The Ship We Built

by Lexie Bean

  Believe it or not, the day got even harder after that. I saw cheetah print Lisa Frank invitations for Mary’s party on some of my classmates’ desks, and I’m not sure if I’m going to get one. My old friends haven’t made fun of me in a while, but that’s also because they haven’t said anything to me at all. Maybe I should start wearing the shirt with my first initial E over the heart so they remember me better. Maybe Dylan will like that too.

  I know that everybody might be busy hunting and playing euchre with their friends at deer camp with deer season starting, but I hope someone thinks to write me. I know I have Sofie for a friend now, but I just wish more people liked me. I used to ask whoever found my balloon mail to leave me a response under the WELCOME TO HOUGHTON sign next to Portage Bridge, but to be honest I haven’t checked there in almost a month. I feel like I’m giving up on something, but I’m not sure on what exactly. Sorry.

  Sincerely,

  Ellie Beck

  Thursday, November 27, 1997

  Hello,

  I’m trying my best today to be less sad about stuff because it’s Thanksgiving and I heard that there’s a balloon parade all the way in New York City that everyone wants to watch. The weird thing is some newspeople showed a map of the USA and completely forgot to color in where we live in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. The whole country was watching and they didn’t include us. Don’t other people know we are here? I don’t know.

  Anyways, I know I said I was feeling really alone in my last letter, I even skipped a week of writing, but I decided it’s okay to be alone right now because then no one can tell me what my holiday tradition has to be. Ever since we moved to Houghton, my mom has had this Thanksgiving tradition of being on a not-so-secret diet and washing the dishes as loud as she can. My dad has a tradition of accidentally staying at deer camp with his old work friends for too long. It makes our house extra quiet with him gone. So, my mom and I keep it that way by eating chicken noodle soup and frozen pie in front of the TV. Sometimes it’s so quiet sitting together, it feels like we’re in trouble even if we’re not. Please don’t tell anybody that I said that. I don’t know. Holidays are weird, but maybe they could be good someday.

  Yesterday we actually had a half day at school, and we celebrated both Thanksgiving and a bunch of the boys in class coming back from deer camp. The cafeteria served special turkey lunches and had brown, orange, and yellow decorations, and everybody said, “What happens at deer camp stays at deer camp.” Mr. B had his own plan for our class, of course. He turned off the Reading Rainbow special about Six Nations people, and gave us a long speech about how we should practice thankfulness every day and not just some days. Mr. B then said that our big job for that day was to make Thanksgiving cards, which is usually easy to do by turning our hands into turkeys. The bad news is that we had to use our old assignment that listed ten things we remember and ten things we love to inspire the insides of our cards.

  I can’t believe Mr. B held on to all of those giant pieces of paper. He pulled them out of the world’s biggest manila folder and handed them out one by one. I had my fingers crossed that I would never have to look at that assignment again. I stared out into space for way too long because I knew that I didn’t do it the way I was supposed to. My lists were a true incomplete, but Mr. B didn’t say anything about it when he put it on my desk. He didn’t even put any red marks on the paper. I thought for a minute about using my own red marker to do it for him.

  Mr. B then said, “Feel free to move your desks together any way you want to while making your cards.” The room cheered, but at that point I didn’t even care. I sank into my chair. Dylan Beaman got up super fast and pulled his desk to other side of the classroom with a spiky-haired boy and my old friends. It was probably a dream come true for them. The girls all fixed their headbands when the boys came over, and I sank even lower as Mr. B gave different groups small buckets of art supplies.

  I decided in that moment that it was probably best that no one sat near me, not even Sofie. She seemed like she was too busy following the teacher’s directions to notice me anyways. I hoped for a minute it would stay that way. I listed her name in my “Ten things I love” list, and what if seeing that on my page makes her feel weird? Even worse, what if someone in class ends up seeing it? Love is even worse than calling someone cute. Just to be safe, I folded the old assignment in half and watched one of the orange markers slowly roll off my desk. It plopped on the ground and rolled farther and farther away. Not even the markers wanted to sit with me. I didn’t care about that either, though. Space was better. The room got louder. Dylan Beaman’s laugh did too. I wasn’t so sure what to feel thankful about.

