What the Wind Can Tell You

by Sarah Marie Jette

  I squeezed his hand again, but he didn’t squeeze back.

  “Where else could we go?” I asked. Julian’s breathing was deep and rhythmic. I sat on Mama’s chair and closed my eyes. “What about that beach with all the tide pools—the one in the cove? We should go when the tide is pulling out and dig for clams.”

  I let go of Julian’s hand and opened my eyes.

  “Remember how I pushed your chair into the low tide and the wheels got stuck? The seaweed was wrapped between the spokes. Papa was so mad at me, but then you started laughing. He scooped you out of your chair and we sat in the wet sand while he freed your chair. You laughed the whole time.”

  I ran my hands over the stitching on his quilt.

  “We wouldn’t have to worry about seaweed and stuck chairs in Las Brisas.” I picked up his hand again and continued. “How about up the steps of the Pyramid of the Sun? Walking down the—”

  Just then, the scent of orange tickled my nose. I looked over at the pinwheel. I watched it spin.

  “Belle?”

  “Right here.”

  Julian’s hand held on to mine as he sat up.

  “You snuck past the dogs?”

  “I didn’t have to. Tía Lucy let me come down.”

  Julian pulled his covers back, slid down, and knelt beside me.

  “Thanks for playing catch, Belle.”

  “Anytime.” My eyes found his. “Where do you think we’ll go tonight?”

  “I never know,” Julian whispered. “I don’t mind the mystery.” He looked at me, and his expression changed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I couldn’t shake off the frustration and sadness I’d heard in Mama’s voice. But the smell of oranges helped me push it aside.

  Just as I leaned into him, Julian straightened. His head turned to the wall and he squinted.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know . . . something . . . something moved on the wall.”

  And then I saw it—a flash from the corner of my eye. A tiny gold butterfly peeled itself off the wall, leaving behind a shadowy imprint. As we watched its jumpy flight to the ceiling, more butterflies emerged from the walls, creating a soft breeze and a rhythmic drumming sound. They gathered in the middle of Julian’s room, a cyclone of golden wings.

  “Come on, Belle.”

  Julian pulled me to my feet and we slipped inside the spiral. Julian’s room blurred as the butterflies flew faster, pulling us up into the air. My toes searched for the carpet. My breath caught in my chest, but released when Julian’s eyes met mine.

  We traveled into a sky of budding blue, over streetlights and headlights, the spring air running through my hair. When the butterflies finally let us down, my feet pressed into warm packed earth.

  Julian and I were standing on a wide path lined with agave plants, their thick, spiky stalks reaching out like upturned jellyfish.

  We walked. The air was fragrant, the sun’s warmth, a promise.

  “Belle—” Julian pointed up ahead, to the horizon, to the haze of the rising sun, to the shadow rising in the dust.

  “La Pirámide del Sol!”

  We ran down the path and found ourselves in the middle of the ancient ruined city of Teotihuacan, surrounded by small temples and stone structures, with the pyramid before us.

  “How many steps?” Julian asked.

  I looked up.

  “Papa said two hundred and forty-eight.”

  Julian’s cheeks dimpled.

  “Then we’d better get started.”

  The steps were narrow and steep, the stones sharp under our feet. We knew that time in Las Brisas moved quickly, sometimes too quickly. We climbed up to the second landing before pausing. I stretched my legs, and Julian rolled the sleeves of his pajama top up to his elbows.

  “When I was little, Papa talked about taking me here. He said he’d carry me in a backpack so I could see the view.” His eyes squinted in the morning light. “I guess, in the end, he was too scared to take me so far from home.”

  Dawn greeted the ruined city, as long, dark shadows striped the earth. The stillness of the ruins would have been unsettling had it not been for the breeze—coaxing and gentle.

  “Mama’s mad at me,” I said, feeling relief as the words spilled from my mouth.

  “What?” Julian turned to me, his eyebrows scrunched. “She never gets mad at you.”

  “Oh, she’s mad now.”

  “Why?”

