by Lexie Bean
Anyways, I’m going to try to do some of my homework now. I hope you’re okay, wherever you are.
Sincerely,
Rowan Beck
PS, So, the Kids’ Choice Awards will be on TV this Saturday. I’m only telling you this because it might be the last year I get to watch it because that’s just not what you’re supposed to do once you’re in middle school. Last year Rosie O’Donnell got slimed, and maybe it will happen again. Do you think Rosie has leg hair too? I hope so. Why do people have leg hair anyway? Everyone has it, so is it weird if I like mine? Sorry if I already asked you that, I’m just thinking about stuff.
Sincerely again,
Rowan Beck
Saturday, April 4, 1998
Hi,
I watched the Kids’ Choice Awards tonight when my dad went out to that bar, Dave’s, but he actually brought Mom with him this time. The point is, I got some peace and quiet to watch my show. You might think I’m too old for Nickelodeon now, but it was actually really great. First of all, that Puff Daddy performed a song called “I’m Coming Out” before he got slimed, and all of the grown-ups kept saying “Kids rule” over and over again. Rosie O’Donnell said it the most and she was in charge of the whole awards show. She also popped a balloon, and nothing bad happened. She smiled and laughed when it blew up in her face. I’ve never been that happy when my mail balloons popped. But I really like her.
Anyways, a few people thanked God on stage when they got their blimp awards. When Sabrina the Teenage Witch won, she actually thanked her family. Will Smith even offered to get his mom a sandwich in his speech. I’m not sure why, but I can’t stop thinking about that. I wonder what it’s like to thank your family for something and really mean it. I hope it’s something I can do one day. For now, I’m just hoping Dad will go to sleep really fast tonight. I’m starting to think that maybe kids aren’t supposed to be treated like the way I get treated sometimes. Do you know what I mean? Anyways, I’m going to try going to bed now.
Rowan
Thursday, April 9, 1998
To Whoever Reads This,
Gosh, I wish I actually talked to Sofie on all of those days I was too quiet for my own good. She wasn’t at school again today. I watched her empty chair for the entire “Pledge of Allegiance” instead of the flag. If I could, I would do anything to help. I would wash windows with Sofie and her mom, read Viivi A Very Quiet Cricket until the pages chirp at the end. I know deep down it’s not Sofie’s fault, but, holy moly, why can’t she be here? We are getting so behind on our confident walk practice and I bet she’s getting behind on her homework too.
I missed Sofie even more at recess. I’m kind of embarrassed to say this, but I brought my MTV binder with me to recess again in case people still thought it was cool. I can tell you now that it didn’t help me at all. I sat under the jungle gym that’s shaped like a giant bubble, and watched my classmates through the gaps. Almost everyone in my grade was playing soccer on the hill with Michigan versus Michigan State teams. The boys all ran up and down the yellow grass shouting each other’s names, calling “I’m open, I’m open,” while the girls trotted along the sides and talked. I wondered if any of the girls actually wanted to play more. Either way, I felt so far away watching all of them. I might as well have been watching TV too tired to change the channel.
Gina gave up on the soccer game halfway through, and ran toward the jungle gym. I actually heard a rumor that she is the first girl in our class to get her “thing at the end of the sentence.” That means Gina is going to be cool forever because every girl wants to ask her questions about what it’s like to be a real woman and never watch the Kids’ Choice Awards again. I didn’t think to ask her about any of that at recess today. She jumped up on the jungle gym. I was surprised to see her pink fingernails so close to me. I couldn’t tell from her dark mood ring if she was happy to see me, but she moved up the bars quick and flipped her whole body upside down. Gina’s hair dangled down, her brown eyes opened wide. I could see shades of green and blotches of blue that I had never noticed before. Our eye contact right there was probably the longest five Mississippi seconds of my whole life.
