The World From Up Here

by Cecilia Galante

  I could feel Nora’s and Cassie’s eyes on me, but neither of them got up.

  And the longer I sat there, the more I realized that I didn’t want them to.

  Aunt Marianne made something called beef fajitas for dinner two nights later. They were pieces of grilled steak that she mixed with the leftover peppers, onions, and mushrooms, all wrapped up in a tortilla. I ate two of them, surprised at how good they were. Silver unrolled her tortilla and sprinkled grated cheese and sour cream on top. Then she rolled it back up and dipped the ends in salsa. Russell refused to try them at all, so Aunt Marianne made him another batch of pancakes. He gave the leftovers to Jackson when Aunt Marianne wasn’t watching, and then wiped his fingers on the front of his shirt. I was just about to remind him to use his napkin when he looked at Aunt Marianne.

  “You and Momma are sisters, right?”

  “Yes.” Aunt Marianne nodded. “We are.”

  “Are you bigger or smaller?”

  Aunt Marianne smiled. “I’m three years older than your mom.”

  Russell nodded, deliberating this, and then looked over at me. “Are you a good big sister?” he asked. “Or annoying, like Wren?”

  “Russell!” I kicked him lightly under the table. He kicked me back.

  “From what I’ve seen, Wren is a very good sister to you, Russell.” Aunt Marianne spoke quietly, her eyes moving between us. “In fact, I think she’s a lot better at it than I ever was.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Russell. “You didn’t like having Momma as a sister?”

  “Of course I liked her, Russell.” Aunt Marianne chewed more slowly and then swallowed. “I loved her. I still love her. When we were really little, we even had a secret hiding place.”

  “A secret hiding place?” Russell sat up straighter.

  Aunt Marianne nodded. “There used to be a gigantic oak tree in our backyard. It was so big you could barely see the top of it. And it had these enormous branches that spread out on either side like really thick arms. You could climb all the way out on one of those branches and see as far as the river. That’s how big they were. And in the summertime, the leaves were so thick that we could hide on one of those branches all day and our parents wouldn’t have the faintest idea where we were.” Aunt Marianne smiled. “Your mother called it the We Tree.”

  “ ‘The We Tree,’ ” Russell repeated softly. “So what happened to it?”

  “Well, a few years later, our parents got divorced, and I had to move to California with Grandma Ruthie, while your mom stayed here with Grandpa William. They moved to another house, too, and we never saw the We Tree again.”

  “That’s sad,” Russell said.

  “We didn’t get to see each other very much, either.” Aunt Marianne lowered her eyes. “And even after I got older, I wasn’t very good about staying in touch.”

  I sat very still. Momma had never said anything to me about being separated from her sister. But then, she had never said much of anything when it came to Aunt Marianne. Why hadn’t this information ever come up? What didn’t she want me to know?

  “Is that why Momma hardly ever talks to you?” Russell asked. “Because you were mean to her before?”

  “Oh, Russell,” I groaned, closing my eyes. It was no use trying to explain to him the benefits of good manners or why certain topics were better not brought up at the dinner table—or even ever. You could try, of course. But it wouldn’t stop him from doing it again.

  “Oh, we talk,” Aunt Marianne said encouragingly. “We do. Especially since Silver and I have moved back here. Your mom’s just not interested in talking very much to anyone right now. But she will again. Don’t worry.”

  “Can we talk about something else?” I blurted out. “Please?”

  “It’s okay, Wren.” Aunt Marianne began chewing her food again. “If Russell wants to know some—”

  “Then you can talk about it with him,” I interrupted. “Alone.”

  “You’re not the boss of me.” Russell glared in my direction. “Or Aunt Marianne.”

  “How about the horses?” Silver said suddenly. “Would you guys like to see our horses?”

  Russell and I continued glaring at each other.

  “That’s a great idea!” Aunt Marianne said. “Russell? Wren? How about it?”

  “I don’t like horses,” Russell said, without dropping eye contact.

  “Why not?” Silver sounded disappointed.

  “Their teeth are too big,” Russell said.

