The Ship We Built

by Lexie Bean

  The blue marker moved smoothly and I made loops in each letter like I really meant it. Sofie wrote her initials, S.G., right next to mine, and put a plus sign in between them. “R.B. + S.G.” was like a cool math problem where we add to each other. We both stared at it for a long time, but not in a way where we were trying to solve it.

  Sofie sat up and she said, “It’s like a valentine.” It was so quiet and loud at the same time when she told me that. What do you think she meant by it? Maybe I should try to get her something. Everyone in class has to give everyone a valentine, so it’s not that weird, right? I don’t know. I guess I have about a month to figure it all out.

  It was hard to say goodbye to Sofie and that basement couch after that. Apparently my mom had called Sofie’s mom, and they decided I had to come home after the slumber party. Mom drove over to pick me up like she was doing me some big favor. I had hardly any time to get ready. I didn’t have a coat to put on, so I just I crinkled up my last few homework papers and stuffed them into my pocket.

  On the ride back to the house, Mom kept on talking in a weird, squeaky voice. She even wore her BE HAPPY shirt with sequins sewn on front. She said, “I’ve been making some calls, and we’re going to do something fun together next Sunday.” She looked at me through the rear-view mirror, and was not smiling when she said “It’s going to be really good.” I wonder what it’s going to be. Do you think she wants to do something fun with Ellie or Rowan? Maybe she found out that Dad is going out of town for hunting, so then we can watch old movies again? I’m just confused about the whole thing because normally we all go to church Sundays and I have never been allowed to do something else instead.

  Of course, we didn’t talk about what really happened this weekend. When we got back home, Mom, Dad, and I shoveled the roof, snow-scooped the driveway, and then we all three watched TV together for once. It was a new episode of America’s Funniest Home Videos, but I feel like I had seen it before. Someone fell off of a trampoline, and someone else got bit by a dog. Mom laughed as her BE HAPPY sequins bounced light around the room. Maybe she doesn’t know what really happened yesterday either. I mean, she was doing errands after all. Dad had a small smile and drank something that was see-through even though the bottle said it was fruit flavored. I guess they’re both happy now, but I would have liked it better if my dad had said that he was sorry for locking the door on me.

  I spent a lot of the TV show imagining myself building a snowman outside of the window instead. Of course, I couldn’t tell my parents I would rather build a snowman by myself instead of sitting there with them. We haven’t made one together in such a long time, not since we lived in White Pine and had a dog of our own.

  Maybe my dad really didn’t mean to lock me out. Maybe he will come to my room and say that he still likes me. I wouldn’t mind that if it meant that things were going to be okay from now on. I did notice that the wastebasket I put all my hairs into was sitting next to the TV instead of its usual spot in the bathroom, so I don’t know.

  I guess, for now, it is kind of nice being back in my own room with its own door and its own window. The first thing I did was make my bed. After that, I pulled out my art supplies to draw two big pictures of Sofie’s couch. One of the drawings is actually for you.

  I want you to have it because I think you could fall in love with that couch too. Who knows? Maybe I’ll open a museum of drawings one day. In the meantime, I taped the other couch drawing next to my bed. That way, I won’t have to travel so far to feel safe and soft.

  Sincerely,

  Me

  Monday, January 19, 1998

  Hello Out There,

  Nobody complimented my haircut at school and my confident walk was really pathetic, even when Sofie called me a “he.” Usually hearing her say that makes me feel good, but I don’t know.

  I have to tell you that Sunday with Mom and Dad wasn’t fun at all. I sat in the backseat with the dirty swamper boots, and ice that somehow grew inside the car windows. We pulled out of the driveway through a white-out of falling snow. We passed right by the full parking lot at church, and I was so surprised. I started hoping right away that we were going to ski jump on Porcupine Mountains or find an ice fishing tournament. Instead, we kept on driving, past the old Quincey Mine, through the town that everyone says has thirteen bars and two churches. We went so far that there were no more car dealerships, drive-throughs, motels, or anything I am used to.