It stopped all of a sudden when the soccer ball came flying toward us. Dylan chased after it, and Gina turned right-side up for him. She right away pointed at my haircut and called me a bad word that she probably learned from her professor dad or maybe even a college student. I’m not sure what it meant, but I know it was bad because Dylan Beaman smiled in a way that I knew. I think Gina only said those things because he was standing there. In an alternate universe, maybe she and I could have become friends again if it wasn’t for Dylan’s interrupting. Maybe Gina and I would have made plans to get wristbands at the Houghton County Fair or promised to stay up all night waiting for her lava lamp to move. Maybe she would have told me in the dark what it’s like to have a period and use Teen Spirit deodorant. I don’t know.
Dylan kicked the ball back to his Michigan State team and joined Gina on top of the jungle gym instead. The two of them didn’t look down at all, but their legs went through the bubble right above my head. I don’t think I could have even stood up without getting kicked. That’s when Gina kept going on and on about the bad word that I am. She even said, “Ellie’s kind of like the purple Teletubby.” I’ve never even seen that show, so how am I supposed to know what that means. I’m starting to think that I watch all the wrong TV channels. I pressed my feet deeper into the sand, my arms tighter around my legs, praying just to be normal again. I bet people wouldn’t have cared this much if I called Dylan cute last summer. I’m really embarrassed to say this, but I still sometimes think about wanting to hold his hand and I know I shouldn’t.
I just stayed in the sandy bottom all recess long waiting for something to change. I tucked my legs all the way inside of my sweatshirt and pulled up my hood to hide my growing haircut. I held myself, like a hug, like the caterpillar’s cocoon that used to hang in the jungle gym. I wonder what caterpillars do in there all day anyways. I bet they are really good at listening because what else could they even to do in there? I don’t know, I change most when I’m listening too.
When the recess bell finally rang, I listened to all the other kids run past me, laughing, screaming. I stayed balled in my sweatshirt until they all lined up to go back inside. Nathan Lucas was the only one to notice me there in the bubble. He touched the bar with dirty fingernails, and looked at me for a few seconds. I kind of wanted to say something, but he walked away when the recess aid’s whistle blew for the second time. Nathan Lucas has been looking over at me a lot lately. I don’t know what to think about it, but I hope he doesn’t hurt me. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.
I’m sorry. Thank you for reading this far if you have read this far, but I don’t really want to bother anybody with anything. I didn’t even put a rock on Sofie’s porch today to trick her into thinking that I am okay. Tonight on Boy Meets World, Topanga told Cory that she is still in love him. They actually k-i-s-s-e-d on the jungle gym at the end, and maybe they will get back together again. I wish my jungle gym story was as good as that one. All I can say is that Gina definitely doesn’t wear our old friendship bracelet anymore.
Sincerely,
Ellie Beck
PS, I’m sorry to ask, but what does the word gay mean? It’s a bad word, right? Actually, never mind, don’t answer that. I think I already know.
Sunday, April 19, 1998
Hello,
Sorry I haven’t written in a while. I can’t say why. I could sleep for a thousand years, but I can’t sleep. Life feels so different now and I feel like I’ve seen the world change ten times over, just like Dad says. Don’t worry, I didn’t get my “thing at the end of a sentence.” I just need to talk to somebody, somebody real. I tried talking out loud a little bit today, but I don’t like a thing that I said. I really hope that God can read and not just listen.
Luckily we got to
skip Ruth’s grave at the abandoned mine without Dad in the car today. I kept my knees tucked into my seat belt and held my hairy legs all the way to the doctor. It was so blue outside. I played the no talking game and counted birds, five points for each one sitting on the electric poles, ten points for each one flying, and automatically one hundred points if a bunch of them make that V-shape in the sky. I would automatically lose all of my points if a deer crossed the road.
Riding in the car with Mom makes the no talking game way too easy, though. She handed me another animal-themed coloring book, and I wished I could tell her that I would much rather draw. I wish I could tell her that I actually like what I did to my own hair. I wish I could tell her about all about the places I go to when I stare into space when I’m at the breakfast table and Dad is still sleeping in my room. Mom is too busy pretending we live in the imaginary world that she made for herself. She likes to say over and over when she’s behind the wheel: “You’ll thank me for this one day.” She always says that just when things feel at their very worst.
