by Alan Cumyn
Andy has his own room! So Leonard and I will share but not the same bed any more.
When we were walking around the new house I kept thinking Sylvia lives in Elgin. I think probably if I took my bike I could find your house.
Do you know how it is when your body feels thin as papay mashay paper and glue with a little candle burning inside and how trembly everything is when even your breathing is giggly?
I kept thinking I might see you just in the next room or the next.
Owen
Dear Sylvia,
Dad has a new job!
He is going to fix everything at Mom’s hotel even before it might be broken. So now they are going to walk together to the hotel in the morning and then back home for lunch every day and then back to the hotel and then back home. Every day!
The new house has strange sounds that come out at night. Mr. Colsen who lives upstairs plays his tuba to his cat after midnight with the TV on and the cat doesn’t like it. And something drips in the walls like maybe it’s Giant Foam getting ready to gurgle out of the light switch. And the blinking red light from Tipcott’s Vaccuoom vacuum cleaner parts and service leaks through the curtain just when you just want it to be dark and still.
And it smells like fried chicken from the restaurant on the other side.
That’s why I can’t sleep.
I am worried too because tomorrow I am going to Elgin Public School and what is going to happen when I walk in the classroom and you look up from your desk?
I don’t know why I am afraid but I am. Because I haven’t seen you since Scottish dancing. And probably I am going to think about too many stupid things like how you looked at me when I couldn’t do the Paw Debask or even walk right when I was holding your hand.
Owen
Dear Sylvia,
Where are you?
I walked into Mrs. Kingswell’s class at the Elgin Public School and looked around and looked around and looked.
Owen
Dear Sylvia,
I didn’t see you but in the playground I did see Danny Bainman. When he saw me I could tell he had no idea it was me at all and he did not say anything. So that is the kind of boy Danny Bainman is but maybe you know that already.
But maybe you don’t know that either because where are you anyway?
Owen
Dear Sylvia,
Mrs. Kingswell is making me copy out all my spelling mistakes 50 times each!
So I am copying and copying forever. We have dictionaries in the class but they are way over on the shelf and you are not allowed to get up.
We had dinner last night back at Uncle Lorne and Ant Lorraine’s house just because the new house is so small and quiet with just us. And Sadie said right at the table in front of the pot roast — so Owen how is Sylvia?
Then everyone wanted to know.
And I said I didn’t know because you are not in my class and maybe even not in my school and maybe you are gone from Elgin!
Didn’t you ask about her? — said Eleanor.
And I said I don’t know anybody and I might as well be Invisible because no one talks to me!
So Dad said — Owen! You must go to Sylvia’s house and do something big!
I said — I don’t want to talk about it!
Dad said — Owen has been writing letters to Sylvia for months and months! He has a big box full of them!
And Andy said — we know! That’s all he does is write to Sylvia like it’s some big secret!
And I said — let’s just eat pot roast.
And he never sends the letters! — Leonard said.
And Uncle Lorne said — what about the bagpipes? You could play the Lad’s Lamant outside her window!
And then give her the letters! — Leonard said.
They all talked about it and made a big plan and I said — no no no! That is not how I want to do it!
So Sadie said — well Owen how do you want to do it?
By myself!
And that’s when I ran away.
Sometimes when your family is around it’s like you tripped in the mud and can’t escape no matter which way you try to crawl out.
Owen
Dear Sylvia,
Last night I took my bike and rode around and around all over Elgin until finally I made it to Riverside Place and then to 1837. I had the bagpipes which Uncle Lorne said I must bring.
I thought once I was there it would be easy to cross the street and then go up the walk and to the door. I have done it before.
But my bike had a hard time crossing the street.
So I thought I can just play the bagpipes here. They are loud enough and if Sylvia is home she will come out and maybe even dance a bit to the Lad’s Lamant which I know pretty well now or at least a little bit.
And if somebody came along I would just be a boy on the other side of the street playing the bagpipes like anyone else.
So I got them out.
I started to blow and the drones hummed a bit but then I let go of the cat and anyway I had a hard time breathing all along your street.
The lights were on in your house and I thought what if you come out now?
So I put the pipes away and got on my bike and decided to just ride around a bit more and so I went home again.
It’s an offal thing to be a coward.
Owen
Dear Sylvia,
I was in my room reading the dictionary and Mom said — Owen! Uncle Lorne is here! You can give him back the bagpipes!
So I yelled — they’re in the closet by the front door!
So then she came with her heavy feet and said — he was kind enough to lend you his very expensive pipes. The least you could do is return them yourself and thank him profusely!
So I got up and went to the closet and got the bagpipes and gave them to Uncle Lorne and I said — thank you profusely!
Which means a lot.
He said — how did it go with Sylvia?
I said I had a lot of spelling I needed to study.
He said — did she like the Lad’s Lamant?
Mom was right there listening and Leonard and Andy were ear wrestling just on the chesterfield and I said — there’s a hole lot I still need to learn.
Did she dance to it? — he asked.
I went back to my bed and closed my eyes and thought about rocketing myself to a distant galaxy.
Uncle Lorne came in the room. He shut the door and so I told him about it. I told him how the air on the street got a lot thicker when I was standing outside your house and how could I play anything?
