The Ship We Built

by Lexie Bean

  I don’t know, I’m sorry. Some good news is that it snowed two inches over the raked leaves yesterday. It gives me something nice to look at outside my window. Also, Halloween with Sofie and her dad is only fifteen days away.

  Hope you’re okay. I’m doing my best.

  Sincerely,

  Ellie Beck

  PS, Sorry, I’m still awake because downstairs is still so noisy. I’m just wondering, have you ever seen the Jerry Springer Show? Well, I’m just wondering why does everyone say Jerry’s name over and over again when people are fighting on the show? Do you think he got to pick his own name? Do you think he gets tired of hearing people yell all the time? I’m not so sure. I guess I can see how it’s my dad’s second-favorite show. A lot of people on that show have probably hit their walls too.

  Anyways, I should go now. Good night.

  Ellie

  Sunday, October 19, 1997

  Dear Friend,

  Dad actually threw away his Daily Mining Gazette before I had a chance to read any Sweetest Day announcements, so I’m really sorry if you or anybody else tried to do something nice for me. Maybe that’s what I get for asking. Anyways, I went to church today with Mom and Dad. That probably counts for something.

  Dad saw his old work friend, who was wearing nice pants and a belt, at the service. That man has a new job at that mining museum my old Girl Scouts troop went to once. Dad sure had a lot to say about that in the car ride home. He even called his friend a traitor and some other words I’m not going to say right now. Anyways, it was good timing because the priest made a speech today about the difference between “hot-blooded” and “cold-blooded” people. One means good and one means bad, but I can’t remember which one is which. Now that I think about it, it’s weird because everyone has blood inside of them.

  We go to church every Sunday because Mom and Dad want people to see them there holding hands, but it’s actually an easy place to hide. Today I asked Mom if I could go to the bathroom. I didn’t really have to go. I mostly just wanted to do my own thing. I don’t think God minds that much because I’m at least looking at the nice art in the hallway.

  I took my time walking four laps around the building. After that, I actually did have to pee. Don’t tell anyone, but I think I figured out how to pee standing up. Surprisingly enough, wearing a skirt made it much easier. I wish I had known that a few years ago when I first started practicing. All I had to do was just bend my knees a little bit. It was cool. It was the best part of the day actually. I will probably try again soon, probably the next time Mom makes me wear a dress.

  When I got back to the chapel, it was time to eat the fake bread. My parents then went to “make confession,” where they tell the priest secrets in a tiny wooden room. Even if Mom and Dad told me to, I wouldn’t ever tell that man anything, not even the best part of my day. It’s not that he’s a bad person or anything. I don’t know, it’s just that why would I want to be in a small room with some man? I don’t like that at all.

  Maybe it’s a sin, but I wonder what Dad tells the priest because Dad almost always says what he’s thinking. For example, on the car ride home this afternoon, he told Mom that she’s too fat and her hair looks too much like “a boy’s haircut.” He thinks she should look more like Shania Twain. He said, “You could really be beautiful if you tried a little bit harder.” Mom just nodded her head. I would have done the same thing if I were her. I always just nod my head when he gives me weird compliments.

  Actually Dad might have one secret. Don’t tell anyone this, but I saw him crying in the backyard a few days ago. At that point, he had probably shouted “I’m doing my best” at Mom twenty times. The ice on the branches above made it look like it was just snowing on top of his head. He bent himself into a ball, barely shivering in his COPPER COUNTRY STRONG T-shirt. What does it mean when the thing that is supposed to make us strong isn’t here like it used to be?

  I don’t know. I would never call Dad a crybaby, though. I have never actually seen another boy cry before in my entire life. I don’t think it’s about being hot-blooded or cold-blooded.

  I have to ask, do you think of yourself as strong? Can I still be a boy if I cry sometimes too? Can I still be a boy if I’ve never punched a wall before?

  Sorry. I’m being weird. I’m just thinking about stuff.