  On the way there, Mom said, “I’m so proud of you,” and she never says that. Dad only said his usual rant about the government sending the wrong people to fix our problems, and that he thinks maybe the Michigan Militia will help us get rid of those people.

  I just hope I can be good, and no one has to send the Michigan Militia on me. I hope the door will stay open for me. I don’t know. I have to do this new thing every Sunday now. I have to sit in a room with someone who pretends to listen. I don’t really get it, but I think you should know that maybe it’s best you call me Ellie from now on.

  Sincerely,

  Me, I guess

  Thursday, February 5, 1998

  Hello,

  Sorry I didn’t write a letter last week. Instead of buying my usual chocolate milk and balloon, I got a deep-fried Oreo at the winter carnival. I ate the whole thing in just two bites while watching broom ball matches between friends that aren’t mine. They were laughing a lot, probably college students. I didn’t stay to see who won the game. I walked around Mont Ripley and saw a bunch of people I knew, and a bunch of people I didn’t know. I saw all kinds of fireworks and bonfires too, but none of them made me feel closer to anyone.

  Is it possible to miss yourself? It’s weird to say this, but I kind of miss myself. It’s kind of like working hard to shovel the sidewalk, and then a big noisy plow comes by and fills everything back in. Do you know what I mean? Dad says I’m supposed to grow out my hair. He’s extra mean to me now that it’s short, but he still visits me in my room just as much as before. Sometimes I don’t know if he loves me or if he hates me. Anyways, I wanted to send you a drawing of what my hair looks like right now, just how I like it, before it goes on changing again.

  You should know that I haven’t really been talking to Sofie ever since our surprise slumber party. Both my parents think that Sofie is actually making me worse and Mom thinks she’s the reason I ran away. Mom says, “You are too easily influenced by your friends.” Mom says, “I don’t want you to regret anything” like she does. It really can’t be true, can it? I didn’t run away. The door was locked with Dad inside. I don’t know.

  I have been holding my pee all day long so I don’t see Sofie in the bathroom for our confident walk meetings. I’m not happy about it, but maybe the other kids at school will notice and want to be the kind of friends I’m supposed to have. I would even go along with talking about the Green Bay Packers at the Super Bowl if that’s what everybody else wants to talk about. I don’t know, I just feel so bad about everything at school, at home, and even when I’m alone just walking.

  All Sofie and I did today was wave to each other while third and fourth graders played Marco Polo between us. After that, when she tried talking to me in the cafeteria I kept my face hidden behind my favorite Magic Tree House book. She said hi over and over until her smile went away. I just said “I can’t talk right now” and pretended to care more about Jack and Annie living in the pages. Sofie left a rock on my porch today anyways to let me know that she’s okay. The rock had dark brown stripes the same color as her skin. I put it in my pocket instead of around my bed with the rest of my collection.

  What if Sofie and I never talk again? Maybe she will come to her senses and realize that I’m not really worth talking to anyways. Doesn’t she know that I just ruin things? That I’ll get her into trouble like her dad got into trouble. I don’t know. I even had a dream about her waiting for me in the bathroom stall for confident walk practice, and I neve
r showed up.

  The truth is, I haven’t stopped thinking about the valentine under Sofie’s couch. Every morning I look at the drawing of it hanging next to my bed. I sometimes touch it to make it feel more real. One time Dad touched it too, and I hate it when he touches my personal property. He practically yelled with stinky breath, “Where did that drawing come from?” I kept my mouth shut, so instead he leaned in for a long time and kissed me good-night. I don’t really remember what happened after that. Just that he took the Magic Tree House book out of my hands and said, “You’ll get back to your old self in no time.” I am still a boy, but I hate myself even more for being one. I’m sorry. I guess Dad never really did see me at all when he called me “his special girl.”

