Georgie's Moon

by Chris Woodworth

She stood, unlocked Sophia’s brake, and began pushing her inside. “So, what’s it gonna be today? Backgammon or chess?”

  “I’d love a game of backgammon.”

  “Okay, we’ll play chess next Saturday.”

  “Next Saturday?” Sophia turned in her chair to look at Georgie. “Lisa said she was coming next week, but I thought yesterday was your last visit.”

  Georgie shrugged. “I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the line I started really liking ya, Soph.”

  * * *

  That evening, Jack kissed Mom goodbye on the cheek, then turned to Georgie. “Are you and I okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Georgie said. “No sense in killing the messenger, right?” She grabbed Jack’s bag; then she and Mom followed him to his rental car. “Besides, my orders say that you’ll be taking care of us from now on.”

  Georgie slid her gaze to Mom. “Right, Mom?”

  Mom nodded, with tears in her eyes. “I’m going to let you two say goodbye.” She hurried toward the house. It hit Georgie full force how much Mom missed Dad.

  Jack watched her go. “It’s been hard on her, too, Georgie.”

  “Yeah,” Georgie said. “I know that now.”

  “Will you read my letters from now on?”

  “Yes,” Georgie said. “I might even answer them.”

  “I’d like that.” Jack put his bag in the trunk and turned to her. “Your mom wants to stay here, Georgie. She wants to open up that preschool. Is that good with you?”

  “It’s an okay place.”

  “You got friends here?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so.” Georgie thought of Lisa. “There was this one girl, but we’re just too different.”

  “Your daddy and I were your age when we met. We were like night and day. Fought like we hated each other. Then we became best friends.” Jack slammed the trunk. “Now, I want you to let me know when you get yourself a best friend, okay?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “No, I mean it. You write and tell me in a letter. Deal?”

  Georgie hesitated, then said, “Deal.”

  “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

  After he left, Georgie thought about Jack’s question. Did she have a friend? She found her mom at the kitchen sink.

  “Mom, I have to talk to Lisa,” she said. “Tonight.”

  * * *

  This time Georgie waited until Mom completely stopped the car. She wasn’t in a rush to hop out because she didn’t know if Lisa would want to see her.

  Georgie saw a figure making its way toward her and, even though it was dark outside, she knew it was Lisa.

  She turned to Mom. “You’re not going to stay while we talk, are you?”

  Mom smiled. “How about I go for a drive?”

  Georgie gave her a grateful hug.

  “Hey,” Georgie said to Lisa as her mom pulled away.

  “Hi.” Lisa folded her arms across her chest. “After you ran away yesterday, your mom told me about your dad. I’m really sorry.”

  “Me, too,” Georgie said. She followed Lisa to the porch and sat next to her.

  “You told me off pretty good yesterday,” Georgie said. “When I told you to stand up for yourself, I didn’t mean with me.”

  “You deserved it.”

  Georgie chuckled. Even if Lisa told her to get lost, she liked this tougher version.

  “So why are you here?” Lisa asked, fingering a wisp of hair.

  “I wanted you to know I saw Sophia today.” Georgie cleared her throat. “I told her about my dad.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, she was cool. I told her I’d still visit.”

  “That’s great. I mean, I’m glad you want to go back.”

  Georgie pulled a chrysanthemum that was growing beside the porch and began plucking its petals. “Listen, the main reason I’m here is to say I’m sorry I gave Kathy your poem.” Georgie sighed. “I guess there are a lot of things I’d like to undo.”

  Lisa took a deep breath. “And being my friend is one of them.”

  “Well … no. I can’t stand Angel,” Georgie said. “And Kathy got on my nerves. She still has a crush on Donny Osmond. Being around you is a whole lot better. Even when we’re fighting.”

  Lisa smiled and hugged her knees to her chest.

  “Your choice of crushes isn’t much better than Kathy’s, though,” Georgie said. “I’ve noticed how you’ve been spending a lot of time with that peacenik Craig.”

  “You don’t get it. I know some people call our soldiers killers. But Craig and Carla don’t blame them. They just want the war to end before anyone else dies.” Lisa’s forehead furrowed. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear this, but I do, too.”

