“Do you want to sit with me?” Britt asked.
Becky nodded, and that was that—a friendship was born.
Britt assumed that Becky’s single mom was like her own single mom, but that was not the case. Becky’s single mom seemed like she’d just stumbled out of Woodstock. She was always smiling and wearing a flowy dress. She didn’t walk; she swayed, as if she always had a song in her head. She let her armpit hair grow wild and free. She made most of what they ate from scratch. Their apartment always smelled like sugar cookies and incense.
When Becky invited Britt over for the first time, Britt called her mother Ms. Reynolds, and she laughed and said, “You can call me Rainbow, sweetie.” Britt wasn’t sure if that was her name, or just something she wanted to be called, but she did as she was told. She would have called her anything she wanted, because Rainbow hugged her and kissed her cheeks and made her feel loved in ways her own mom never did.
After meeting Rainbow, Britt began going home with Becky every day after school. It took three weeks of this routine before Britt’s mom registered her absence in the afternoons and inquired about her whereabouts.
“Where you been going every day after school?”
Britt hadn’t already volunteered the information because she’d learned it was best to say as little as possible to her mom. She never knew what would spark an outburst, what would piss her off.
“I have a new friend,” Britt said. “I go to her house. It’s close, by the park.”
She held her breath while awaiting her mom’s response. Either her mom wouldn’t give a single shit about Britt’s new friend, or she would have a huge, irrational fit about Britt’s new friend. In this moment, it was the former. Britt’s mom just shrugged. She didn’t ask the friend’s name, what she was like. It would take years for Britt to understand that her mother’s disinterest wasn’t malicious; she had tunnel vision, focused each day on just surviving until the next.
Her mother referred to the problem as The Darkness. It descended upon her without warning and lingered for days, weeks sometimes. Britt noticed a pattern over time, saw that The Darkness was often preceded by a phase of unrestrained joy and frantic activity—what she would later learn was called mania. Her mom loved those phases, the vitality of them. Britt did, too, before she knew better. They were the only times she danced around the apartment with her, the only times she threw her head back and laughed, the only times she took Britt’s face in her hands and kissed her cheeks. The older Britt got, the less able she was to enjoy those upswings. She knew what was coming. She was always bracing herself.
Britt’s mom had worked as a morning-shift grocery clerk for the past year, which was the longest she’d held a job since Britt had been born. Britt was old enough now to call the store when The Darkness came and tell the manager that her mom was sick and wouldn’t be able to come to work. They weren’t pleased with the number of days she missed, but they didn’t fire her. Her previous jobs had fired her because she couldn’t even manage to call and inform them of her absence; she just lay in bed for days.
“Bill’s coming for dinner tonight,” her mom said.
Bill was her mom’s sometimes-boyfriend. Their relationship was as unstable as Britt’s mom’s moods—they were madly in love one day, close to murder-suicide the next. When Bill drank, which was often, he became overly affectionate with Britt, pulling her onto his lap and wrapping his fat arms around her tiny body. Her mom seemed to think it was cute, said things to Britt like “Isn’t Bill like a giant teddy bear?” The teddy bear turned into an angry grizzly after a few drinks, and that was when the yelling started and Britt went to her room and tried to ignore it. It was impossible to ignore, though. It was so loud that the neighbors had called the police on two separate occasions.
“Oh, Becky’s mom invited me for dinner there, actually,” Britt said.
It was a lie. Becky’s mom hadn’t invited her, but Britt didn’t want to have dinner with her mom and Bill. She knew if she showed up at Becky’s house, she’d be welcomed inside, no questions asked.
“Well then, I’ll tell Bill he should take me out to dinner,” her mom said.
It was a well-known fact that Bill refused to take both Britt and her mom out to dinner: “I don’t need to pay for two ladies in my life,” he’d said once. Britt’s mom always cooked elaborate meals for him, consulting hardcover cookbooks from the 1970s that she got at thrift stores. For Britt, she never, ever cooked anything besides grilled-cheese sandwiches. Britt had been making herself frozen entrées since she was tall enough to reach the microwave on their kitchen counter.
“That sounds nice,” Britt said, though she doubted Bill would take her mom out to dinner. It was more likely Britt would come home from Becky’s house to the sound of her mom and Bill slur-shouting at each other.
As predicted, Rainbow welcomed Britt inside and set a place for her at their small kitchen table. They didn’t have much; they were clearly just as poor as Britt and her mom, but Rainbow and Becky’s homefelt abundant in other ways. Rainbow had potted plants occupying every inch of wall space, succulents and pothos with their tendrils of leaves dancing across the windowsills. Strands of twinkly lights were thumbtacked to the walls, traversing from one corner of the living room to the other. Records were always spinning, candles or incense always burning.
“It’s actually a wonderful night for you to join us,” Rainbow said. “We are doing my friend’s name ceremony tonight.”
Rainbow explained that a name ceremony was when someone decided to choose a spiritual life and wanted a new name to reflect that journey. Rainbow was all about a spiritual life. She liked to read tarot cards. For work, she did a special kind of massage that involved working with someone’s energy without even touching them. It sounded magical to Britt. Rainbow was magical to Britt.
“Name ceremonies are cool,” Becky said. “I’m going to have one when I’m older.”
“If you want to, sweetie. There’s never any pressure from me,” Rainbow said.
“Did you have a name ceremony?” Britt asked Rainbow.
“Duh,” Becky said. “She wasn’t bornRainbow.”
“What was your name before?” Britt asked.
Britt was intrigued by this idea of becoming a completely new person.
“I prefer not to revisit—” Rainbow started to say.
“It wasMaura,” Becky said.
Rainbow looked peeved for about a half second before returning to her usual Zen appearance. Years spent with a mother whose moods turned on a dime had made Britt adept at clocking half seconds of irritation.