  I didn’t want to tell anyone this, but I feel like I should. I’m not supposed to talk to college students or anybody who could give me any fancy “big-city attitudes.” I’m sure I’m not supposed to be writing anybody this either. My parents found someone I’m supposed to tell everything to on Sundays instead. She had an ad in the yellow pages, but was also my grandpa’s friend’s friend. Mom says she is doing us a favor helping us like this. One of the first things the lady said to me was “You have such a pretty face.” I’m supposed to say “Thank you” to that. She also wrote secret notes about me on a notepad I will never get to read.

  On the way home after that, my mom noticed my frown all the way from the front seat. She turned around and said, “We’re just doing what’s best for you. Sometimes we know you better than you know yourself.” I miss thinking that long car rides are for fun.

  If you also went to the winter carnival this year, you would know that there was a big ice sculpture of the Wizard from The Wizard of Oz. It was humungous, almost the size of a house, and had THERE’S SNOW PLACE LIKE HOME carved into it. If I actually met a wizard like that, I would not ask him how to get back home. Would you? I would probably say something like “Do you know somewhere in the world where there are extra rooms and lemon trees in the wintertime?” That way, I could have a nice sleep and also Sofie and I can share a cup of lemonade again, and nobody will be in trouble.

  None of this will last forever, right?

  I’m sorry. I’ll shut up now.

  Sincerely,

  I don’t know

  Friday, February 6, 1998

  Hi.

  Just wanted to say hi to someone today. I hope that’s okay. I have to ask, do only Christmas trees have angels on top? Are angels in other places too?

  Nathan Lucas had a cast on his arm today. He doesn’t talk either, so he didn’t say where it was from. I hope he’s okay too. I hope he doesn’t mind that I haven’t signed it yet.

  Sincerely, your friend,

  Ellie Beck

  Monday, February 9, 1998

  Hi.

  It’s almost Valentine’s Day. The holiday sure does make some people brave about their feelings. I’m not sure how brave I am feeling lately. Today I overheard Dylan Beaman say that he’s going to go to the Sweetheart Skate Night with the Trampoline Lamda Kappa whatever Club for Valentine’s Day this year. Courtney saw me staring, and told me to “Talk to the hand” when I wasn’t even talking. I bet Dylan Beaman is going to hold hands with whoever looks the prettiest that night. They might even hug. I bet there will be an extra romantic slow skate, and they’ll play that song “As Long as You Love Me” on the big speakers. I hate that Backstreet Boys song because it makes me want more than I could ever have.

  Anyways, I promised myself I wouldn’t talk about Sofie or the valentine she made me under her couch, so I won’t. I won’t talk about home. I won’t talk about anything. It’s whatever. Here’s a drawing of a tornado in Kansas. I’ve never actually been there, but I feel like I have somehow.

  I signed Nathan Lucas’s cast with the name Ellie, so I guess I will here too. Hope you’re okay. I’m fine.

  Ellie

  Saturday, February 14, 1998

  Hi,

  I’m breaking a huge promise right now. I know that I’m not supposed to think about Sofie, but I hope she knows that I still care about her. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to say about it. For the last two indoor recesses, she played alone with the light-up yo-yo she won from Jump Rope for Heart. She sometimes looked over at me, maybe hoping I would join. I just sat at my desk pretending to do my homework that’s actually crumpled in the bottom of my backpack.

  Really, I was just trying to figure out what valentine to give her. At this point, I’ve ripped out almost all of the paper from my math notebook trying to come up with the right thing to say.

  Some of the letters I wrote just had gel pen scribbles between addition and subtraction problems. Some were hangman puzzles that I didn’t actually know the answers to. I crumpled all of them. I don’t know. Do you have any advice for writing a valentine that is nice, but definitely won’t make anyone feel weird?

  I could feel Dylan Beaman’s eyes looking over as I was writing them. I already know he feels weird about me, so I just automatically balled up anything I didn’t want him to see. I didn’t want to risk him reading my feelings and telling them to the rest of the Trampoline Club that I still can’t believe he’s a part of. I feel kind of silly for saying this, but I actually thought about giving Dylan Beaman a homemade valentine too. I’m not sure why. It’s not like he sits next to me every day because he wants to. I bet he would end up throwing it in the trash just like the Picture Day comb.