  Georgie had felt all along that people were either for the soldiers or against them. Maybe Lisa was right and some just wanted the deaths to end. It was something for her to think about.

  She gathered the fluffy petals, cupped her hands, and blew them toward the sky. They swirled in the moonlight, then floated to the ground.

  Georgie’s eyes smarted and she tried to swallow but couldn’t. Tears spilled from her eyes.

  Lisa put her hand on Georgie’s shoulder.

  “For a minute I almost forgot about my dad,” Georgie said. “Vietnam is on the other side of the world. When it’s night there, it’s day here, so Dad always saw the moon before I did.” She wiped her face on her sleeve. “He promised to send me his love on the moon, so every night I come out and look at it.”

  Georgie brushed the petals off the step. “I guess there’s no reason to do that anymore.”

  Lisa chewed her bottom lip. “It was a way for you to stay close to your dad. Why should that change?”

  Tears slid down Georgie’s cheeks. “So, how long have you been this smart?”

  Lisa grinned. “I’ve always been smart. You just weren’t smart enough to notice.”

  Georgie smiled and gave Lisa’s shoulder a shove.

  Lisa shoved back.

  * * *

  Georgie saw Lisa leaning against Georgie’s locker before she reached it on Monday morning. She felt her face break into a big grin. “Hey!” she said.

  “Hi.” Lisa looked sad.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “First tell me how you’re doing.”

  “Better,” Georgie said. “I’ve felt so angry that I wanted to hurt everyone around me. I don’t feel that way anymore.” She took a deep breath. “But I miss him so much.”

  Lisa was quiet for a minute. “In a way, we both lost our dads this weekend. Mine moved out.”

  “Why?” Georgie said.

  “After you left last night, Carla called and said she wants to come home. Dad hung up on her and Ma got mad about it. Then they began arguing about Alan—again.”

  Lisa took a ragged breath. “I ran upstairs to escape their fighting. The next thing I knew, Ma came into my room to tell me that Dad was moving out.”

  She turned her bright eyes on Georgie. “It doesn’t seem right. Your dad is gone, but he had no choice. My dad did.”

  Georgie closed her locker door, and they walked toward homeroom. Lisa was right: her dad had a choice. Nothing should keep a family apart but death.

  “Where’s your dad staying?” Georgie asked.

  “In the back room of his store, Ma says.”

  “Store?” Georgie said. “I never knew he had a store. What kind?”

  “A paint store. Premium Paints. You might not have seen it. It’s here on the North Ridge side.”

  “Wait, I think I have seen it. It’s on … um … I can’t think of the street.”

  “Chestnut Street.”

  “Oh, yeah! Now I remember.” Georgie thought she should become a detective.

  * * *

  The bell over the door chimed as Georgie walked into the paint store after school. One customer held fabric swatches next to paint chips. The way she frowned and stared at each one told Georgie she would be there
a while.

  Georgie walked toward a loud sound in the back. Lisa’s dad stood next to a vibrating machine, which was shaking a can of paint.

  He shut off the machine when he saw Georgie.

  “Hello, Georgie,” he said. “Lisa’s not here. You’ll probably find her at home.”

  “I know she’s not here, Mr. Loutzenhiser. I want to talk to you about her.”

  He scratched beneath his chin. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

  “No, sir.” Georgie laughed. “Lisa wouldn’t know how to get into trouble.”

  He looked relieved and began stacking cans of paint on a shelf. “Georgie, let’s get down to brass tacks. What’s on your mind?”

  He seemed so direct, but Georgie liked that. “Lisa is pretty upset that you moved out.”

  He looked surprised. “That’s personal, young lady.”

  “Yeah, it would be except that she’s my friend and I don’t want to see her so sad.” Georgie sat on a crate. “Mr. Loutzenhiser, I know you’re mad at Alan.”

  “Georgie, I’m sure you mean well, but you’re skating on some mighty thin ice,” he said. “And you can tell my daughter to talk to me herself if she wants to know anything.”

