Happy Holidays, Jessi

by Ann M. Martin

  “Well, this young lady can join you,” the doctor said. “A few bruises, but everything checks out normal. It’s a good thing she was wearing her seat belt.”

  My stomach clenched up. I began sobbing.

  Mama and Daddy gently walked me out of the examining room and down the hallway. “You’re okay, honey,” Mama kept saying, through her own tears.

  “You were lucky,” Daddy said. “You could have slid into oncoming traffic.”

  “I wasn’t lucky, I was stupid!” I blurted out. “The whole thing was my fault.”

  We entered the waiting room. A few people were sitting in a corner, watching a football game on TV. Daddy, Mama, and I sat together on a sofa.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Jessi,” Daddy said softly. “The police told us what happened. The car behind you should have been keeping a safe distance —”

  “I was the one who unbuckled Squirt,” I said. “I knew I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

  I explained it all — Squirt’s crying, Becca’s pleading, Aunt Cecelia’s giving me permission. Daddy and Mama sat listening, their faces growing grim.

  By the time I finished, Becca was walking into the room, escorted by an unfamiliar doctor. “Your daughter’s a little shaken,” he said, “but physically fine.”

  Becca buried herself in Mama’s arms, weeping.

  Moments later, Aunt Cecelia walked in. She was limping a little, and she had a bandage on her chin. Her mouth was trembling and she looked at Daddy with watery eyes. I’d never seen her look so old and meek.

  Daddy stood up and guided Aunt Cecelia toward the sofa.

  “Ohh,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re here. How are the girls?”

  “We’re fine, Aunt Cecelia,” I replied.

  “Thank goodness,” she said, sitting down. “Have they said anything about John Philip?”

  “Not yet,” Daddy replied. “How are you?”

  “I cut my chin on the steering wheel and twisted my back a bit, but no other damage.” Aunt Cecelia sighed deeply. “Of course, I’m the one who deserves to be in that examining room right now. I told Jessi to unbuckle him. I don’t know what got into me.”

  For the first time in my life, I saw Aunt Cecelia start to cry. Mama and Daddy both put their arms around her.

  We sat silently for a while. A clock on the wall said 11:49. Only a half hour had passed since the accident. It had felt like ages.

  Eleven forty-nine?

  The Kwanzaa festival meeting! I had totally forgotten about it. It was supposed to begin in eleven minutes.

  No way could I go to it. Not with my baby brother in the examining room. I needed to call Mallory.

  I explained the situation to Mama and Daddy. Then I ran to a nearby pay phone and tapped out the Pikes’ number.

  Mallory was shocked. I could hear her crying as I described what had happened. Then she asked me a million questions. I kept having to put extra coins in the phone. Eventually an official-sounding voice behind me called out, “Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey?”

  A doctor was standing by the waiting room entrance, holding a clipboard. She was smiling warmly.

  “Yes?” Mama said.

  “I’m Dr. Bradley,” she said. “Would you all follow me, please? Your little boy is very eager to see you.”

  I told Mallory I had to go, then hung up.

  Dr. Bradley led us down a brightly lit corridor. When we turned the first corner, Squirt’s scream echoed from a distant room.

  My heart jumped. We all quickened our steps.

  When Dr. Bradley reached the doorway to an examination room, she announced, “Here they are!”

  Squirt was lying on a crib bed, strapped down. One of his little arms was connected to an IV tube.

  “Hi, Squirt,” we all called out.

  “Mama …” Squirt looked around in amazement, as if he’d given up ever seeing us again. “Daddoo … See-lah … Bet-tah!”

  “Heyyyy, what about me?” I said.

  Squirt looked at me and grinned wide. “Dooooss!”

  Mama, Daddy, and Becca laughed. (I wasn’t sure why I reminded him of juice, but I didn’t care.) Squirt giggled and clapped his hands. I could tell he was trying to rise from the bed, but he couldn’t.

  The poor little guy. He must have thought his whole life was about straps. Strapped into the car seat, strapped into the bed …

  I had to choke back a sob. If I hadn’t undone the strap in the car, he wouldn’t have to be struggling with this one.

