by Moya Simons
Mum knew Stephanie already. She was talking about the wonderful stories Stephanie writes and then reads to the children at her library on Saturday mornings.
Stephanie’s parents nodded and looked proudly at her.
This came as a huge surprise, God. I realised then that I didn’t know much about Stephanie at all. I knew she was smart at school, but making up stories for the little kids who visit the library?
It turns out Stephanie is writing a story about a bear and a pussycat. The pussycat is left out in the wilderness in Canada and is adopted by a big brown bear who has bear cubs, and thinks the little cat is a special kind of bear cub. Each week Stephanie goes to Mum’s library and tells adventure stories about the bear family and the pussycat.
I asked Stephanie where she gets her ideas from. She smiled at me. I couldn’t remember her smiling before. ‘I make it up. It just comes to me.’
‘Why Canada?’
‘My parents went to Canada after they got married. I’ve seen their photos of trees that look like flames in autumn and shots of huge snowy mountains in winter that are like big pointed teeth. In summer the valleys are green and scattered with flowers. In the far north it’s freezing cold, and you see brown bears lumbering along with their cubs following them. I was born just after they came back from Canada, so you see…’
‘You’re a little bit Canadian.’
I never get ideas for stories, God. Mum said that Stephanie is gifted. I wouldn’t mind being gifted. But you need to be very good at something to be gifted, and I’m still trying to find out what that is.
Hello God,
I’ve been wondering. Were you ever a child? If you were a child once, doesn’t that mean you had parents?
What exactly is a spirit? Mum says that’s what you are, but when I ask her to explain more, she just says, ‘Hmmmmmmmm.’ I don’t think she knows.
I asked my dad about you. He said that he can’t believe that everything around us came from nothing. But he couldn’t explain what a spirit is either, except that it’s probably something you can’t see but you can feel inside. Then he looked confused.
Hello God,
Today my parents had such big smiles. It was as if the Harbour Bridge had been turned upside down and stuck on their faces.
Dad nudged Mum and said she should tell me.
Mum nudged Dad and said he should tell me.
Then my parents, who are often quite grown-up, gave me a pointed party hat, and they put on hats too. They blew their party trumpets and, smiling soppily, my mum and dad told me what the fuss was about.
‘WE’RE HAVING A BABY!’
I was so surprised, God, I got the hiccups. I thought they’d made a mistake and maybe they meant we were getting a puppy or a baby budgie, so I asked them to tell me again.
‘WE’RE HAVING A BABY!’
A baby? A brother or sister for me? I was shocked. Aren’t they too old for this?
Now, God, I expect you knew about this already. It just depends on how busy you’ve been.
My parents looked happier than they’ve ever looked before, happier even than when I won an award at school for being the most improved student in my class.
God, what I’m wondering is why do I feel mixed up about this baby coming? Shouldn’t I feel happy? Stephanie has a baby cousin and I saw her cuddling him at the beach, and she looked happy. So explain to me, why have I got this feeling that there are spiders crawling under my skin?
Also, I can’t stop hiccupping. It stops me talking, so in a way that’s not such a bad thing, because there’s not much I want to say right now.
God, I keep looking for signs that you’re hearing me. There are still ants drowning in puddles.
Hello God,
There is nothing more boring than baby talk. Dad takes Mum to the doctor. The doctor says the baby and Mum are doing fine. Mum and Dad are talking about baby names. They can’t agree. Dad likes the name Robert if it’s a boy and Mum says that’s too ordinary. She’d like Zach. Dad wants Roberta if it’s a girl (he’s really stuck) and Mum says never, ever will a child of hers be called Roberta. She likes Amber. I told them I’ll do the choosing if it gets too hard. Then I hiccupped.
They don’t want to know if it’s a boy or a girl before the baby is born. I’ve been thinking, God, as I have no choice in the matter, that maybe you could make the baby a boy. I want to stay the only girl in the family. If the baby’s a boy, and most boys are gross, then my parents will remember how cute I am.
Dad is painting the spare room yellow. Mum’s bought new curtains. She looks at baby booties and teddy bears when we go out shopping. She tells me how much fun it will be to have a baby brother or sister. How it will make our family complete. Now that’s very insulting, God, because I thought our family was complete. It seems I wasn’t enough for them by myself.
I’ve still got the hiccups. Not all the time, just when I want to speak, and sometimes even when I don’t. Everyone at school laughs at my hiccups. They are very loud, God, and when the teacher asks a question and I try to answer, out comes a gigantic hiccup.
When it happened today some of the kids threw bits of paper at me, and then someone began to burp, and one of the boys made this vile smell, then three kids coughed and the teacher threw her hands up in the air just as the lunch bell rang.
Stacey and Danielle couldn’t stop laughing at my hiccups. I was so annoyed that I stamped my foot and ran off to the library. But the library isn’t the best place for hiccups, God.
Stephanie was there. She was sitting at a table with her head bent over a book. When I hiccupped she looked up at me. She didn’t laugh. She just gave a faint smile, like the Mona Lisa. She stood up and walked away and came back with a glass of water. ‘Hold your breath for ten seconds before drinking,’ she whispered. So I did, being desperate. Then she sat down again and began to read some more.