  Georgie didn’t budge. “I’m not sure she has anything to say to you, but I do. I want to tell you about my dad.”

  Still holding a can, Mr. Loutzenhiser stopped moving.

  “His plane was shot and went down in flames last July. Witnesses didn’t see him eject. They never found the plane wreck, so he’s listed as missing in action. I didn’t want to believe it for a long time, but now I know he’s dead.”

  Mr. Loutzenhiser sat down heavily on a crate.

  “The way I see it, sir, is that if I can accept Alan’s choice, then I think you ought to do the same.”

  Georgie got up and hurried toward the door. It still hurt too much to talk about Dad, and she was afraid she would cry. When she reached the handle, she looked back. Mr. Loutzenhiser’s face was buried in his hands.

  * * *

  Classes were suspended on Tuesday afternoon to give the Good Deeds for Glendale partners an opportunity to finish their reports at school and turn them in. Georgie was relieved, because it meant she wouldn’t have to go to Mrs. Donovan’s office. Georgie had figured out weeks ago that Mom had told Mrs. Donovan about Dad’s death. Even though she knew Mrs. D. had tried to help her, Georgie wasn’t ready to face her just yet.

  The Good Deeds reports were to be graded and hung in the halls by the end of the week. Georgie worried that she would be writing Lisa’s and hers alone because Lisa had been absent that morning.

  After lunch, she brightened when Lisa showed up in their homeroom and scooted her desk over beside Georgie’s. “Boy, am I glad to see you! Were you sick?”

  “Nope,” Lisa said. “And I can’t go with you to the Sunset Home on Saturday.”

  “But you’re the one who wanted to go.” Georgie scratched her head. “And why do you look so happy about it?”

  “My dad came back last night!” Lisa said. “He came just to see Mom, but then they both talked to Denny and me. We stayed up late crying and talking things over, so Mom let us sleep in this morning.”

  “So he’s home to stay?” Georgie said.

  “We’re going to see how things go, but, hopefully, yes. The great news is he said Carla can come home on weekends, so we’re all going to pick her up on Saturday, which is why I can’t go to the Sunset Home.”

  “Wow!” Georgie said. “I’m happy for you. But what about Alan?”

  “Well, legally Alan can’t come home.” Lisa’s smile faded a little. “But Dad is willing to talk to him if Alan tries to reach us again. So that’s something.”

  “That’s great, Lisa!” Georgie said.

  “Yeah, it is great.” Lisa’s glow faded. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out well for you.”

  “Don’t.” Georgie held her hand up. “I’m truly happy for you.”

  “Thanks, Georgie.”

  “Who knows? Maybe if things get back to normal at your house, Denny will stop driving you crazy.”

  “Now, that would take a miracle!”

  Georgie laughed.

  Lisa reached for her notebook. “I just wonder what made my dad change his mind. He wouldn’t say.”

  Georgie put her head down and began writing so Lisa couldn’t see her face. “Geez, Lisa, I don’t have a clue.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, Georgie threw down her pen and sat back. “Finally! So much writing and all we really had to say was the project worked.”

  “Don’t forget to include this.” Lisa held out a paper.

  Georgie took it and read:

  WHAT I LEARNED FROM OUR PROJECT

  by Lisa Loutzenhiser

  One type of person

  is like driftwood,

  either torn from a tree

  or wrenched from a ship,

  just floating, adrift.

  Another is like the sea,

  with tides pushing and pulling,

  waves pounding the shore,

  seldom quiet,

  rarely calm.

  But when a piece of driftwood

  gets caught up in the sea,

  it will be tossed about,

  worn and sanded,

  battered and thrown.

  After a bit, the driftwood changes,

  it becomes polished, even beautiful.

  The driftwood takes on new life

  that wouldn’t have been possible

  if it weren’t for the sea.

  It was a good poem, but Georgie chewed her lip.

  “What’s wrong?” Lisa said.

  “It’s perfect, Lisa. But are you sure you want to?” Georgie asked. “They’re hanging these in the hall for everyone to read. I’d hate for your feelings to get hurt.”

  Lisa said, “I need for Kathy and Angel to know I’m not afraid of what I write anymore.”

