on my mouth. My eyes ached. I felt liquid behind them threatening to
break at any moment and drown the irises. My throat hurt, it felt so tight and itchy.
I'd been waiting for this day, this moment in time. How many times, how many God
damn times had I replayed this over and over in my mind? The email, the text message, the
phone call. Everyday… everyday for fifteen years.
After Toby left for Colombia Allison had gushed non-stop about his adventures in New
York City. A distant kingdom, so far from my safe corner of the world.
“He's perfect” she’d exclaimed as we sat on the taupe velveteen couch, her own
homemade mugs of steeping tea in our hands, an afghan over our legs.
November twilight had glowed peacefully through the oval window that lit the room.
There was clay in Allison’s hair, a trace of it on her high left cheekbone. She'd been working at
the wheel all day, while I waitressed at the Village Cafe in town. Tips had been horrible that day.
November always was the slowest month for restaurants, with the colder weather and
Thanksgiving.
“He is in a band!” Allison had laughed. “Sings, plays piano and guitar, of course he loves
New York.” I smiled tightly. Please shut up, I thought.
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“You’re so shallow Becca, you’re so shallow...you’re just like Nina and your mother.”
Those words he had spat at me that awful hot night in June of 1993, after prom, after graduation.
Those words seared my brain as Allison babbled on.
His eyes were wet that night. He was wearing a 1988 Monsters of Rock shirt and had cut
his hair off by then. It was dark and soft, sunlight gently playing over it, unlike Allison and I,
there were no red highlights, just dark. I’d reached out to touch his arm. He pulled his arm back,
as if my touch had sent a shock through it like a dangling, live wire.
He wanted to get away, to leave. “I'm sorry Toby. I'm sorry. So sorry, sorry…”
Allison had always adored her son with an almost obsessive love. Nina, that was another
story, Toby was her love.
I knew then that I couldn't stay in Locust Grove, not anymore.
All the pictures she hid from me, placing them in her bedroom in beautiful, unique
handmade frames, the letters she longed to share. I would cover my ears or leave the room, and
sometimes the house. I’d walk in the woods, taking in the drying leaves on the trees, the crunch
of the fallen ones under my sneakers. I'd thrust my body against a random trunk and cry, cry so
hard that my throat ached for days. I cried harder than I did when my father left, harder than I did
when my mother said she hated me, never wanted me. I was a mistake. Toby.
I decided one night in 1993, a few weeks before Christmas that I was going to erase my
life. Take a big, fat, eraser and scrub Toby, Allison and Nina out of my past. Delete them...just
like pressing a key on a keyboard and pressing back, all of those years from 1986 to 1993
gone...7 years.
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I sat in my window seat in the room that was once Nina's. Cold rain splashed patterns
against the amber stained glass. Allison had told me that Toby was coming home for Hanukkah.
Nina was spending Christmas in LA with Jon. I couldn't see him, could, and would not. I was
leaving.
I packed a few bags and got into my 1986 Escort. I knew where I was going. I knew I had
to erase the Roth’s from my life. Gone, gone, gone...
Now I sat looking at that simple line of text...Tobias Roth. His email.
It was now February 12th 2008. It had been 15 years, well 14 years and 6 months since I
had seen him. He had been across the street, August 14th 1993. Different now, taller, hair cut
shorter, but he had the same smile, same dimples. He was laughing and talking to Allison as they
packed the orange Mercedes for New York City. He was going off to college as I always knew
he would.
As if he knew eyes were pointing into him like lasers. All summer I'd keep my distance.
Nina had already gone to LA and it was lonely, fucking lonely in Locust Grove.
Toby looked up and frowned, cautious. I waved awkwardly and not smiling, not one bit,
he waved back.
At least he waved back and that was it, they left a few hours later, as I ran into the woods
and cried. I emptied my tears over the course of three days. And now I sat here on the other side
of the continent.
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My knees were hitched up to my chest, my dark sweater pulled down over my legs with
gaping holes in the thin knit. I ran my palm down my face, all greasy from nerves. My lips were
chapped, painfully. I ran my tongue over them knowing how delicious it would feel to smooth
waxy Carmex over them, but having no strength to move from my chair.
I stared at that highlighted text, the blinking black cursor. Tobias Roth. What a silly
name. I'd always known him as Toby. My Toby. He was a lawyer now, also in a band
apparently. Allison and I had last spoken in 2001. She called out of the blue and I nearly hung
up, but something in her always soft and musical voice kept that phone gripped in my shaking
hand. A lawyer. A prosecutor, of course, my good ole Toby, always helping others. Always
looking to save, save, save and then when all that was safe and sound, he'd go out and save some
more.
He had a girlfriend in 2001 too, a girl from Maryland named Chloe. “Stop Allison!” I had
moaned, feeling my throat swell.
Fuck, he was probably happily married to this Chloe chick. Children of course, house in
Connecticut or Jersey. My heart had felt stabbed a million times. Toby and Chloe, how adorable.
Move it Becca, I told myself. Just...just do it, press the mouse and open up the God damn
email. How had he found me? “The internet isn't the most private avenue Bec.” I whispered.