Uncle Lorne said — a piper plays no matter what the air. He said — a piper plays when it’s raining wind and the gales are ripping at your coat and you are standing in battle just yards away from the enemy with swords drawn and canons booming. A piper plays when it is thirty below and a little boy has drowned and you are all standing at the grave with tears freezing to your face but the piper still plays.
A piper plays — he said.
He said he wouldn’t have taught me if he thought I would just give up at the first sign of heavy air. He said he didn’t think I was that kind of man. He said I could just take up the piano or the violin or something easy if I was that kind.
But a piper plays.
So that is why I went back to your house even though it was after midnight and if Dad caught me out again like that he would send me to jail.
I just went alone.
That was me on the other side of the street. That was my bike and those were my drones humming and I held the cat as well as I could. The air was even heavier than before especially when the lights started to go on and people stuck their heads out of windows and the dogs yowelled.
But I stood all through it and so I’m a piper.
When your ligh
t went on I’m sorry I had to go quickly and anyway somebody’s dog was after me then.
But that was me.
Owen
Dear Sylvia,
Mrs. Kingswell thinks I am an idiot.
We had a spelling test today and just like always I wrote down all the words right off they were so easy and then I looked at them and I started to think. And the more I thought the harder they got. I just wanted to peek in my dictionary which has got my thumbprints on it now from all my checking when I am writing to you.
Then the test was over and Mrs. Kingswell called me in front of everybody at her desk. She said in a little voice that everyone could hear all the way back — Owen you have to work harder on your spelling.
I said — I am sorry Mrs. Kingswell.
She said — Owen didn’t your other teachers get you to memorize spelling words?
I said — I am trying to get better Mrs. Kingswell!
She said — Owen do you ever read? Books? Printed matter?
I said — I write a lot Mrs. Kingswell. And I read the dictionary.
Whenever you speak to Mrs. Kingswell you need to say her name. It is like she might forget who she is if you don’t.
She said — when people see misspelled words they think you are ill-bred and uneducated.
Like an ignoramus — I said. Some of the others laughed in a little way because they weren’t supposed to be listening but they were.
She said — what do you write Owen?
I said — letters Mrs. Kingswell. I write a lot of letters.
Do you have penpals in far-off places?
No Mrs Kingswell.
They will think ill of you if you mangle the language — she said. When you see the word spelled correctly in the dictionary then just let it sink into your thick head and it will be there forever in its correct and unchanging form!
So I am trying to let it all sink into my thick brain.
To whom do you write Owen Skye? — she asked.
And I said — nobody in a little voice that made me sick to hear it. But also I said to myself — Sylvia. I write to Sylvia Tull.
She is my true love — I said all to myself.
Love,
Owen
Dear Sylvia,
It was a shock to see you and your legs. I am sorry now I didn’t send any of my letters or call you which I could have since we moved to Elgin and the telephone is free. And twice I went to your house but just blew bagpipes. It is a lot to think that we both had disasters on almost the same day. My house got hit by a tree and you were hit by that car. I didn’t see anything in the newspaper except the picture of the tree on our squashed house. I wasn’t looking for your disaster at all.
I didn’t know then about how you slipped on the dirt on your bike and the car ran over your legs.
And so of course that was why you were not at school.
I’m sorry I stood so long in the door with my mouth open when you were on your crutches.
Thank you for letting me sign your casts.
And I was glad that I brought the chanter and so could play just softly for you the Lad’s Lamant. That’s also how it was in my head when I saw it for real. Not a big loud commotion with everybody looking at us and yowelling.
I will come back tomorrow. I have been working on another song Uncle Lorne hummed for me called Bony Lass Will Dance Again. It’s harder than Lad’s Lamant but it’s coming easier.
All the time I was with you in your room and in the den and at dinner with your parents and even in the hallway when I was leaving I thought — I wish I’d brought the box of letters! Then you could read them and know that even though I didn’t know you were having your disaster I was thinking about you anyway.
But now I don’t know.
So I am wrapping this box in lots of plastic and tinfoil and more plastic and I even have a metal box that Sadie found for me. I am going to go back to the old house. And I will bury the box by the apple tree in a spot that I can’t forget because I looked at that tree all my life so far from up and down.
That’s where these letters will be.
And I will not dig them up again until we have our first child. Wherever we are in Elgin or anywhere else I will go back to the apple tree and find them for you.
I promise I will not sing in Italian.
And if we are not together then there will be no reason to dig these up and it won’t matter.
But if I do dig them up I’ll hold the baby while you read and then you will know.
That’s all.
Love,
Owen Skye
PSST! Yes I will bring the bagpipes tomorrow if I can borrow them from Uncle Lorne. But we’ll have to go out in secret and just be me and you.
Author’s Note
The author gratefully acknowledges the financial assistance of the Canada Council for the Arts in the preparation of this manuscript. Many thanks too to Shelley Tanaka for her inspired editing of all the Owen Skye books.
About the Publisher
GROUNDWOOD BOOKS, established in 1978, is dedicated to the production of children’s books for all ages, including fiction, picture books and non-fiction. We publish in Canada, the United States and Latin America. Our books aim to be of the highest possible quality in both language and illustration. Our primary focus has been on works by Canadians, though we sometimes also buy outstanding books from other countries.
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