  Aunt Marianne and Silver looked at each other and laughed. I struggled not to let my irritation show. Why were they laughing? Horses’ teeth were too big. And everyone knew what had happened to the guy who played Superman in those movies. He fell off a horse, and ended up in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, just like Ray Bradstreet. There was certainly nothing funny about that.

  “Don’t worry,” Aunt Marianne said. “Horses do have big teeth, but Manchester and Roo haven’t bitten anyone in their whole lives. They won’t bite you.”

  Russell broke my gaze, turning to Aunt Marianne. “You swear to God?” He looked suspicious.

  Aunt Marianne held up her right hand. “I swear.”

  “To God in Heaven?” Russell pressed.

  “To God in Heaven.” Aunt Marianne held up a flat palm.

  “Okay.” Russell hopped out of his chair. “C’mon, Jackson. Let’s go!”

  I trudged behind the three of them and concentrated on taking deep breaths, which sometimes helped when I felt really nervous. Running in the opposite direction worked wonders, too, but that wasn’t going to happen now. I didn’t need Silver telling the whole sixth grade that I was afraid of her horse.

  At times like this, I wondered if it would be easier to have a brain like Russell’s. I wasn’t sure if it was because his worked a little faster than others, but sometimes it didn’t take much to convince him to do something he wasn’t too sure of. Why couldn’t I do the same thing? What was it about my brain that wouldn’t let me believe people were telling the truth?

  The barn, which looked more like a gigantic shed, was small and cramped. There was a hole in the roof, and the inside smelled like a combination of soupy cereal and poop. Two large stalls, one across from the other, took up most of the room, while the walls were covered with long strips of leather and metal bits. A pitchfork and a shovel were propped up next to a black bucket, and the floor was nearly obscured with clumps of hay. Flies buzzed and zoomed through the air. The sound of neighing emerged from the stall on our right as we walked in, but the stall on the left stayed silent.

  “Manchester!” Silver walked toward an enormous horse standing in the stall on the right. “Hi, big guy! How are you?”

  Manchester obviously knew Silver. His long, sleek head bobbed up and down as she came toward him, and when she slipped her hands around his neck, he nuzzled the back of her head. I took a step back. His teeth were almost as big as my own fingers. And they were inches from Silver’s neck.

  “That’s Manchester,” Aunt Marianne said, as if we hadn’t heard Silver. “He’s a thoroughbred. Actually, he used to be a racehorse when he was younger. Now, though, he’s just …”

  “Shhhh …” Silver interrupted. “He can hear you, Mom.”

  “I know, I know,” Aunt Marianne said. “I forgot.” She looked at me, and raised an eyebrow. “Silver doesn’t like it when I talk about Manchester’s glory days—or his getting-old days—in front of him. He’s a sensitive horse.”

  “They’re all sensitive,” Silver said softly. She smoothed the fine hairs along Manchester’s neck. “Aren’t you Manchester? Aren’t you, sweet guy?”

  “Where’s the other one?” Russell inquired.

  “Right over here,” Aunt Marianne said. We followed her over to the stall on the left. Inside, a short, wide horse was crammed into a corner. Its rear end pointed directly at us as it lowered its head into a feed bucket and chewed.

  “She’s not little at all!” Russell said. “She’s huge! And
she has a really fat butt!”

  “Russell!” Silver’s eyebrows narrowed. “Please don’t say things like that in front of her. She can hear you.” It was the first time I’d heard her sound cross with Russell. Maybe these horses meant more to her than I realized.

  “It’s a horse,” Russell said flatly.

  “I know it’s a horse,” Silver retorted. “But she still has ears. And feelings.”

  “Horses can’t have feelings,” Russell said. “They’re animals.”

  “Don’t you think Jackson has feelings?” Silver raised an eyebrow.

  “No,” Russell said stubbornly. “Because animals don’t have feelings. They have instincts.”

  “Actually, I think you’re both right,” Aunt Marianne said, cutting in between the two of them. “And Russell is also accurate when he says that Roo is overweight. Now that she’s older, Roo isn’t that keen on getting her workouts. Taking her out can be a real exercise in patience. I think she’d much rather hang out on a couch all day and eat bonbons.” She grinned at me.