  This needs to stay just between us, but I actually did write Dylan something like a valentine. It only took two commercial breaks of Boy Meets World to make. I have to admit, though, the letter will probably stay in the back of my notebook for forever because, even if I were a regular boy, I don’t think Dylan like-likes boys. He would call any boy “gross” or something worse for wanting to hold his hand. He doesn’t know that I’m a boy, though, which means I might still have a chance for him to like me.

  The valentine I wrote for him just talks about how we’re not that different at all, and that I wish he could see that. How would you feel if somebody gave you a letter like that? Especially if you thought the person who gave it to you was the weird girl in class with short hair? Secretly, I would love it if somebody wrote me a valentine that had those Backstreet Boys lyrics, “I don’t care who you are, where you’re from, what you did, as long as you love me.”

  Either way, it was way easier to write something for Dylan than it was for Sofie. I wound up filling the entire recycling bin with all my practice letters to her. The recycling bin sits quiet in the corner closest to the American flag, the little store where we can buy erasers, and the heavy classroom door. It’s actually the size of a person scrunched up, but people walk past it all of the time. I bet none of them think about how many secrets it’s filled with. Yesterday everyone lined up next to the bin wiggling and shouting ready to go home for the weekend. I think some of them just had too much sugar from their Valentine’s Day candy. Sofie was at the back of the line reading Harry Potter for the third time, and Dylan Beaman was at the front of the line smiling to himself. I bet Dylan was busy thinking about showing off his hockey moves at the Sweetheart Skate. Maybe someone gave him one of those chalk-flavored candies that says BE MINE or CALL ME.

  Nathan Lucas, that quiet boy, was so quiet that I didn’t even realize he was behind me. His skinny arm reached out of the line and into the recycling bin. He picked up a notebook page from the top of the pile. I froze in place as he read the valentine. I hoped it was a hangman one, and nothing big like “Be Mine.” I know deep down that I never should have thought the things that I have thought or wrote the things I wrote for Sofie, but it’s not like Nathan Lucas knows who Rowan is anyways. Either way, I know he would never tell anyone about it. At recess, people make jokes that he wears short-shorts even though they all want to sign his new arm cast. He just plays with marbles alone. Nathan Lucas’s face stayed straight, and he crum
pled the valentine even more than before.

  I watched him throw my letter back into the recycling bin a little bit wishing he knew that I was the one who wrote it. That way maybe we could play marbles together. I looked at him with big eyes as if I were asking him to be my new friend.

  The last bell finally rang, and it might as well have been New Year’s Eve for everyone else in my class. People probably would have thrown confetti if they had any. Even Nathan Lucas disappeared into the crowd of flying arms and legs. Not me. I was not excited to have another weekend of frozen feelings and one-person games of hangman. Mr. B walked the class out to the hallway like a parade. I would have bet on my life that nobody even noticed I that was not in line with them. I stayed behind to look into the deep blue recycling bin.

  Sometimes I just feel really ready to just give up. People say that Yoopers would know how to survive World War III if there was one, but I’m not always so sure about myself. I wanted to hide inside of the recycling bin until the end of time. I don’t ever want someone to think that I’m a crybaby. Everybody knows that boys aren’t supposed to cry, but it could have been a relief to be in an ocean of my scribbles and all the things I have never said out loud. All of my crinkled-up papers inside would have been high enough to reach my knees. I know that I can’t be the only person in class with secrets, but I have been feeling so alone and not even the quietest boy in class could figure it out when I looked at him.

  You know when I mentioned those lyrics, “I don’t care who you are, where you’re from, what you did, as long as you love me”? Do you think anyone feels that way about me? Do you feel that way about me? I just don’t know if I add anything good to anybody’s life. I really wish I wasn’t a boy. I wish I didn’t like people in the wrong way. I heard on the news before that you can die from a disease for liking people in the wrong way.