You know what? The hiccups went. Just like that. ‘Hey, thanks,’ I said to her. Then I walked over to her table and asked her what she was reading. She showed me her book. It was all about space travel.
‘Your mum and dad have invited my family to dinner at your place on Saturday, so I’m just reading up.’
I felt my hiccups coming back again, so I held my breath and sipped some more water.
I know that she was kind to me. I know that the other kids think she’s dorky. I now also know that she’s coming over for dinner. Stacey and Danielle are in kids. I’ll be an out kid if I become friends with Stephanie.
I don’t know what to do. Maybe, God, Stephanie could get the flu so she can’t come for dinner on Saturday. I think it would make things easier.
Hello God,
Thanks for listening to me. Stephanie got sick, so she and her parents didn’t come to our place for dinner.
I feel amazingly powerful. To think that I was able to get you to do that. I know that you’ll be kind and just give her a one-day flu. Nothing nasty. She’ll hardly know she’s been sick. And she can read lots of books in bed and make up more stories about the bear and the pussycat.
Hello God,
Stephanie is still sick. It’s been a week now. Go easy, please. I wish I hadn’t wished her sick. I really wish I hadn’t. You’re involved too, God. You shouldn’t have listened to me. I’m just a kid.
Anyway, I went to see her on the weekend. I felt guilty. I took her one of my space fantasy books. Her mother made me stand at the bedroom door, in case Stephanie’s bugs had wings.
Stephanie lay in bed. Her room had pink wallpaper and lots of bookshelves. She gave me a tiny smile, but didn’t say much. Her eyes were bigger than they usually are, and her skin looked pale and damp.
‘I’d prefer hiccups,’ she said to me. That made us both laugh.
Her mother handed Stephanie the book and I could see that Stephanie was really pleased.
Then I left.
I’ve been thinking, God, that there isn’t much wrong with Stephanie. I mean the dorky stuff.
At school tod
ay, Stacey said she was glad that little pest Stephanie wasn’t at school.
When I asked why, God, both Danielle and Stacey stared at me. It was like they were identical twins, with identical stares. Something had split between the three of us.
‘Are you saying she’s not a pest?’
‘Have you become friends with that dork? You’ll become one too, you know.’
‘What’s gone wrong with you, Kate?’
‘We’ve been your friends. We don’t even call you four-eyes.’
I couldn’t speak, God. I just looked at them as if I was seeing them for the very first time. Through my four-eyes.
Hello God,
I am very confused.
Stephanie came back to school today. She was wobbly on her legs and there were dark smudges under her eyes. I felt sorry for her. It was our fault, God. Yours and mine. I only wanted her to have a one-day flu.
She told me she felt fine, and that was a relief, even though she didn’t look fine. Adam came over to us and said he hoped she was okay. I’ve never talked to him much before. I’d never even thought much about him.
Just before the bell went, Danielle and Stacey walked over to me.
Danielle told me I was a loser, and that I hung out with losers.
I said I’d been hanging out with them for ages, so what did that mean they were?
Then I said, ‘There’s nothing nerdy about Stephanie, or Adam. They’re both really nice.’
I began to hiccup. Stacey put her hand over her mouth, but I could see her laughing.
They ignored me for the rest of the day, which suited me fine because I was ignoring them too.
Hello God,
I didn’t know what to do at lunchtime today. I didn’t want to sit alone. There’s nothing worse than seeing and hearing other kids having fun and being all alone.
Stephanie was in the library. I didn’t know if I should join her or not. I was feeling sad and empty.
Adam was sitting with Matt on a bench near the canteen. Matt’s kind of cute in a Superman way, God. He’s tall and has muscles and dark hair and the best, widest, bluest eyes. If you don’t know about Superman, you should see some of the movies. He’s a real hero and does all the right things. You’d like him a lot.
I suppose I could have sat with them, but Matt might have thought I liked him, which I do, but I don’t want to be obvious. I felt shy and the empty feeling inside of me was making me nervous.
So I went back to the library, where I knew I could bury my head in a book and not have to talk to anyone.
Hello God,
Today I walked over to Danielle and Stacey to see if they would invite me to sit with them. If they apologised I just might forgive them.
They were sitting on the grass eating their lunch. I pushed my glasses up because I was nervous and the sweat was making them slide down my nose.
Stacey and Danielle sat hunched over their lunch, talking and laughing. They knew I was there, but they didn’t look up. Not even when I hiccupped.
I walked away, shrugging. I ate my lunch and then walked around the playground, trying to smile so no one would think I was a loser. I didn’t want the argument with Danielle and Stacey to matter, but it did. No more girly talks, going to the movies at the weekend, talking about boys we’d like to meet later on, looking at make-up in shops and planning our futures. All that togetherness, the good stuff about being part of the in crowd, was finished.