  “I told her that I don’t like your new medicine. I told her that seizures are interruptions, but sleeping all day is worse.”

  “Huh.” Julian scratched his forehead. “When did you tell her this?”

  “At bedtime, in your room.”

  “I don’t remember.” Julian’s eyebrows pinched together and his voice softened. “I must have been sleeping.”

  Julian didn’t look at me, his eyes reaching out far, to the edges of the city, and then back up the sides of the stone pyramid.

  “You’re having fewer seizures with this new medicine, but there’s also very little to interrupt,” I said. “Unless it’s a dream, I guess.”

  “I’m not dreaming. Not really.” Julian started up the next set of steps.

  “What do you mean?” I followed quickly behind.

  “It’s hard to describe, Belle. You know how music can interrupt your dream, or become part of it?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled. “Papa’s good-morning songs are the worst. He thinks they’re like Mrs. Pemberly’s.”

  “I know! It doesn’t matter what I’m dreaming of. Once that song enters my dream, it becomes embarrassing and awkward.” Julian paused and looked at me. “That doesn’t happen anymore—not with music, or with voices. When I’m out, I’m out.”

  I wanted to make a joke about Papa’s voice, his poor pitch and terrible rhymes, but that wasn’t what mattered. Julian was missing out on everything: our after-school time, our dinner conversations, Papa’s silly moments.

  Julian frowned and took the steps two at a time. My legs burned as we walked up to the next landing.

  “Can I tell Mama that I’ve spoken to you, and you don’t like sleeping all day?”

  “No, you can’t.” Julian picked at his fingernails.

  “She can’t come to Las Brisas?” I ventured.

  “No, she can’t. You believe, Belle. I think that’s why you can come. No one else believes in me the way you do.” Julian turned to me. “I know my brain isn’t perfect, but I miss what it used to be able to do. I feel so far removed from myself, Belle—who I used to be, who I worked so hard to be.”

  I kept my eyes down as I spoke in a careful, even tone.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

  “What is it, Belle?”

  My stomach ached with a sour sadness that burned my throat. I crouched down and hugged my knees.

  “What if I’m only able to come to Las Brisas with you because of what’s happening at home?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Julian,” I said, rubbing my palms across the stone step, jagged and gritty, to ward off the tears burning in my eyes. “What if I’m only able to come here because we can’t do things together at home anymore?”

  Julian squatted beside me. He bit down on his full lips.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “The pinwheel?”

  “We were working on it when your big seizure struck. And we couldn’t work on it when you came back, because you were always sleeping.”

  Julian’s eyes pinched shut as he continued to nod.

  “I have been wondering what changed—what happened to suddenly allow you to join me in Las Brisas.”

  “You’ve been
in the hospital dozens of times. I’ve snuck down and checked on you before. But nothing ever led me to Las Brisas. Until now.”

  Julian’s body sank.

  “It’s so much fun having you here with me.” Julian ran his hand through his dark curls.

  “We have fun at home together.”

  “We used to.” He rubbed his temples and nodded.

  Julian looked up to the top of the pyramid, down to the ruins below, and back at me. I slipped my hand in his and pulled him up.

  We walked hand in hand, in silence, as we neared the top. I felt like I was getting blisters on my feet. I brushed sweat from my forehead and hair out of my eyes, but I never let go of Julian’s hand.

  And then suddenly, the sky greeted us.

  The top of the Pyramid of the Sun was a rounded square, crowned with chipped stones. The view of the Mexican valley was incredible. Mountains in the far distance, the ruins below. The wind rubbed our backs and kissed our cheeks.

  When the butterflies returned, I knew it was time to go back home. They drifted from above, swirled around us, and the smell of citrus filled my nose.

  I didn’t return to my bedroom. I didn’t stay and watch Julian sleep. After we returned from Las Brisas, I took his tub of tennis balls and snuck out to the garage.