  “John Philip will be just fine,” Dr. Bradley reassured us, “but he did hit his head, and I’m picking up some unusual neurological activity on the EEG. I’m concerned he may have had a concussion, so I’d like to admit him and keep him here for observation for a few days —”

  “A few days!” Mama exclaimed.

  “What do you mean, ‘unusual activity’?” Daddy asked.

  “It may be nothing,” Dr. Bradley replied. “A child’s system is immature, and the charts are sometimes erratic even with normal readings. But if I have even the slightest doubt, I like to take all precautions.”

  “But who’s he going to play with?” Becca asked.

  “We do happen to have three other children in the hospital,” Dr. Bradley explained. “I’ll arrange for them to be close together. For a while, John will have to be bedridden, but the company of other children may comfort him.”

  Daddy nodded grimly. Aunt Cecelia started wringing her hands.

  Mama was gently stroking Squirt’s hair, but she looked fiercely at Dr. Bradley. “He’s so little, Doctor. He’ll need one of us. I noticed your visiting hours are —”

  “Don’t pay attention to those,” Dr. Bradley said. “For young children we bend the rules. You can pretty much stay as long as you like during the day.”

  “Eeeeee!” Squirt was pushing against his strap now.

  “Can you undo that?” Mama asked.

  Memories of the crash came back, and I wanted to shout, “No!” But Dr. Bradley calmly unstrapped Squirt and let him sit up. “He shouldn’t leave the bed yet,” she said, “but when I unhook the IV later when he’s in his room, you can hold him in your lap.”

  Dr. Bradley stayed with us a few more minutes, then went off to see another patient. We were alone with Squirt now. He was drinking his bottle and looked pretty happy.

  “I want one of us to be here with him at all times,” Mama said firmly.

  Daddy nodded. “Let’s work out a schedule of shifts.”

  “Squirt shifts,” Becca said.

  “Daddy and I will try to take some personal days off from work,” Mama went on. “Cecelia can visit while you girls are in school, and you can join us afterward if you like.”

  “Can we take personal days from school?” Becca asked.

  Daddy smiled. “Nice try.”

  We stayed for a few hours after Squirt was checked in, planning our visits, playing with Squirt, trying hard to be cheerful.

  Around dinnertime, Mama agreed to stay with Squirt while the rest of us went home. (Actually, she ordered us.)

  Daddy, Becca, Aunt Cecelia, and I walked out of the hospital together. We hardly said a word to each other. I felt drained and tired.

  We piled into the car, Becca and I in the back, Daddy and Aunt Cecelia in front.

  As Daddy pulled onto the road, Aunt Cecelia looked very nervous. “Use your signals, John,” she said.

  No, Daddy did not yell. Instead he said, “Oh, sorry,” and flicked the signal lever.

  “Please don’t drive fast,” she went on.

  “I won’t,” Daddy replied.

  “And be careful at yellow lights.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Aunt Cecelia began shaking her head. “I’m sorry, John. I’m nagging you.”

  “It’s all right,” Daddy said with a sigh. “Maybe I should listen to you more often.”

  Becca and I gave each other a Look. It was as if Daddy had said the sky was green.

  “I’m just an old sourpuss,”
Aunt Cecelia said. “I can’t even look after my own nephew.”

  “Oh, yes you can, Cecelia,” Daddy replied. “I know you. You never would have let him ride without a seat belt. You were trying to be lenient. You were trying to ease up with the kids. Who told you to do that? Me. If I hadn’t opened my big mouth, Squirt would be home now.”

  “Uh-uh, Daddy,” Becca said quietly. “I was bothering Aunt Cecelia. I told her Squirt should be unbuckled.”

  “Neither of you unstrapped him,” I grumbled. “I did.”

  “Hush,” Daddy said. “All of you. It happened. We can’t change that now. Let’s just be grateful he’s alive and recovering.”

  Daddy pulled to a stop at a red light on Kimball Street. Snow was beginning to fall. A few neighborhood kids were running around on a white-dusted lawn, trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues, while their mom and dad strung Christmas lights on the porch. The parents waved to us.

  I think we waved back. I don’t remember for sure.

  Our minds were a million miles away from the holidays.

  The journal was my idea. I thought it would be interesting. I hadn’t expected that Abby would be the one to start it.

  I hadn’t expected to miss the meeting, either.