I felt weird, God, a bit like a sardine that’s been packed tightly in a can and then suddenly set free, thrown back into the water. But of course, as the sardine has been in a can, he’s dead. So there’s nothing he can do with his freedom. Does that make sense, God?
After school I walked home by myself. Danielle and Stacey walked past me. They giggled. I pretended I didn’t care. I yawned and tried to look bored.
When I got home, Mum had just arrived home too. She started talking about the baby, but stopped when I couldn’t do anything but hiccup.
Now she wants to take me to see a doctor. She thinks they’ve gone on for too long.
God, couldn’t you just put a stop to my hiccups?
Hello God,
I ended up at the doctor’s surgery. He’s from India and his name is Dr Curry. This is a hard name for me to say without laughing, and I have to tell you, it’s not a good thing to start laughing when you go to see a doctor about being sick.
He listened to me hiccup and spoke to me in his lovely Indian accent, and I answered and hiccupped. He asked Mum about the baby coming, and I hiccupped some more.
Then he said, ‘You’ve got mind hiccups.’
‘What’s, hic, that?’
‘When you get worried, you hiccup. Try not to worry so much. Your parents love you. They won’t love you any less when the baby comes.’
My mum put her arm around me, and pulled me to her and gave me a mushy kiss. I hiccupped in her face.
‘They’ll go,’ said the doctor. ‘Just get her to eat and drink slowly and do a bit of deep breathing. Keep her relaxed.’
Mum looked relieved and insisted on holding my hand as we left the doctor’s surgery.
She asked me a lot of questions. Some about the baby. Others about school and friends. So I told her about my being out of the in crowd. She held me tighter and told me how it was hard to be strong, but that I was right to stick up for Stephanie.
I also told her that I talk to you some nights, and she said, ‘Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm.’ She seemed to think it was okay and might help me with my hiccups.
Hello God,
Two things happened today, and even though you probably know already, I want to talk about them.
First of all, Mum took me with her to the baby doctor’s, and the doctor put sticky stuff all over her stomach. Then he put a special camera on her stomach and on a small screen near where Mum was lying I could see a picture of the baby.
At first I couldn’t make out the baby. There’s a lot of stuff going on inside Mum’s body. The baby was curled up in a ball, and the doctor pointed out the baby’s back. And then the legs. And then the rounded head.
I felt strange. A baby was growing inside my mum.
The doctor said he couldn’t see from the way the baby was curled up whether it was a boy or a girl, but Mum quickly told the doctor she didn’t want to know.
I, hic, do.
The doctor also said the baby is healthy, which is all my parents care about.
Me, hic, too.
I peeked into baby prams and strollers in the waiting room. A lot of the babies were quite cute. One of them smiled at me. A gummy, dribbly smile, God. I smiled back. Maybe babies aren’t that bad. Maybe I’d even like being a big sister. I’d always be the older one. Always and forever.
On the way home I was still hiccupping, but much less. Mum bought me an ice-cream, and I slurped it all down, without one hiccup.
Dad told me that when ladies are having babies they look just beautiful. My mum’s skin is shining, like she’s rubbed cooking oil over it. Her eyes are bright. She looks like one of those models on TV, except for the baby bump. Every now and then she pats her stomach and if I’m standing close by, each time she pats her stomach she pats my head.
Now, God, we need to have a serious talk. Tonight I did my homework early and sat with Mum and Dad watching TV.
It’s all this other stuff going on in the world that I want to talk about. Mum and Dad watch the TV news and honest, it’s all full of sad stuff.
No matter how busy you are, you must know about the wars and the sick people and the dying children, and the bad people who are making this planet very, very dangerous.
So where do you stand on this?
If you have the power to make things different, why don’t you?
You need to send me a sign, and quickly, because I am starting to wonder about you.
(PS: It’s not that I don’t believe in you, I would just like to know that you believe in me.)
Hello God,
Th
anks for the sign. When Mum and Dad called me in from my homework tonight to watch the stranded whales being pushed out to sea, I knew straightaway that this was a sign from you. I think you’re telling me it’s not all bad out there.
I keep thinking about what Mum said, about how you let us make up our own minds about things, but always hope that we will make the right decisions and have the right thoughts.
So, I reckon that you must feel very disappointed that so many of us don’t have the right thoughts. Maybe even sad.
Cheer up, God. If we make bad decisions, it’s not your fault. Maybe, for reasons we don’t understand, you can’t take making decisions away from us.
That’s difficult. But cheer up anyway. It will make you happy to know that today a man ran into a burning house and pulled out two children. He got burnt a bit doing it, but he saved their lives. I thought you needed to know this, God, just in case you missed it.
Hello God,
Stephanie came for dinner with her parents. It was fun. I can hardly believe how stupid I was about her. Mum made baked fish with pine nuts on top, and it tasted great. And chips too, and chocolate mousse for dessert. You are missing out on a lot, God, if you can’t eat chocolate.
Stephanie’s parents are quiet people, like Stephanie in a way. Her mother is tall and thin with straight hair, and a small smile. Her father is short with a rounded stomach and is totally bald.