  Eventually, Sofie pulled her desk over. I folded the old assignment into another half just in case she could see the words through the paper. I felt her eyes on me, but I didn’t want anyone else in the room to think that I was glad that Sofie was there or that I have been to her house. I put my head down on the table and let my hair stretch all the way across the surface. She slowly slid over a big piece of paper and asked, “Can I use your hand for my Thanksgiving card?”

  Sofie picked up the orange marker that fell onto the ground and scooted herself over until there was no space between us. Have you ever said that you want something, and maybe you meant the complete opposite? All I’m saying is, maybe I didn’t want to sit alone in class after all.

  I finally sat up, and she pressed my hand into the page. I felt my whole palm get bigger under hers. Sofie gently moved the marker in between my fingers spread across the paper. When she finally let go, she said “Ta-dah.” Then she started coloring it in, ignoring the teacher’s directions completely. She didn’t even bother turning the tracing into a turkey. Maybe she was thankful enough to have the shape of my hand to keep for later.

  But then giggles came from the other side of the room. They weren’t the nice kind. Courtney and Mary fake held hands to match us. My cheeks turned a whole new kind of pink. Maybe it was bad that I liked holding Sofie’s hand. I just wish the power had gone out or that quiet boy, Nathan Lucas, had suddenly done something really loud and distracting. I wish they all just forgot about me again. Sometimes even a half day of school is way too long.

  Then, after another wave of big laughing, my old BFFs all started singing Spice Girls songs. Gina has the best voice, but was singing the least. She watched me and Sofie with big eyes until Dylan Beaman suddenly flicked his new school store eraser. He wanted to get them to stop singing that song, “Stop right now thank you very much.” Maybe he doesn’t like it when anyone sings. This is probably weird, but I kind of wanted him to flick his eraser at me too. I don’t know why. All I can say is thank goodness my old friends didn’t sing that “Sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g” song about me and Sofie. I would have fainted.

  Those girls used to be Sofie’s friends too, but they decided she was too different a long time ago, even before that stupid slumber party last summer. I guess that’s something Sofie and I have in common. Pretty please keep this between us, but I think it would be cool if one day Sofie and I were grown-ups together in a different city and did things we would never do at our bathroom meetings. Maybe I could watch her do that “I’ve given you everything, all that joy can bring, yes I swear” song at a karaoke place with lots of lights and Shirley Temples.

  Sofie touched my shoulder then said, “Can I trace your other hand too? So this one could have a friend?”

  I tried to hide my smile and closed my eyes. I gave Sofie my second hand to outline onto the same page. When she finished, she looked at the paper and gave it a big hug. Have you ever given a piece of paper a hug? I do it sometimes, but not usually in front of other people. The Thanksgiving card came out so nice. I felt lucky to know a part of me gets to go home with her. Maybe she will even use it as a placemat at her family’s Thanksgiving dinner. Sofie told me that Richard is going to make sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top. I think he’s a genius. They
’ll also have special cranberry sauce and greens. I hope they had fun together and they liked everything they ate. I hope you had a good dinner too, and that you find ways to be thankful every day like Mr. B says, even though it’s really hard sometimes.

  I’m thankful that I had a good dream last night. It was about melting icicles and absolutely everything was blue, not just the sky. Sofie was in my dream for the very first time too. She was wearing a white dress and I used one of the icicles from her porch to heal her scraped knees. The water dripped down her leg and formed a river big enough for us to swim in. I’m thankful that happened even though it didn’t actually happen in real life.