  “Couch?” Russell asked, peering into the stall. “What couch? I don’t see a couch.”

  “There’s no couch, Russell,” I said, pulling him away from the stall. “That’s just a saying.”

  “Oh.” Russell paused. “What’s a saying?”

  “It’s when someone tries to explain something by using a silly example,” Silver said.

  “Oh.” Russell squinted his eyes. “I don’t get it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Russell.”

  “I’m not worried about it,” Russell retorted. “I said I don’t get it.”

  I looked away.

  “You’re the one who worries about everything,” Russell added.

  I gave him a look.

  “It’s true,” he said. “And you know it.”

  I tried to pretend that I hadn’t seen the look Silver and Aunt Marianne exchanged with each other just then, but it was hard not to. It was one of those moments where I wished I could just shrink down into nothing, or disappear altogether. Instead, I looked down at the floor and drew the toe of my sneaker through a pool of straw. But I looked up again, quickly, as Silver began to lead Manchester out of his stall.

  “He really wants to run, Mom,” she said. “Can I take him out?”

  “Of course,” Aunt Marianne said. “Would you like to go with her, Wren? You’re more than welcome to ride Roo.”

  “Oh, no.” I took a step back. And then another one, just to be on the safe side. “I mean, no, but thanks.”

  “She won’t run,” Aunt Marianne said helpfully. “You’ll be lucky to get her to walk, to be honest with you.”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but I’d rather not.”

  “Okay.” Aunt Marianne reached in and gave Roo a pat on the rear end. “Some other time, Roo-Roo.”

  “See?” Russell whispered as we followed Silver and Manchester out of the barn. “You are afraid of everything. Even dumb, fat horses with huge butts.” He stuck his tongue out at me.

  I elbowed him in the ribs.

  He elbowed me back.

  Hard.

  “You’re in for a real treat,” Aunt Marianne said, as Russell and I followed her to the edge of the pasture. “One of my favorite things in the world is watching Silver ride. She’s a natural. It’s like she was born on top of a horse.”

  “How can you be born on top of a horse?” Russell asked.

  I rolled my eyes again.

  Aunt Marianne laughed. “It’s just another saying, Russell,” she said. “It means she’s really, really good at it.” She held up a hand to shield her eyes as Silver and Manchester trotted into the field ahead. A slip of sun hovered in the distance and the light was starting to drain from the sky. Pale purple clouds stretched out across the horizon like gauze, and the tips of the grass looked as if they’d been brushed with gold. “Okay, she’ll start off slow,” Aunt Marianne said. “And then she’ll drop the reins and let him go. Watch, now.”

  I followed her gaze as Manchester carried Silver deeper into the pasture. Silver sat as straight as a ruler, her hands loose and relaxed in front of her. But slowly, as Manchester’s lopsided gait began to gather speed, she hunched forward. It looked as if she were talking to him as she held on to both sides of his neck, whispering into his ear, letting him in on a secret that only the two of them would ever know. Manchester’s front legs began to move in tandem with his back ones, as if he had suddenly remembered how to run—and how to do it well. It was such a smooth, clean movement that it almost didn’t look real. For a moment, the only noise was the steady thud of the horse’s hooves pounding across the field like a single drumbeat, over and over again, in a steady, perfect rhythm.

  For as frightened as I was—what if Manchester tripped, and Silver went flying? What if she broke her neck like the guy from Superman?—it was also impossible to look away. Silver’s knees were pressed tight against the saddle, both hands clutching tufts of the horse’s mane along with the reins. Her legs seemed to move with the horse, up and down, up and down, as if the two of them were connected by an innate force all their own. Manchester’s neck strained forward, and foam had begun to collect at the corners of his mouth. Gusts of hair streamed behind Silver, a gold curtain flapping in the wind. And then, suddenly, a sound burst out across the sky—a “hooooo-wah!”—as she lifted her arms, and threw back her head.

  “Was that the horse?” Russell asked in alarm. “Or did Silver make that noise?”