I must have sat there, frozen for another half hour; I had begun to gnaw at my cuticles on
my already dried hands. I tasted blood.
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Do it Becca! Just press on the mouse and open up the God fucking damn email! My
stomach hurt, empty and bruised. I was shaking and as my fingers pressed on the mouse, that
harmless little piece of white plastic with its glowing red light I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, the “letter” sat there on the monitor of my lap top. White with
black letters.
Dear Rebecca,
I suppose you are wondering why I've contacted you after all these years. What is it, 15? I
can imagine you right now as you open this, both nervous and apprehensive. I don't blame
you. It’s been a long time...such a long time.
I've decided to come right out and say it, Allison is very sick. She was diagnosed with stage
3 breast cancer last year. She had a double mastectomy in June of 2007. I moved back out
west to stay with her. Nina was still acting (if you can call it that) in LA and she had
nobody, her brother, my uncle Eric died in 2003 from an aneurysm.
Right now, it doesn't look hopeful I'm afraid. She is on hospice care here at the house on
Arapaho. I got an apartment in San Francisco, where I continue to practice law, although
I'm on a leave of absence for the time being. As you certainly know, mom and I have
always been close. I've all she ever had in the past 24 years...well you too. Mom always
adored you, she's asked for you a few times.
So I am asking you to please come out to California. Allison needs to see you before she
passes. I can pay for your plane ticket and of course I'll set you up in a hotel.
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It’s obviously difficult for me to write this, especially after all the many years that have
passed between us. Allison said you just took off one day, left without a word of where you
were going. She was devastated and worried about you all this time...you were like a
daughter to her. As I sit here and compose this I have no idea where you are, what you are
doing. I had a friend of mine with connections find your email address. For that I am quite
grateful.
Please let me know what you decide to do so I can make the proper arrangements for your
return.
Yours,
Toby Roth
Toby Roth, like he really had to make it formal by adding his last name. Geez Tobs, just
write Toby. I also noticed he wrote Yours, not Love. I sighed and read the email again, and then
again, tracing my fingers over the black text...courier font. My heart hurt.
Allison. Sick. My Allison.
Allison with her flowing reddish hair that fell to the middle of her back and rough, short
nailed hands, clay always dried tight in the cracks. Allison sitting at her pottery wheel throwing
clay. Allison hugging Toby when he was young and running her fingers through his long hair.
She’d been so damn spontaneous.
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“Come on kids, we're going on an adventure!” she’d cry and then we’d drive to the city,
getting dinner at Fisherman's Wharf, cracking open oysters to find pearls from the vendors
outside of the Ripley’s Believe It Or Not museum.
I remembered Toby and I hunched over a book, reading about the incredible jungle wet,
drenched, colorless world of Venus in Ray Bradbury’s, All of Summer in a Day. One day to
relieve oneself with heat. Sun. Warmth. I had felt like Margot at the time. Left out of feeling the
hot rays on the one day the sun came to shine on the rainy world. I’d felt trapped in my life. Now
I knew what being trapped truly was. Then I was free. Now, kidnapped into the dull, gray routine
of life. Wash, rinse, repeat.
“Sixteen year old Toby's shaking hand on my inner thigh, under our elm tree. And the
rain, cold, beating, brutal on an April afternoon.
Toby’s hand, .tentative, cautious, wanting. His face mere inches from mine. I could see
every tiny mole on his left cheek, the dark brown rivets that ran through his irises, the way his
dark brows slightly arched in wonder.
I’d placed my trembling hand on his long hair, it felt silky and clean. I felt his warm
hand, wanting it to inch up further and further, it was shaking, and I could feel his heart beating
fast and hysterical through that slim, but strong hand. His hand wanting to slip beneath my snug
jeans shorts to touch, explore out of aching curiosity. Feeling so close, so warm, so welcomed.
“Becca” I’d heard him whisper...
“Don't be afraid of me Toby.” I had said softly and closed my eyes. The smell of rain
soaked earth, pine needles, his shampoo.
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It felt like another world, another time, while I sat cold and achy on the swivel chair, my
hand in my mouth.
He wanted me to come out...to California. Now. And he wanted to pay for a flight and
hotel. No way. I shook my head. No fucking way. Mr. Big Money lawyer paying sad little poor
Rebecca’s way.
He also didn't mention missing me, him wanting to see me. No. Just that Allison
apparently missed me, she wanted to see me before she died.
I couldn't wrap my head around all this. Not now. I was cold, tired and hell, I was
starving. The thought of putting food into my mouth, however, chewing and then swallowing
made me want to vomit bile all over my lap top.
Too exhausting. Too much, way too much.
I needed to shower. I could smell my arm pits through my sweater from working all night
behind the bar and my hair needed a washing. I had pulled it back in a braid and pinned it to the
top of my head.
I got up out of the swivel chair and walked toward my room, dark and messy. I could see
the silhouettes of piles of clothes and blankets.
I prayed I'd be able to scratch together enough tip money for gas, enough gas to get me
from Philadelphia to California. I also prayed it stopped sleeting. I was leaving as soon as I
packed enough stuff for a while. I was leaving. I was going to confront my other life. My past.
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