  I woke up thinking about who I would want to sit with me when I have my own Thanksgiving one day. Maybe there won’t be a lot of people there, and that’s fine, I think. I would still make sure that everyone arrives to the dinner party in Selena carriages, and we would all share marshmallows and a long table with a paper tablecloth to keep tracing each other’s hands. Maybe we could use the tablecloth to make the world’s biggest paper sailboat, or hat if you flip it the other way.

  Maybe it sounds all silly to you because you don’t know anyone else with those traditions, but you can be part of them if you want to, whoever you are. You don’t have to decide right now, though. It’s going to be a while until I become a grown-up and can have my own house to do things like that. I can’t even buy a bag of marshmallows with my one-dollar allowance, let alone a table big enough for everyone to fit around for our big meal. Actually, while writing this letter, I ate some reheated chicken noodle soup. So it’s kind of like you and I had a meal together just now. I am thankful for that too. But I’m sorry about spilling some Vernor’s on the paper. We can just pretend it’s the tablecloth we shared.

  Thank you for reading about my life,

  Rowan

  Sunday, November 30, 1997

  Dear Whoever You Are,

  The whole world seemed to be frozen this weekend. And I’m not talking about the Turkey Bowl Skate at the ice rink or all those plows everyone is attaching to their pickup trucks. I won my own no talking game with two whole days straight without saying a word out loud. With Dad still out of town, Mom has been doing a pretty good job at the game too. Maybe this was cheating, but I used my finger to write the word “hi” and lots of hearts into the frost on my bedroom window. All I could really see on the other side of the glass was the gray house next door and Jax’s mom brushing her long hair in that cozy-looking yellow bedroom.

  If you ever get to read this, know that it must have taken a real miracle for it to get to you. There must be a billion-trillion snowflakes outside. It’s hard to believe that anything can fly when there is so much falling on top of it. Everybody says that the cold and copper are what make us strong. It’s good to be strong, but I don’t know.

  I guess there are some things I like about the cold weather. I love ice-skating, especially when I get to do it under the sky. The cold also reminds me of parts of myself I usually forget about, like my toes, my chin, and especially my ears. They tingle and can’t be ignored on days like these. Yesterday, I remembered my breath too. It showed up right in front of me while I was walking down the driveway. I took a breath, and I was suddenly surrounded by my own clouds. It was like I was the only person in the world.

  I eventually got to the mailbox, but there were no letters or birthday invitations inside. There was only a magazine for Mom. The front cover bragged about George Clooney being the best person in the world. I wonder what it’s like for the whole country to think that you’re beautiful. The mailbox lid made a sad rusty sound when I closed it with George still inside. I betcha Mom will be happy to see him when she gets home from work.

  I pulled down the red flag and walked back to our little white house, where nothing ever seems to change. All the lights were off and the driveway was still empty, and I felt big and lonely with every step that crunched into the snow. There weren’t even raccoons rattling the trash can or birds in the birdhouse. Do you happen to know why birds fly south? I wonder if they ever fly back to certain places because they feel like they have to.

  I went back inside the house, up the stairs, and into my room with empty hands. I’m not even sure why getting mail would make much of a difference. The truth is, weekends often feel frozen to me. It feels like forever to see who I want to see again. I get people-sick, not homesick.

  Even though Dylan Beaman and I also don’t talk much, I was missing him too. It’s just nice always having somebody to sit next to. When I was at church today, I couldn’t stop thinking about getting back to school and having the chance to have our desks so close to each other again. The priest just said his usual things, so instead I watched the snow fall outside thinking about what Dylan might have been doing in that moment. I wonder what he does when he’s all alone. I wonder how tight he holds his covers, or if he has ever gone outside to wish on snowflakes like falling stars. I wonder if he likes deer better alive or hanging on a wall. Who are you usually thinking about when the world gets all quiet? How do you know if they are thinking about you too? I don’t know.