  Actually, Mallory and I were going to run the first meeting ourselves. But Abby had insisted on helping out. She didn’t have a sitting job that day, and she was really excited about the Kwanzaa festival.

  It was a good thing, too, because she was the only BSC member there at noon.

  “There” was a medium-size room at the Stoneybrook Community Center, just down the hall from the big conference room we’d reserved for the festival.

  Abby had come to the center earlier to play basketball. As she waited, she practiced her dribbling.

  “Oh, cool!” a voice shouted.

  Abby turned to see two young boys running toward her. Their dad was behind them.

  “Omar!” he called out. “Ebon! This isn’t the right place. Come on!”

  “Mr. Harris?” Abby said.

  “Yes.” Mr. Harris looked a little startled. “Have we met?”

  Abby extended her hand. “Nope. But I’ve heard all about your boys. I’m Abby Stevenson. I’m helping out with the Kwanzaa festival.”

  “Ohhhh!” Mr. Harris cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. When I said it was the wrong room, I meant, you know, I was expecting Jessi Ramsey, and —”

  “No sweat,” Abby said. “If I were you, I might be a little confused, too.”

  They both burst out laughing. Omar and Ebon were now passing a ball around and bouncing it off a wall.

  Before long Sara and Marcus showed up with their mom. Then Bob and Sharelle Ingram. And Tomika Batts and Ronnie Olatunji and Duane Hicks.

  As the parents said good-bye and wandered off, a basketball game started.

  “Score!” Omar threw the ball against the wall into an imaginary net.

  The ball bounced off the wall and hit Sharelle in the head. “Owwwww!”

  Bob grabbed the ball. “You missed! That bounced off the backboard.”

  “Did not!” Omar said.

  “Did too!” Bob replied.

  “Guys —” Abby began.

  The door opened and Mallory flew in, all out of breath. “Sorry I’m late!”

  “Well, it’s about time,” Abby snapped.

  “Jessi called me from the hospital,” Mal said, throwing her coat on a table. “She’s been in an accident.”

  Abby turned pale. “Whaaaat?”

  In a breathless rush, Mallory told her what had happened. All the kids gathered around, listening silently. Sharelle started to cry.

  “Where is she?” Abby demanded. “Can I talk to her?”

  “She’s still at the hospital,” Mallory replied. “She doesn’t know when she’s going to be leaving. She hasn’t seen Squirt yet. She says she’s fine, but she wants us to have this meeting without her.”

  “How can we?” Marcus asked. “She’s, like, the boss.”

  “Did Squirt’s head smash through the windshield?” Duane asked.

  “Can you take us to visit them?” Ebon piped up.

  The kids did not want to begin the meeting. Mallory and Abby had to comfort, explain, reassure.

  Mal knew that the only way to divert their attention was to start the rehearsal. When the kids had calmed down a little, she pulled a stack of papers from her backpack. “Jessi will be upset if we don’t start working on the play. I made copies for all those who can read.”

  Suddenly nine pairs of hands shot toward her.

  “One at a time!” Abby shouted.

  “You can’t read!” Marcus said to Ebon.

  “Can, too!” Ebon snapped. “I read Hop on Pop!”

  “I call I’m Malindy!” Bob shouted.

  Omar howled with laughter. “Malindy’s a girl!”

  “How do you know?” Bob asked. “It’s a fake name, so it can go either way.”

  “Is it a comedy show?” Ronnie asked.

  “I want to sing ‘The Colors of the Wind,’ ” Tomika insisted.

  “The most talented one plays Malindy,” Marcus called out. “That’s me!”

  “Can I do a tap dance?” Duane asked.

  “I-I-I-I’m the de-e-evil!” Omar croaked in a scratchy voice.

  “Can you paaaaiint with all the co-o-o-lors …” Tomika warbled.

  Abby let out a loud whistle. “Guys, please! This is a Kwanzaa play. Not a variety show.”

  “We have enough parts for everyone,” Mallory said. “Now, Malindy happens to be a girl. And I’d like Sharelle to play her —”

  “Ohhhhhh …” Sara and Tomika groaned.

  “— as a young girl,” Mallory quickly added. “But she grows older in the play. Sara will play Malindy as a big girl, and Tomika will play her as a young woman.”