  Sincerely,

  Alex

  Friday, October 31, 1997

  Dear Whoever Is Reading This,

  Thank you for listening even if you don’t have to. I’m sure you already know this, but today was Halloween. What were you? Have you ever been a ghost? Last year I was left-behind bubble gum, which you know can be a scary thing if you have ever stepped in some. I dressed in all pink and duct-taped a shoe to the top of my head. I liked feeling stretchy and getting to hide under tables for fun, but most people didn’t get it. Some people had the nerve to say that it wasn’t a real costume. I don’t know why, but that still really bothers me.

  After a lot of thinking, I decided to be a moth for Halloween this year since everyone has seen a moth before. Sometimes real-life ones tap on my bedroom window when I’m home with the lights on. I think it’s cool that moths can eat whole blankets and sweaters and other things I cover myself with. I made the costume all by myself this afternoon by patching together tinfoil and bright green pipe cleaners I borrowed from the art room. I stood in front of our bathroom mirror to make sure my wings were big enough and the curly antennas were just right on my head. I smiled to myself. In that moment, I thought I looked great and I had myself to thank.

  It was really nice to get out of the house and, believe it or not, the weather was kind of okay for trick-or-treating too. Sofie and I unzipped our puffy coats and kept our costumes out of hiding. Do you ever have to cover something that you don’t want to? It’s really the worst, especially when it’s something that makes you happy.

  I hate to admit it, but for the second year in a row most of the grown-ups I met while trick-or-treating confused me for other things. Some even gave up on guessing, and gave me one of those caramel-apple suckers anyways. I didn’t know whether or not to correct them when they guessed wrong because I still wanted their candy. I guess it’s okay if they didn’t see that I was truly a moth as long as I knew what I was and my trick-or-treating buddies, Sofie and her dad, knew what I was too. Mr. B always says that you only have to touch one person for art to be good. It’s hard to believe that right now, but deep down I know that he’s right.

  But for the record, I was not Tinker Bell, an angel, or a Picasso painting. I was for sure not the tooth fairy, especially when I still have some baby teeth and that would just be confusing. I worked hard to be a moth. Plus, making my own outfit really helped my confident walk while going around the block. My steps were bigger than any bathroom stall meeting ever. No one else had the exact same Halloween costume as me, and I felt memorable in a good way.

  Sofie’s dad even took off his Scream mask, which was basically a sad face melting off, just to tell me how good my outfit was. He was so impressed that I made my moth costume all by myself and he said, “Nobody can do what you do.” My old BFFs’ parents never said anything to me like that. The grown-ups were actually the first ones to point and make fun of my bubblegum costume when we took pictures in front of Mary’s house last year. All the other kids had store-bought costumes like Helga Patacki and the Sailor Scouts.

  This year, Sofie was dressed as the pop star named Selena with purple sparkly pants and a plastic microphone. Not only is Sofie going to be an astronaut and dancer when she grows up, she’s going to become a singer too. She did a twirl on the sidewalk and practically shouted, “I’m going to arrive to my big concert sitting in the back of a white horse carriage, just like Selena did.”

  Richard smiled and said, “Then let’s make a Selena horse carriage for the big winter concert, honey bug.” I wasn’t even looking forward to the concert,
but now I am. Richard promised that I can come over to help them paint their rusty bomber car white for Sofie’s grand arrival. I hope it actually happens because I love Sofie’s voice and I want the world to hear it. You’ll hear it one day. I have no doubt about it. I reminded Sofie that in the movie about Selena’s life, the moon tells her that she can be whatever she wants to be. I try to remember that every time I look at the moon now. I try to remember that even Selena was a little girl once too.

  Without even thinking, I grabbed Sofie’s hand and said, “We have to make it to the moon before we die.” Sofie lit up, and I could have sworn that I saw the moon shining in the distance all of a sudden. It was so clear and round that it was practically singing to us. Sofie and I ran up the dark slope toward the light, leaving Richard behind to eat a Kit Kat bar.