  Georgie smiled at Lisa. She looked at the clock, anxious to get home. She had promised John she would take him to the park. She still had ten minutes before school was dismissed. Just enough time to do one more thing. Pulling a sheet of notepaper from her binder, she wrote:

  Dear Jack,

  Remember that girl I told you about who was too different from me? I guess we kind of grew on each other. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I do have a best friend here.

  Her name is Lisa.

  20

  Late Friday afternoon, Georgie waited at the line of poplar trees that ran between the faculty parking lot and school. Finally, she saw Mrs. Donovan come out, hiking her purse strap onto her shoulder. The trees were too young to hide Georgie, so she crouched beside a parked bus while Mrs. Donovan fumbled with the keys, slipped into her car, then pulled away from Glendale Middle School. Georgie picked up the sack at her feet and strode toward the office.

  Mrs. Sanders had her head down, typing. Georgie watched as she plunked each key firmly on the old typewriter, then, with her right hand, pushed the carriage return to the left to begin the next line. Georgie cleared her throat. Mrs. Sanders looked up. When she saw Georgie, she gave the return a hard slap.

  “Mrs. Donovan is gone for the day,” she said, and went back to typing.

  Georgie flashed a brilliant smile. “Mrs. Sanders, I feel we got off on the wrong foot.”

  Mrs. Sanders sat back and crossed her arms. “What is it you want?”

  “For us to be friends?” Georgie said.

  Mrs. Sanders snorted.

  “Okay,” Georgie said. “I need two minutes in Mrs. Donovan’s office.”

  “You must be out of your mind,” Mrs. Sanders said. “No.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.”

  “Mrs. Sanders…”

  “Georgie, I will report you if you do not leave immediately.”

  Georgie took a deep breath, then blurted out, “Mrs. Sanders, didn’t you ever make a mistake?”

  “Of course I’ve mad
e mistakes,” she said. “After all, I’m human.”

  “Well, I’m human, too,” Georgie said.

  Mrs. Sanders’s face softened just enough to encourage Georgie.

  “I have something to give Mrs. Donovan and I won’t hurt anything and you can come with me and I won’t be in there more than two minutes. I promise!” She caught her breath and added, “Please.”

  Mrs. Sanders scratched her nose and looked out the window. After what seemed like forever, she looked at Georgie. “If you touch anything…”

  “I won’t!” Georgie said.

  Mrs. Sanders heaved herself out of her chair and pulled a ring of keys from a filing-cabinet drawer. She unlocked Mrs. Donovan’s door and stepped inside.

  Clutching her sack, Georgie followed.

  Mrs. Sanders planted herself firmly in the middle of the room. She reminded Georgie of a sentry.

  Georgie walked over to Mrs. Donovan’s desk. Mrs. Donovan’s satchel lay in the center of the desk. Remembering her promise not to touch anything, Georgie said, “Mrs. Sanders, would you please move the satchel?”

  Mrs. Sanders reluctantly scooted it to the side.

  Georgie gently lifted a small box from her bag. She flipped the lid up to reveal a bronze-colored cross hanging from a ribbon that was blue and white, with a red stripe down the center. She rubbed her finger over the cross, then reverently placed it in the center of the desk.

  Mrs. Sanders rushed to her side, as if she thought Georgie might have planted a stink bomb.

  Georgie reached back into the sack and pulled out the red book Mrs. Donovan had given her.

  She had torn out the pages with the nonsense she’d been writing for the last five and a half weeks. All that was left was the page that Georgie had written that day. She read it one more time:

  My dad died July 2, 1970. For a long time I didn’t want to believe it but now I have to. In my heart it feels like he died this week. It hurts and I don’t think it will ever stop hurting.

  This is one of his medals. It’s called the Distinguished Flying Cross Medal and is awarded for “Heroism or extraordinary achievement while participating in aerial flight.” I’m sorry I broke your dad’s ship. This medal means as much to me as the ship meant to you. I hope you’ll keep it instead.

  She propped the open book next to the medal for Mrs. Donovan to find when she came back to work on Monday.