Pixie Pushes On

by Tamara Bundy

  “I don’t gotta listen to you!” she yelled right back at me. “If I want to stay at the creek, I will. And if I want to swim in it, I will.”

  “Go ahead,” I dared her.

  She shook her head, making her curled pigtails spring from side to side. She took off her shoes and rolled up her pant legs and headed straight toward the creek like she was gonna jump right in.

  “What’s the big deal, anyway?” she said as she walked right to the water, like she didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Wait!” I shouted.

  She walked on to the water’s edge. “I told you not to boss me!” she said.

  “Don’t do it! You’ll get polio!”

  Her right foot froze in the air above the creek for a moment before she turned and lowered it. “What in tarnation are you even talking about?”

  I walked closer to her. Decided I might as well tell her. Everything else was wrong with my life. Who cared if Berta knew how bad I was.

  So I told her about Charlotte and me taking the eggs to her daddy’s store last summer and us stopping by the creek. I told her about Grandma’s warning, and about my mistakes that had made Charlotte fall into the water.

  “And that’s how she got polio.”

  Berta squinted like she was confused.

  Then she laughed. No, she squawked like Teacher when she’s daring me to take her egg.

  She was laughing at my sissy getting polio! And I was ready to explode. I shut my hand into a fist and swung it back. But before I could smack Berta, she stopped squawking long enough to say, “You have a funny imagination!”

  All I wanted then was to get away from everything. “Forget it. Go ahead and tell everybody how bad of a sister I am. Doesn’t matter. Nothin’ matters now.”

  As I walked away, she yelled, “Wait! I’m sorry!”

  Guess I’m getting used to people being sorry, ’cause this time, even that word couldn’t change my mind or stop my feet from moving.

  Berta’s mouth kept moving too. “You mean you’re serious? You really think you gave her polio when she fell in this here creek?”

  I walked faster until I heard splashing. Turning around, I saw that Berta, plain as day, had walked into the creek and was splashing around like a duck who’d just found out he could swim.

  I ran down to the water. “Get out of there! Didn’t you hear me? You’ll get sick!”

  She splashed the water on her face, her arms, everywhere. Without thinking, I ran into the water, grabbed her hand, and pulled her out with me, so hard we both fell down.

  When we were both on the ground, I yelled, “Do you want polio?”

  Berta sat up, brushing off her overalls. “’Course I don’t want the polio. But I know that creek’s fine. I swim in it near every day in the summer. And I did last year too. I don’t know where Charlotte got sick, but it weren’t from that creek.”

  “Are . . . you . . . s-sure?”

  “Sure as I’m sitting here.”

  As if I’d been holding my breath underwater for too long and finally made it up to the surface, I gasped.

  The creek isn’t a polio creek? I didn’t give my sissy polio?

  And as the reality of her words sank in more and more, I couldn’t keep myself from hugging Berta. And so I did. Wet clothes and all.

  “Now don’t be getting all silly about it.” She tried to sound like she was annoyed at my hug, but she hugged me back.

  And then we sat there for a few more minutes, like we had to refocus our view of each other before we could go on.

  She spoke first. “Even though you thought that water was bad, you came after me.”

  I guess I did. I shrugged, not sure what I could say.

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  I shrugged again. “It’s just a creek. Nothing bad.”

  “But you didn’t know that when you came to save me.”

  I took a deep breath. “Thanks for telling me it wasn’t a polio creek after all.”

  We stayed a while longer, the summer sun fast drying our clothes.

  “Is that why you screamed at the creek earlier? You thought it got your sissy sick?”

  “Partly.” And then I told her about Buster and the truck and me running and running. She listened and even had tears in her eyes when I was done with my telling.

  “No wonder you’re so mean all the time,” she said.

  Butter my biscuit! She said that like I should have agreed with her or something. But I took offense at her words. “What do you mean I’m so mean? You’re the one who’s mean.”

  “I’m not mean. You are. You’re the one who rolls their eyes every time I talk. You’re the one thinking she’s so much better than everybody. And you’re the one who ran off without singing the song with me.”

  “I heard you sang it anyway and did good.”

  “But it was better with you.”

  Again, my brain was taking in more information than I could handle. And I still didn’t understand. “But you stuck your tongue out at me. You tripped me. You—”

  She looked down. “I swear I didn’t trip you that time—but the other stuff . . . Okay . . . maybe I haven’t always been nice to you. I’m sorry. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . I was a little jealous of you.”

  “Of me?”

  “Yeah—you’re so . . . sure of yourself. You don’t care what anyone thinks. And Ricky likes you so much.”

  That was more than one body could take in for one day. My heart was busy hurting over Buster, while it was still healing over not causing Charlotte’s polio. My head was busy processing that Berta—confident, show-off-y Berta—was somehow jealous of me.

  It was all too much, and none of it made sense. I was wrong about Berta. I was wrong about Charlotte. I was wrong about keeping Buster safe. I didn’t know what was right anymore.

  When we’d finished talking, she said her daddy could drive me home. And as much as I didn’t want to be home without Buster, I guess I knew I had to go back sometime.