  “That was Silver!” Aunt Marianne’s eyes were shining; both hands were clasped tight against her mouth. “Look at her go!”

  On they went, horse and girl flat against the purple sky, fluid as a dream. For a moment, it looked as though they might never stop, as if they might merge with the sky itself and then keep going, riding among the clouds. But as they neared the other side of the pasture, they slowed again. I watched with relief as Silver turned Manchester around and trotted back toward us. Not only was she still in one piece, but her mouth was split in an enormous grin as she waved from the saddle.

  She didn’t look frightened in the least.

  In fact, I realized with amazement, as she came closer and closer, she looked somehow as if she was lit from within.

  That night, after Russell fell asleep and I heard Silver’s door shut, I crept into the bathroom and got to work again on my underwear. I had just soaped them up into a good lather when I heard a creak behind me. I froze and nearly fell over as the door flew open behind me.

  “Oh!” Silver said. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know anyone was in here!” She glanced down at my wet underpants, still dripping in my hands.

  I nodded, biting down hard on my lower lip, and waited. My face was so hot I thought it might burst into flames. Silver was still staring at my underwear. “I’ll … be right out,” I managed to squeak.

  She looked back up at me. “Right. Um … sorry.” She shut the bathroom door with a soft click.

  I stood there for at least five minutes, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Had she seen the underwear? Of course she’d seen the underwear. She’d stared right at it. Did she know what I was doing? And if she did, why hadn’t she said anything? Would she say anything on Monday? To Jeremy or Dylan?

  After a while, I realized I was still standing in the bathroom Silver needed to use. Quickly, I squeezed the rest of the water out, shoved the underwear inside the waistband of my pajamas again, and hurried back to my room. Hanging the wet underwear on the closet doorknob, I climbed into bed next to Russell and lay down. My face was still warm, and a sour taste pooled in the back of my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to go to sleep.

  Russell poked me awake the next morning, holding something I did not recognize in his hand. “Jackson was chewing on this,” he said, tossing it on the bed. “You gotta keep your stuff off the floor, Wren. Otherwise, he thinks its food.”

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. There on the quilt in front of me was a brand-n
ew package of girls’ underwear. Eight pairs of them, light blue with white trim around the edges. On top of the package was a bright purple sticky note, slightly damp from Jackson’s chewing.

  “Keep these,” the note said. “Mom always buys me extra. Silver.”

  I came downstairs cautiously, looking over my shoulder, and peeked around the corner, but the only one downstairs was Russell. It was Saturday. Aunt Marianne and Silver could be anywhere.

  “Hey, Russell,” I said. “Where is everyone?”

  He shrugged, not taking his eyes off the TV.

  “Russell!” I leaned against the doorjamb. “Are they here?”

  “Don’t yell at me.” He raised his arm and pointed behind me. “Aunt Marianne left you a note.”

  The note was tucked under a pan of half-eaten cinnamon buns. They were still warm, and the pan left a damp stain on the top half of the paper as I slid it out to read:

  Dear Wren:

  I didn’t want to wake you, so I left this note. Russell has eaten breakfast and is watching TV in the living room. I had to take Silver to cheerleading practice, which will only take an hour. She will get a ride home after. I have to help a friend with some painting at her house, so I won’t be home until 3:00. You have my cell phone number. Please call me right away if you need anything.

  Love, Aunt Marianne

  P.S. I made monkey bread this morning. Enjoy!

  I glanced over at the pan of cinnamon buns again. Was that the monkey bread? I’d never heard of such a thing. I fished one out of the pan and took a bite. It was warm, buttery, and sweet, all at the same time. I ate another piece, drank a glass of milk, and then brought my homework downstairs and spread it out on the couch behind Russell. I might as well be productive while I had the time.

  Russell was lying on the floor with his head against Jackson’s ribs. Every few minutes, he laughed out loud at some stupid thing Captain Commando said. Besides being a superhero, Captain Commando also had a good sense of humor. Or at least Russell thought he did. Jackson must have thought so, too. Every time Russell laughed, Jackson leaned over and licked Russell’s ear.