  Turns out it wasn’t moonlight. It was just a streetlamp. I felt bad about it only until Sofie held her microphone up to her lips to say “Dance with me.” She started to wiggle around under the fake moon. Her orange bucket rattled with candy as she sang a song that she wrote herself, “Shake, Shake, Shake.” “Shake, shake, shake” are the only words in that song, but it still totally rocks. She air-kissed the invisible audience, and I even added some of my own lyrics inspired by the movie Good Burger. The words go, “I’m a dude, he’s a dude, she’s a dude because we’re all dudes.” Sofie knows that song too, and it was the perfect remix. I felt our music everywhere as we shook our whole bodies. The tips of my fingers and hair came alive. “Shake, shake, shake. I’m a dude. Shake, shake, shake. He’s a dude. Shake, shake, shake. She’s a dude. Shake, shake, shake. Because we’re all dudes.”

  It was fun at first, but my shakes and shouts made my antennas fall off, under the light, of all places. All of a sudden, who picks them up but Dylan Beaman dressed up as Batman. It was my first time ever seeing Dylan outside of school. I hope he didn’t hear me say “I’m a dude.” It was actually the first time Sofie and I were being seen doing anything together outside of school, and our costumes didn’t exactly cover up who we actually are. We were totally busted.

  Dylan stepped into the circle of light. He was there with his whole family. His little brothers were dressed as a hunters in bright orange and army colors. Their mom and dad were Houghton High School football players with black lines under their eyes. They were probably feeling super confident because Houghton kicked butt at the Copper Bowl against Hancock High this year. The Beaman family all wrinkled their noses in the exact same way when they caught me singing and dancing. Dylan Beaman handed me my neon antennas with a laugh and said, “What are you supposed to be?”

  Before I could say anything back, he and his whole family walked away and disappeared down that hill. In that moment, I made a promise to myself to never sing in front of people again. Ever. I just wish I knew what the Beamans were thinking when they walked away. I hope they didn’t think my confident walk was too weird. Do you think I’m weird? Maybe I take back what I said about getting excited for the winter concert.

  I don’t think Sofie heard what happened with Dylan. She just kept on dancing that whole entire time he was there. I waited for her to notice, but I don’t know. I stopped singing and she finally paused to look at me with big eyes. I swallowed and imagined my whole voice going down with it. For the rest of the night, Sofie put her pop star microphone up to her mouth every time a grown-up asked her what kind of candy she wanted. It sounded like she really knew the answers too. I hate that I couldn’t feel the same confidence anymore.

  Sofie asked, “Do you want to try holding my mic?” as we left the cool-looking, purple strobe-light house. I scrunched up my nose and said, “No, thanks.” I did the exact same thing when Richard sang about sharing his Kit Kat bar with me. I know the two of them didn’t deserve those faces, but I was half expecting the Beaman family would show up again any minute. I hardly said anything for the rest of our trick-or-treating time. I never thought I would say this, but I just wanted to go home. I wanted to take my moth costume off as soon as possible.

  I decided to go back to my house a few blocks early, I threw my wings on the floor of my room and emptied out the candy in my pillowcase into a big plastic bowl. Now I can’t sleep. It’s way past my bedtime and I’m thinking way too much. I don’t know. Why is it I can get a whole pillowcase of candy and still get so stuck on that one look, that one laugh? It’s too late to take back my singing and dancing and whatever else I did out there for Dylan and everybody in the world to see. To undo it, I think I will have to become a paper-football champion or learn how to burp out the alphabet. I might have to become really pretty somehow. Something like that, I don’t know. All of these things will take way too long, though. Do you have any ideas for me?

  I just know that next time I will try my very best to keep away from the light, even though that’s not what a moth would do. Gosh, or maybe there will be no next time at all because middle schoolers probably can’t go trick-or-treating anyways. Who knows?

  Sorry, I should go to bed now. Good thing it’s not a school night.

  Sincerely,

  Me

  PS, Okay. Hi. I just came up with the perfect plan, and I am already feeling so much better. I am going to share my trick-or-treat candy with Dylan Beaman. Maybe if I pick very, very carefully what I share with him, he will think that I am cool. If Dylan Beaman thinks I’m cool, then I will for sure be invited to Mary’s birthday party. Even if they don’t think I’m cool, my old friends like Dylan’s opinion more than their own. I’ll just make sure to leave my antennas at home, maybe hide them in my drawer with all my other stuff. How does that sound? Actually, no, don’t tell me. I know it’s a good idea.