  CHAPTER 43

  Granddaddy thanked Berta’s daddy kindly for bringing me back.

  I figured I might get a talking-to for running away like I did, but neither Granddaddy nor Grandma said anything except I should eat something.

  Instead, I headed to the barn.

  I sat cross-legged in Buster’s empty pen. The little bit of joy that was growing in my heart from finding out I didn’t give Charlotte polio got drowned quick by the sorrow of missing my lamb.

  Not sure how long I sat there before Granddaddy came into the barn, walking over to me. He sat down with a grunt on the hay bale beside the pen.

  Granddaddy always had something smart to say about life being stupid. So I waited.

  Nothing came.

  I glanced at him to make sure he was still there. He was. Just sitting there like that was his job. “Aren’t you gonna tell me I shouldn’t’ve run away like that? Aren’t you gonna tell me how I gotta be brave? That I shouldn’t be sitting here wishing everything was different?”

  “Reckon I don’t have to tell you nothing right now.”

  “Good. ’Cause you could talk from today till there was no more tomorrows and I wouldn’t listen. I thought I could be brave—but I’m not.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Now, aren’t you gonna tell me letting Buster go was the right thing to do?”

  Granddaddy smiled but shook his head.

  “Well, that’s good. ’Cause I don’t want to hear it. I thought I could let him go. But now I don’t feel so brave.”

  “Mm . . . hmm.”

  “Stop saying ‘Mm-hmm’! Tell me something that will make my heart stop hurting, Granddaddy. Tell me something.” I got out of the pen and ran to Granddaddy’s lap. He held me tight.

  Finally, he spoke soft words in a deep voice. “Pixie�
��I want you to remember two things: First, that lamb would’ve died when he was two weeks old if you didn’t take him in. You gave him a good life full of belly rubs, bottle feedings, and more love than any lamb ever knew. You did right by him—don’t be forgetting that.”

  I tried to nod, but I couldn’t.

  “And second, I can’t promise your heart will stop hurting today, but I promise it will one day, the good Lord willin’—”

  “Don’t say it, Granddaddy. Don’t say it.”

  He held me for a few more minutes until a shadow at the door blocked the sun’s rays on us.

  Ricky.

  “Your grandma just told me, Pixie. I’m sorry.”

  I squeezed Granddaddy one more time before standing up to go to Ricky. Without a word between us, we started walking toward the orchard.

  Ricky kicked a green apple as he walked. I picked up a big stick and started batting the apple away from him like we’d done before, but it wasn’t at all fun.

  Even without us talking, I suspected we were sharing the same thought.

  We stopped near a tree with a low branch that was perfect for sitting, and both climbed on. From the lane came the crunch of gravel under Granddaddy’s car. I squinted to see Daddy get out, look around, and head to the barn.

  Guess he already returned the truck.

  Guess he already . . .

  I sighed.

  My back leaned against the rough bark of the apple tree while Ricky balanced on the hanging limb, finally breaking our silence. “Seems weird. Him not bein’ here, I mean. It’s weird, isn’t it?”

  I sniffed. “Yeah.”

  “Remember when you first got him and he was sick right after? Remember that bath when he splashed water everywhere but fell asleep feelin’ better?”

  I couldn’t tell if Ricky was trying to make me—or himself—feel better, remembering things we knew we’d never forget. But it was nice of him, nonetheless.

  And with him being such a good friend and all, I felt bad there was ever a time I thought he was less than who he really was. So I confessed. “You know, I used to call you Rotten Ricky—can you believe that?”

  He laughed. “I figured you had names for lots of people, so it don’t surprise me none to find out you had one for me. Why’d you call me rotten, though? I’m not mean.”

  I laughed at him not remembering. “What about things like letting a frog loose in school? Or that spit wad you threw at me?”

  He gasped. “I never!”

  “Yes, you did. I know it.”

  “I swear. Okay, yeah, I brought a frog to school, but only ’cause I found it half dead in front of the school that day and I wanted to help it. Not my fault it got out of my desk before lunch and jumped on Olivia. But that spit wad—that was not me.”

  “But when I looked up, you were looking right at me. Why else would you be lookin’?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I just . . . thought . . . you needed a friend,” Ricky told me. “Was that why you pushed me down after I opened the closet and let you out?”

  “Yeah. And I’m real sorry about that. I thought for sure it was you.” I shook my head. “Guess I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. And while I’m confessing—you know who else I was kinda wrong about?”

  “Who?”

  “Big-Mouth . . . I mean . . . Berta.”

  Ricky snorted. “Really? You could knock me down with a feather!” He laughed.

  “I mean, don’t get me wrong—she still has a pretty big mouth she likes to use. But now I see another side of her too.”

  Ricky shook his head in surprise. “I tried to tell ya she wasn’t too bad. I admit she’s kind of . . . forceful . . . sometimes, but she can be nice. Bet you didn’t even know she told everybody you were a better singer than her.”

  I didn’t.

  I shut my eyes and tried to clear my head. Did I know anything true about anybody at all?

  CHAPTER 44

  It was another hard-to-sleep night. The moon shone through my bedroom window, and I looked up at the sky, wondering what Mama would have thought about today.