The Sunday doctor told me “You will know what you really want when you are older.” She thinks it’s normal for kids to not know what they want to be when they grow up, and maybe one day I will know my true direction. Then she reminded me for the eighth week in a row, “In the meantime, you should really consider making new friends. Don’t you want that for yourself, Ellie?” I really hate it when she says that.
It’s actually impossible to play the no talking game with her because it’s only two of us in such a small room with hardly any art in it. She has fake curly hair and shoulder pads to make her body a different shape. She keeps the pen above her right ear until she thinks something interesting happens. She always swallows a little bit before she writes things down and gives me advice, like she knows she is telling a lie too.
When we’re together, I use a voice so small that I can barely hear myself. I don’t even want to hear what I say in there. I honestly can’t even tell any of it to you because I don’t want you to accidentally think it’s what I’m really praying for. I wouldn’t ever tell her what’s really bothering me, like the smell of my dad’s breath. She already thinks that I am crazy. I felt so bad after today’s session that I thought about writing an “I’m sorry” letter to myself, to Sofie and her family, and to pretty much everything I love. I wonder what that lady would think of me if we had met somewhere else, like at Freedom Valu’s or at a baseball game. Would she still think that I’m sick? Would she want to be one of the new friends that I’m supposed to find? I don’t want new friends. I put a rock on Sofie’s porch nearly every day for a reason.
On the way back home, I fixed my headband and kept my coloring book shut tight on my lap. I didn’t want to think about colors. I didn’t want to think about anything at all. I watched Mom through the rear-view mirror. She kept her eyes on the road while we listened to the oldies station. Her green eyes had bags under them, heavier than usual. I wonder how they got there, because I always thought she was a heavy sleeper. I don’t know, sometimes I feel like I have bags too even when nobody else can see them. I decided to close my eyes just enough to make it look like I was sleeping. It didn’t last long.
Mom turned down “Build Me Up Buttercup” to tell me the “I am so proud of you” speech all over again. She just went on and on about it too. She didn’t care if I was pretend-sleeping. Maybe this is bad to say, but I’m starting to care less about whether or not anybody is proud of me.
Once we got to a streetlight, she took a break from talking to dig through her purse. She seemed excited to tell me another long story, but first she put on her purple-red lipstick to maybe make it sound better. She then blabbed about how I’m now looking cute enough to come back to church with her and Dad. She even said, “I was just on the phone with Gina’s mom, and we were thinking of signing you girls up for next year’s Bible Study Youth Group. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Mom looked back at me in the rear-view mirror. She rubbed her lips together to spread the color, and waited for me to be grateful.
I have to admit, there are some parts of church I miss. The music is good, the bathrooms are always clean and empty. I especially miss the church potlucks when Dad’s old work friend brings venison soup, those good frozen biscuits, and even beef-filled pasties with rutabaggies. It doesn’t mean I would get to stop going to the doctor, though. That work friend might not even be at church anyways because he had to go to the doctor too. I heard that he hurt himself trying to drink and snowmobile at the same time. I wonder what he gave up for Lent.
The streetlight turned green and then Mom reminded me for the second time today, “Your hair is growing back so cute now.” In case you didn’t know, my hair is past my ears at this point. I feel like it’s always in the way. I wish I could have given it all up for Lent. Mom said some other stuff too as we went down the hill, like how I should get highlights in my hair before middle school starts. I don’t know why she would want me to highlight my least favorite part about myself, but then she said, “Your dad and I both think that would be so pretty on you.” That’s when I stopped listening and went back to looking at the sky.
Do you ever think “I want to go home” on your way home, but you’re thinking of wanting to go somewhere else completely? Just once I would love a compliment from my family that’s actually for me. Here are some for you: I like that you spend enough time looking at the sky to find this balloon. I like that you might keep my letter even when I’m too afraid to ever look at it again. I like that you’re here even when I feel alone. There’s probably more compliments I could tell you, but I just don’t know them yet.