  The girls puffed up with pride.

  “We’ll also need a brother and a father for Malindy,” Mallory went on, “a sheep who cracks jokes, a pig who eats and rolls around in the mud, a barking dog …”

  I should explain. None of those parts are actually in the story. Mallory and I invented them, to give all the kids something fun to play.

  “I’m the pig!” Bob cried out.

  Sharelle started cracking up. “We already know that!”

  “I want to be the dog,” Duane said. “He doesn’t have to sing or anything, right?”

  “Beeeeaaaaaah,” bleated Ebon. “Why did the bubble gum cross the road? Beeeeeahhh!”

  “Arrrrgh!” Omar growled in his devil voice. “I’m going to cook you for dinner.”

  “Give up?” Ebon asked. “It’s because —”

  “Hey, I’m the devil!” Marcus claimed.

  “Hmmm,” Mallory said, “I need someone to play Malindy’s strong, bossy older brother who kicks the devil away.”

  “Me!” Marcus shot back.

  “Because —” Ebon tried again.

  “What about me?” Ronnie asked.

  “The mischievous younger brother?” Mallory suggested.

  Ronnie nodded. “Okay.”

  “Because,” Ebon shouted above the din, “it was stuck to the chicken’s foot!”

  Sara gave him a Look. “What are you talking about?”

  “Get it?” Ebon pressed on. “The chicken crossed the road, and —”

  “Okay, let’s sit in a circle and read the lines,” Abby said. “No staging yet.”

  Giggling with excitement, the kids plopped themselves right down.

  “All right,” Mallory said, “at the beginning of the play, Malindy is skipping across the stage with Rex, her dog.”

  “Rex?” Duane asked. “That’s a dinosaur name.”

  “Ooh! I know!” Marcus spoke up. “See, Malindy is living in Jurassic Park …”

  “Rrrrrawwwrrr!” Duane bellowed.

  “Use the script!” Abby shouted.

  I don’t know how Abby and Mallory managed it. It took them about ten minutes just to star
t reading.

  Things didn’t improve afterward. Tomika insisted she should have a song. Marcus kept shouting his lines at the top of his lungs. Ebon, who couldn’t read well yet, made up his own lines. Bob the pig and Duane the dog switched roles. And Ronnie kept insisting he wanted to be a penguin.

  By the time the parents began arriving, the kids had finally settled down and were reading well. They received a wild ovation.

  Mallory and Abby were exhausted as the families trickled out. “Can we call Jessi at the hospital?” Abby asked.

  Mallory shook her head. “We shouldn’t bother her there. She said she’d call me this afternoon.”

  “I think she’d be proud of how the meeting went.” Abby looked at her Kwanzaa sheet. “We experienced all these Kwanzaa things ourselves. Unity, creativity, collective work and responsibility, purpose … five of them in one shot.”

  “Six,” Mallory said softly.

  “What’s the other?”

  Mallory’s eyes began to water. She was thinking about Squirt, hoping he would pull through all right.

  When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Faith.”

  “Hungry?” Daddy asked.

  “Nahh,” I replied.

  “Me neither.”

  That was practically our whole conversation on the way home from the hospital that Friday. The accident had happened only five days before, but the trip felt like our thousandth.

  Pale yellow light from the street lamps washed over Daddy’s face in a slow rhythm. His eyes were narrow slits. Boy, did he look tired.

  I didn’t blame him. He and Mama hadn’t slept much over the previous few days. Fortunately, they’d both managed to take off the whole week from their offices. Unfortunately, they still had to turn in their work, using the fax machine and Fed Ex. Because they were spending so much time at the hospital, often they worked late into the night.

  I did, too. It was the only way I could finish my homework. That week I’d spent every spare after-school minute at the hospital — when I wasn’t at BSC meetings, a sitting job, and two Kwanzaa festival rehearsals.

  I hadn’t slept well, either. We were all worried about Squirt. He had blacked out a couple of times, and Dr. Bradley wanted him to stay longer.

  For two whole days Squirt had to be hooked up to electrodes. Yes, I am serious. Long wires were glued to his scalp and attached to a pack around his waist. The doctor said it was the only way to do accurate readings. My little brother looked like something out of a horror movie. I was a basket case when I first saw him.