  In the light of a single bulb, I peeled a dusty tarp off Mama’s snow tires. Using the paint for my presentation, I painted a series of circles in the center of the tarp. White on the outside, followed by yellow, then orange, and finally, a red bull’s-eye. I stuffed clothespins in a box, tucked tennis balls into the mermaid cups (they fit perfectly), and nestled them beside my bicycle turbine. And then, using lawn shears, I sliced an empty jug of washer fluid from the top down.

  While the paint dried, I packed my newest materials into boxes. And then I dug out a basketball and practiced low dribbles. My fingers were too twitchy to sleep, my heart beating as fast as I bounced the ball, my mind unable to settle down.

  13

  “When my Santi has a big day, I always make him scrambled eggs, refried beans, and homemade tortillas. Yes, I know it’s simple, but sometimes, simple is good,” Tía Lucy said, as she presented me my breakfast plate. She adjusted her gold bangles and smoothed her bright orange skirt. Tío Santi probably wore an apron when he cooked; Tía Lucy wore her usual. That morning, it was a floral silk blouse and a tight knee-length skirt. And matching heels, of course.

  Mama was on the other side of the kitchen, standing next to Julian, packing up his school bag. Her plate and coffee sat on the table in the spot across from me, steam no longer rising from her beans. Julian was propped up in his chair, his cheek pressed deep into the U-shaped pillow tucked around his neck.

  “Do you need anything else?” Tía Lucy asked, her voice as bright as her outfit.

  “Just milk, but I’ll get it.”

  I stepped to the fridge to get the milk. The seizure notebook was open on the counter. I peeked at my mother’s notes as I poured my milk. It was 7:16 a.m. and the lines were blank. Julian always had a few seizures before breakfast. Papa said they were like morning stretches. Mama hated that comparison. But this morning he hadn’t had a single one.

  Mama finished packing the bag and began smoothing Julian’s hair.

  “Inez, you should eat something,” Tía Lucy called out.

  Mama nodded and sat at the opposite end of the table, leaving Julian across the room, far from me. I watched her fork move around her plate, but she didn’t take a bite.

  “Isabelle,” Tía Lucy said, placing her hand on my arm and slipping into the seat beside me, “what time should we arrive?”

  I looked over to Mama. Her eyes were on her plate. They hadn’t met mine all morning.

  “One o’clock,” I said.

  Big Betty and Sanchita hopped onto Tía Lucy’s lap and sniffed at her plate.

  “You better hurry up and eat.” Tía Lucy nudged my elbow and I took a bite. Mama picked at her plate while I bit into a tortilla. Abuelito was right: While last night’s had tasted like cardboard, this tortilla was delicious.

  When I had finished my breakfast, I slipped into my spring jacket, grabbed my gym bag, and pulled on my sandals. Mama helped Julian with his sweatshirt.

  Tía Lucy insisted on carrying my science equipment to the car. Mama silently secured Julian in his seat beside me.

  “I’ll see you in a bit, Isabelle. Have a great day, Julian.” Tía Lucy smiled as she held up her Chihuahuas, waving their paws at us until we pulled out of the driveway.

  I watched my mother through the rearview as we drove down the street. When she switched on the radio, I leaned over to Julian.

  “Hey,” I whispered, “I changed our presentation last night.”

  “Isabelle!” my mother began as she switched the music off. “Leave him be. Let him rest.” Now she watched me from the rearview mirror and I straightened in my seat. We traveled the rest of the ride in silence, except for Julian’s snores.

  Mama dropped me off at school first, as she always did. When she pulled over to the curb, she finally spoke.

  “I’m not sure if you noticed, but it is 7:50 in the morning and Julian hasn’t had a single seizure.”

  I turned to Julian. His forehead was pressed against the window. His eyes hadn’t opened all morning.

  “I noticed,” I said, unbuckling from my seat.

  “He hasn’t had a morning like this in fifteen years, two months, and twelve days, since I started tracking his seizures the day of his diagnosis.”

  I nodded and placed my hand on Julian’s hand.

  “It’s the new medicine, Isabelle. It’s working.”

  “I know,” I said.