  When Charlotte got polio, I wondered if it would’ve been different if Mama was here.

  And now I was wondering if Buster would still be here if Mama was too.

  Even if all of that would be the same, maybe it just wouldn’t hurt so much if Mama was here.

  Guess when you can’t hang on to your mama, you hang on to your wonderings. And right then, I was holding on to my wonderings so tight I didn’t hear somebody walk into the room.

  “You okay, Pixie?” I didn’t have to turn around to know Grandma was checking on me.

  I tried to keep my voice from shaking. “Remember when I pumped my legs so high I fell outta the tire swing and landed on my hands and knees—got them scraped up and bloodied?”

  “Sure do.”

  “Right before my scabs healed up, I fell again—running down the lane. You said the scab didn’t have time to heal right proper and it broke open too soon. Left me with a scar.”

  I heard her footsteps coming closer.

  “That’s my heart right now, Grandma. Before the wound could heal from Mama dying, it got ripped open when Charlotte got sick. And now, right when it started healin’ again, it’s ripped all over. I don’t think it’s ever gonna heal.”

  She touched my shoulder. “If I recollect, you’re pretty proud of the scars you have on your knees. You’re proud of ’em ’cause you remember the fun you had before you got hurt—not the pain in fallin’. Maybe your heart’s like that. You’ll have your scars there forever, but instead of just remembering the pain when you count ’em, you’ll think of the good times too.”

  Grandma rubbed my back. “Let’s try to sleep. Your heart’s too broke right now for words to sink in. But tomorrow, I’ll tell you a little story. Remember, things always look better in the light of day.”

  With that, she tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead. And though I figured I’d never sleep again, I was wrong.

  CHAPTER 45

  I woke to the smell of hotcakes, which Grandma usually only makes for special occasions. My birthday wasn’t for another month, so I knew she was plain-as-day trying to make me feel better.

  When I made it downstairs, I sat slumped in front of a stack of hotcakes, watching the maple syrup drip down each one.

  Grandma pulled up a chair and sat next to me. “I remember my first lamb that had to go to market.”

  Now I sat up straight. “You do?”

  “You never forget something like that. Name was Oscar.” She smiled when she said his name. “What a rascal! Woo-wee! Always gettin’ into trouble. Diggin’ up the garden, runnin’ through the clothesline”—she winked at me—“like somebody else we know.”

  My mouth opened in surprise as she continued. “Yeah, Oscar was my buddy. And then one day, he had to go.”

  “Didn’t it break your heart?”

  “Sure enough did. Plumb broke it in two. Said I’d never get me another lamb ever again. And I didn’t. Till I eventually did.”

  “You got another one?”

  “I did. Had me many lambs over the years.”

  “Did they all end up . . . you know . . . ?”

  “Most of ’em did. We lived on a farm. Couldn’t change that.”

  “Did they all hurt your heart . . . to say goodbye?”

  She smiled and looked up, remembering. “Yeah—but nothing like that first one. Nothing like Oscar.”

  “I never want to see another lamb again.”

  “Maybe you won’t. Maybe you will . . .” She patted my hand and then left hers on top of mine for a minute.

  Then Grandma got up and announced, “All I can tell you about the future right now is that I made hotcakes that won’t be staying hot—and if somebody don’t eat ’em
soon, the pigs are gonna get a mighty good breakfast today.”

  * * *

  * * *

  After I ate the hotcakes, Grandma reminded me that staying busy would be a good thing, which meant it was time for me to do my chores.

  I finished gathering the eggs, and for once Teacher didn’t squawk at me or puff up at all. Maybe she missed Buster too.

  Then I hung the laundry on the line. With each sheet and every clothespin, I wished Buster was there to knock down the sheets and make me chase him.

  Just as I was hanging the last sheet on the line, I heard a car coming down the lane. I squinted and saw it was Daddy.

  And there was someone sitting in the passenger seat.

  Daddy stopped the car, got out, and walked around to open the door.

  My heart beat so fast I could feel it in my throat as I walked closer.

  The sun was shining so bright I had to put my hand over my eyes to make sure the glare wasn’t playing tricks on me.

  That’s when I saw the best thing I could ever see: my daddy standing right beside . . . my sissy.

  Her arms were holding up her body with a couple of crutches, and metal braces supported her legs. But I never saw her looking better before in my life!

  I ran like nothing could stop me. “Sissy!”

  As soon as I reached her, I had to catch my breath in order to ask, “Would it hurt you if I hugged you?”

  “I reckon it’d hurt me if you didn’t.” Her voice was weaker, but just as I remembered.

  With tears flooding both our faces, I held on to my sissy, not sure I’d ever let her go. I breathed in the scent of her, and it felt like something in me was cracking open as so many memories rushed back. I held on to her and the moment as long as I could, only releasing her long enough to put my hand on top of hers, which rested on her crutch. Her hand was soft and cool under mine. And it had never felt better.

  I turned to Daddy. “You didn’t tell me!”

  Tears filled his eyes. “I didn’t want to risk another disappointment for you—just in case the doctor changed his mind.”