  Later, when I got home from today’s Mass, I ran up to my room and cleared all the frost off with my sleeve to see if my dog was outside. He wasn’t, but the “Shake, Shake, Shake” song that Sofie wrote got stuck in my head all of a sudden. I guess Sofie was stuck in my head too. This is just between us, but I’ve been missing Sofie too. I couldn’t go to her house, though, because Thanksgiving weekend is only supposed to be for family time, and I had to be home to greet Dad back from deer camp. It’s whatever, though. I just had to give him a hug and he fell asleep on the couch real fast, but like I said, it’s whatever.

  Things right now are good in my room and out the window too. I’ll just keep on humming Sofie’s song, and the snowflakes are extra beautiful sparkling under the streetlights. Snowflakes that glow with a little help are my favorite kind. These ones are so round that I bet there is a whole world on top of each of them. Wait, I have an idea. I’ll be right back.

  Okay, I’m back now. Thanks for waiting. In case you were wondering, I went downstairs, put on my mittens, and walked right by sleeping Dad and tired Mom. Don’t worry, though. They were facing the TV for their favorite cop show, I think it’s just called Cops. I managed to find an empty grape jelly jar behind the piles of fresh venison in the fridge. I brought the jar outside, and quietly closed the front door behind me.

  As I stepped under the streetlight, everything was a shade of yellow. A truck with a dusty top drove by. The snowflakes jumped and included me in their flurry dance. So many of them kissed me on the face and even though they were made of ice, they warmed my cheeks. Maybe this is what heaven would be like if there is one. To keep the feeling closer, I opened the glass jar and held it into the air.

  Snowflakes flew into the container like wintertime fireflies. They kept moving even with the lid closed. It is a real snow globe, the realest one that I’ve ever had. Before I went back inside, I gave the jar a hug. I’m going to give it to Sofie before school starts tomorrow.

  I hope you got to go outside today too.

  Sincerely,

  Rowan Beck

  Monday, December 1, 1997

  Hello Out There,

  I know I would get in big trouble for saying this, but I wish I could trade my dad for Sofie’s. I’m not really sure what to do about that. I really wish something could change. I wish I could do something to help. Sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll explain.

  First you should know that all of the flakes in my homemade snow globe melted by the time I got to school this morning. It became a jar full of dirty-looking water. I know it’s basic science, but for a second I thought it was all my fault that the snow went away. I wasn’t so sure if it was still a good gift, but I decided to give it to Sofie anyways. She was extra quiet, quieter than the snow, when I saw her by the flagpole before school. At first, I thought s
he was just mad that we didn’t have a snow day or she got grounded or something. I whispered “Hi,” and gave her the jar. We looked at each other through the curved glass. Her eyes were full of water, and they stayed that way all morning long. She even left spelling this morning to have a bathroom meeting all by herself.

  Later that day at recess, I decided to give her my striped wool mittens because she forgot hers. The fourth graders nearby were busy screaming and rolling up the biggest snowball in history, but Sofie didn’t look over at them once. She spoke in a voice I could hardly recognize. “Papa was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now he’s gone for who knows how long.”

  The truth is her dad, Richard, had to go to jail last minute. It’s like he went to a whole other world too, and not the good kind. Sofie’s eyes and shoulders melted the more that she talked about it. It turns out that Richard was just buying marshmallows for their sweet potato tradition, but there was accidentally leftover tape covering his car lights from when we all painted together. He got pulled over, and arrested, and fought when he shouldn’t have. Sofie cried, “Don’t you know, it’s illegal to say no to people in charge. It’s illegal to have no light even if your car looks like a white carriage. It’s all my fault.” Sofie laid her head on my lap. It was the first time I didn’t care about people staring at us at recess.

  Have you ever had a friend melt before? Did you know the right thing to say? All I could say was “It’s not your fault, I promise.” She nodded and turned her face to the gray side of our giant rock, the snow globe still in her hands. She twirled the dirty water into a small winter storm and held it close, waiting for it to get crystals again. Nothing changed. She then brought the jar to her chest and shook it again. Again, nothing.