  Hope rested in her eyes, in her voice.

  I kissed Julian on his cheek, grabbed my boxes and bags, and stepped away from the car.

  Maybe because I couldn’t stop watching the clock, or maybe because the science fair was all anyone was talking about, that morning was the longest I had ever experienced. When the loudspeaker finally called science fair participants down to the cafeteria, I bundled my supplies in my arms and lumbered through the hallway.

  I searched the cafeteria tables for my name tag, winding through sections organized by grade level, science genre, and alphabetically by last name. My placement was with the other seventh-grade “Weather and Natural Disaster” projects, in the back, against the wall, sandwiched between a dozen other tables.

  I pulled my turbine out of my box, pinned up the tarp three paces away, and angled the jug just so, next to the table leg. I grabbed the fan out of my basket and unwound its cord. On my hands and knees, I crawled under the table and found a nearby outlet. With my tri-fold board up, my report open to the first page, my kneecaps covered in cafeteria crumbs, and my turbine attached, all I needed was Julian.

  Julian.

  I felt a quiver snake inside my stomach. Between my table and the ones beside it, there wasn’t enough room for Julian. Our tables were small and squished together, leaving only a little room for people to pass through. There was no way his wheelchair could fit in beside me, and if it did, it would block the path of anyone wanting to walk by. I shook my head, stood on my tiptoes, and searched for Mrs. Harris. I spotted her propping up a few top-heavy tri-folds.

  “Mrs. Harris!” I called out, waving both arms. She looked at me and hurried over.

  Pausing for a moment to catch her breath, Mrs. Harris knelt down before my turbine and tarp. Her eyes caught my charts.

  “Isabelle,” she exclaimed, “this is outstanding. And you engineered this all on your own?”

  “I had some inspiration. That’s actually what I needed to talk to you about.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets, hoping to calm my nerves. “Mrs. Harris, my brother is coming to help me with my experiment. He’s going to throw the balls that my turbine collects.”

 
“That sounds great, Isabelle. It’s nice that he can help out.” She began to step away.

  “But, Mrs. Harris, stop!” I spoke up. “There isn’t any room for Julian here. Can I switch places to a spot at the end of one of these tables?”

  Mrs. Harris looked doubtful, and distracted. The cafeteria was filling up with middle school kids and their voices.

  “Isabelle, there isn’t time to move. The science fair starts in ten minutes, and everyone is almost finished setting up. You look ready to go. I’ll grab a chair from the stage—”

  “No.” I stepped in front of her to keep her from walking away. “Julian can’t sit in one of those chairs. He uses a wheelchair, and there isn’t room for him to sit in front of my turbine.”

  Her eyes broke away from the other students.

  “Oh.” Mrs. Harris looked at me with kindness and attention. “I didn’t know. Let me see what I can do. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I rolled up my tarp, collapsed my tri-fold, and re-packed my equipment. Seconds later, Mrs. Harris led me to a spot beside the eighth-grade biology and geology projects.

  “I’m sorry you won’t be with your peers, but there’s more room here,” she apologized. “I didn’t realize your brother would be coming.”

  “You said siblings could come.”

  “Yes, I did.” Mrs. Harris plugged in my fan and set my tri-fold down at the table. “This spot should work just fine,” she said before she scurried off to put paper towels next to the eighth graders’ terrariums.

  I had just enough time to arrange my display, pin up my tarp, tie my turbine, secure the cardboard blades, and unpack the tennis balls, before I heard a familiar tapping noise grow louder and louder. I looked up to see Tía Lucy and Mama heading toward me. When my eyes found Julian, they teared up. I closed them quickly, so the neighboring eighth graders wouldn’t notice.

  Julian wasn’t smiling. His dimples were lost in droopy cheeks.

  “How was Julian’s morning?” I asked my mother, looking her over carefully.

  “Your brother had a great day at school. No seizures.” Mama’s smile was guarded as she engaged the brakes on his chair. “I have a feeling that today will be a seizure-free day.”