Sincerely,
Ellie
PS, I’m sending you this on Monday, April 20, all the way from Portage Lake. Just between us, I lost one of my bottom baby teeth after writing my letter last night. I didn’t want to leave it under my pillow because I didn’t want to give anyone a reason to come in my room to look there. I started to think that maybe I really was sick. I crawled out of my bed and pulled out my old Fisher-Price medical kit from when I was a little kid. I found the yellow plastic stethoscope tangled in the bottom of the bag and tried listening to my own heart. I could hardly hear anything. Dad came to my room anyways.
Maybe he was proud of me for doing good at the doctor, but I think he would have kissed me good-night no matter what I said about myself. Luckily, he didn’t take my baby tooth or any other part of me. Please don’t tell anyone, but I actually put the tooth in the trash just to be safe. I hope it at least ends up in the same pile as my old milk carton.
Rowan
Saturday, May 2, 1998
Hello,
The Sunday doctor is happy I’m back at church again, but I’m not sure if anyone watching me there really loves me or means it when they say “Peace be with you.” On my first day back at Mass, I saw dad’s old work friend in a wheelchair from his snowmobile accident. I bet he still goes to the doctor too. He didn’t bring anything to the potluck, but Mom says I came back on a good day. The priest talked a lot about “lawlessness” in a serious voice. He told a story about a guy in the Bible named David saying he’s sorry, but he still needed to know the consequences for not being a good son to his father. I wonder if Mom thinks of me as her son now, but probably no such luck.
Anyways, I’m mostly writing to let you know that Sofie has been back in school because she has her nice aunt visiting from Detroit to help out. I’m really glad about it. I found Sofie wearing a cool peasant shirt with big sleeves by the flagpole, and I did a little dance in my head. Since she has been away, Sofie’s hands have gotten new calluses and her baby sister has been learning more words, Hi, Mama, and even Papa.
Sofie and I have been having our bathroom stall meetings every day too. Our confident walks are really coming along with less and less time looking at the floor. Right before our practice today, we had a big conversation between our stalls. She told me
, “Papa wrote me back yesterday.” I could feel her smile through the cold metal walls. Richard told her that he now has a special job where he makes like ten cents an hour, like people did back a hundred years ago. Honestly, that’s barely enough to buy a balloon a day. I don’t know, he must feel awfully alone. How long do you think a person can possibly be alone for anyways? I can hardly do it for a weekend.
Sofie then said, “I’m going to learn a new song for him too, and I will sing it for him when he comes home one day.” I just listened and kept my cheek against the wall listening to her to say more about her dad and how much he loves music. When we finally got out of the stalls, Sofie and I made really nice eye contact. It has felt like forever since we did that. I promised later that day to keep watch for her when she secretly used the school computers to check the brand-new website that the sheriff’s department made. She wanted to see if she could help Richard come home sooner than later, but I guess the website didn’t say much about that.
For now, I have plans to mail Richard a letter with all the words to a really good movie. That way, he can read it over and over again without needing a TV. I know he loves hero movies, so I’m debating between Hercules and Matilda. If you can, maybe you can send him a nice postcard or something too. His name is Richard Gavia, and he is at Marquette Hickory Prison. Even if things with my dad aren’t great, I hope he never ends up there. I hope it’s okay I said that. I just don’t think prison is a good place for anybody.
Rowan Beck
PS, Sorry, one more thing real quick. I didn’t tell anybody why, but at indoor recess I finally asked Sofie if she and Viivi have seen that Teletubbies show. All she knew was there is a character that’s just a laughing baby that lives in the sun. To think that Gina called me weird. I tried to keep my conversation with Sofie quiet, though, because Nathan Lucas kept looking over at us. I kind of think he’s a new spy for the Lambda Kappa Kappa Trampoline Club. My old friends all looked busy playing Animorphs and turning from humans to alligators and cheetahs, so it was hard to tell.