  Good night again,

  Kye

  Monday, November 3, 1997

  Hi,

  I hope someone tells you that you are good every single day, even on days when you’re feeling like you made a mistake under a streetlight or whatever. I was wishing someone told me that today. It was parent-teacher conferences and I had to go with my mom because it was also errands day.

  To be honest, it was hard even before we left the house. Mom found my Picture Day pictures. She finally found them while going through my drawers. She said, “God help us” and “Ellie, you could really be beautiful if you tried a little bit harder.” I just nodded my head. I know I’ve heard that before somewhere. Mom’s worried that Dad is not gonna know what happened to his “pretty little girl.” I hope she knows that she’s the only one who actually calls me that. She threw my Picture Day pictures in the wastebasket. She didn’t even see what name I put on my form. Afterward, Mom made me put on a purple dress and plastic headband. She put on her nice shirt from Dad’s store that says MICHIGAN, THE SUPERIOR STATE in rhinestones.

  I know that we don’t know each other, but do you think I’m beautiful? I’m just wondering if there is anything I can do to be beautiful that doesn’t mean wearing that purple thing. That dress doesn’t even fit me anymore. Either way, I probably complained about it too much. Mom told me “You’re being too sensitive,” and gave me an animal-themed coloring book from the Dollar Tree at Copper Country Mall. Doesn’t Mom know that fifth graders aren’t supposed to have coloring books? I hardly touched it in the car, and instead watched her smoking lots of cigarettes through the rear-view mirror. I bet she wanted a cigarette for parent-teacher conferences too, but everybody knows there is no smoking allowed at school.

  I felt like everybody noticed me and Mom when we walked into the school gym. The room was full of echoes and we had to pass by a bunch of people waiting in gray folding chairs. I sat in the farthest corner I could find as Mom got in line to talk to Mr. B. I get kind of scared when I know that people are talking about me. If parents and teachers were saying good things, you would think that they want us kids to be there for the whole conversation so we could feel good about ourselves. Now that I think about it, there should be a place for us to go review our parents. The
n again, I’m not really sure what I would be allowed to say about mine.

  I was so nervous that I barely looked at the coloring book while Mom stood in line. She put on her lipstick and looked around the room. She hardly waved to anyone, just a lady from church and my old Girl Scouts troop leader. The only other kid there was that quiet boy with the VH1 binder from my class. I half smiled at him to be nice. His name is Nathan Lucas. He lives all the way in Calumet, and looked just as nervous as me. I saw Mr. B smile and nod a lot while talking to his dad. Nathan Lucas must be smart even though he doesn’t talk. I just crossed my fingers for Mr. B to give my mom the exact same smile.

  I think I can be a good student. I think I can be good. I did great on my science test the other day. It’s because we have been learning about rocks, so it’s easy for me. I’ve also have been better about not hiding out in the bathroom stall during class, which means I get to sit next to Dylan Beaman some more.

  When Mr. B finally got to my mom, he used his arms a bunch while talking. His smile was only a little bit there. Maybe he was talking about doing more group projects, or everybody needing a longer recess. Maybe they were just talking about the weather like most other grown-ups do. Truth is, I’m so bad at reading lips. I mostly just wanted to know whether or not Mr. B told Mom that I sometimes change my name on my school papers. I kind of hope that he did say something because I’m not so sure how to bring it up to her. Maybe he would be able to explain it in a better way than I could. I also kind of hope that he didn’t tell her. I bet Mom thought hard about what name to give me, and she’s already mad about my Picture Day pictures.

  She told me this morning that the name Ellie means “beautiful” in some other language. Sometimes when people call me Ellie, I feel like a ghost. I feel like they don’t see me at all. It’s kind of hard to explain. It gets harder to explain every year.