The Good, the Bad & the Beagle

by Burns, Catherine Lloyd

  “I guess,” Veronica said. “But the whole thing is about how God saved the Jews and how God parted the water. God is sort of the main character in the story.”

  “You’re right,” her father said. “But it’s just a story. And I don’t believe it to be anything more. And I like the food at Passover. Can I have the … what is that there?”

  “Shrimp, Marvin. They are called shrimp.”

  “Okay, so, you’re into being Jewish but not into God, right, Daddy?”

  “I’m not into being Jewish. I am Jewish.”

  “You know, Marvin, my father said there are only two kinds of Jews in the world: the self-hating kind and the anti-Semitic kind.”

  “I am not anti-Semitic. I just don’t like to be told what to do.”

  “By poetry?” Veronica asked, looking at her mother.

  “By meaningless ceremony and ritual,” her father said.

  “Marvin. What has meaning to other people may not have meaning to you, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t mean anything. People have the right to make meaning in their own way.”

  “Touché,” her father said.

  Veronica thought the discussion was over. Her mother had won and since she and her mother were on the same team, Veronica had won also. What a relief.

  But her father couldn’t let it go. He had to have the last word. “Honestly, Marion, your mother is rolling over in her grave.”

  “My mother rolls over in her grave every time you order moo shu pork, Marvin.”

  “Well, she’s a lot more upset about your Christmas tree,” Mr. Morgan said, laughing. Veronica didn’t know what to take seriously, so she started laughing too.

  * * *

  Veronica’s grandmother had called the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur the Days of Awe and she had taken them very seriously. She prayed. She repented. She forgave all who had wronged her. She sought forgiveness from those she had wronged. She considered how to be a better person in the upcoming year and she taught Veronica how to cast off her sins in the East River. On Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the adults fasted and the whole family spent the day in temple. This was the day God decided if your name was going to be written into the Book of Life.

  After Veronica’s grandmother died the ritual changed. Mrs. Morgan still reflected and fasted but she skipped the temple part and Mr. Morgan skipped everything.

  The only thing that didn’t change was shopping for special High Holiday foods at Zabar’s. Three days before Rosh Hashanah, Veronica and her parents walked into the Upper West Side mecca salivating. The cornucopia of treats waiting inside never ceased to thrill.

  “I wish we could have brought Cadbury,” Veronica said. “How much fun would he have sniffing around Zabar’s?”

  “He’d be trampled before we made it to the fish counter. Marion, this is insanity. I told you we have to get here earlier. Every year I say let’s get here earlier! What’s wrong with us?” Every year he complained. Complaining had become part of their tradition.

  Veronica sampled a Lebanese fig Zabar’s always carried for the holidays.

  “How’s that fig?” her father asked. Veronica gave her father what was left of hers and took another. She looked up at the number box. It said Now Serving 83. In her hand she held a sweaty 139.

  “Lovey, will you take the list and get what’s on it while Daddy and I wait on this ridiculous line?” Veronica loved that people might think she was at Zabar’s shopping by herself so she happily agreed.

  The treasure hunt began: two bottles of olive oil from Sardinia, a bag of the Lebanese figs, cinnamon sticks, orange blossom water, pomegranate molasses, yeast, carrots, and eggs. In spite of her parents, Veronica still wondered about temple. When she’d gone with her grandmother it was all in Hebrew so she hadn’t understood a single word. Now that she was at Randolf she likened the experience to Morning Meeting, only longer. An opportunity to think deeply in the company of others.

  Veronica put the pomegranate molasses in her cart, excited about all the delicious food they were going to eat. The carrot tzimmes, the lamb tagine, the desserts, everything was sweetened with honey and dried fruits so they’d have a sweet year. And as if that wasn’t sweet enough, they also dipped slices of tart, crisp apples in honey. Veronica’s mother always went to the farmers’ market and got spectacular apples and several kinds of honey. Veronica loved watching the honey drip down the side of the apple.

  One year Cricket and her family came for Rosh Hashanah dinner. Marvin proudly sat at the head of the table, explaining how sweet a year they’d all have and how happy he was to share the New Year’s meal with his family and friends. He even said a prayer, in Hebrew, over the challah. He was Mr. Super Jew that night.

  Everyone dipped apples into the golden honey and Cricket announced that she wanted to be Jewish. The adults at the table looked like they had swallowed something awful. It turned out that Cricket Cohen was Jewish. She just didn’t know it.

  Sins Upon the Water

  Three days later Veronica, her mother, and Cadbury took their lint and their sins to the Central Park reservoir. The sky was cloudless and the surface of the water looked like glass, as though a blue-green mirror had been placed in a beautiful diorama.

  Veronica rolled a ball of lint in her fingers. She felt guilty about throwing something into the water and disturbing its perfect surface. The air had the melancholy fragrance of decomposing leaves and the last remnants of summer grass.

  “Mommy?” Veronica said.

  “Yes, my sweet?”

  “Why do I love this so much?”

  “I think because it’s just so sensible. I’ll never understand whole cities, entire countries getting drunk on New Year’s Eve and making resolutions, promises they have no intention of keeping. It’s wonderful, setting aside this time to really reflect and consider how to be a better person.”

  The skin around her mother’s eyes crinkled in a way Veronica knew she was self-conscious about, but it made her look happy. A few ducks glided serenely across the reservoir. If Veronica tilted her head at the right angle she could see their webbed feet working furiously beneath the surface.

  Mrs. Morgan took a breath. “I will try: not to be late, not to hurry, and to be grateful,” she said. “Grateful for all the wonderful things I have.” She exhaled and let go of her piece of lint. It drifted slowly over the fence, toward the water, and gently touched the surface, barely making a mark. “Did you know,” Mrs. Morgan continued, “there are multitudes of studies showing that grateful people are happier? I remember my mother telling me it was Jewish law to be grateful one hundred times a day. And you could be grateful for seemingly mundane things like brushing your hair or drinking a wonderful cup of coffee. Grateful people will put your father and me out of business.”

  Veronica took a deep breath and bade her lint farewell. It floated in the air across the reflections of trees and apartment buildings and touched down next to a yellow oak leaf. Worrying, seeing the glass half-empty, taking things so personally—letting go of all the things she didn’t like about herself was reassuring.

  “I guess Daddy doesn’t have sins,” Veronica said.

  “Marvin Morgan is a gigantic sinner, but we all know perfectly well that if there isn’t food involved he isn’t repenting,” her mother said.

  Cadbury shook himself off and Veronica and her mother laughed. “You don’t have any sins, Cadbury,” Veronica said.

  “You’re perfect,” Mrs. Morgan agreed. Then she said goodbye to her daughter and her daughter’s dog and went home to finish preparing the evening feast.

  Cadbury and Veronica were going to take advantage of the mild weather. The whole park was a vibrant wonderland of autumn oranges, yellows, and reds. A playland of tunnels and bridges and hills and pathways, perfect for frolicking. Veronica threw sticks and she and Cadbury chased them. When Cadbury ran, his ears flew out like the wings of an airplane.

  Veronica, the citiest of all city kids, felt like a fairy-tale
nymph. The chipmunks, the squirrels, and the birds—all the little forest creatures were her friends today. The rays of sun, the moss and the ferns, the wooded paths, they all felt like part of her.

  She was having such a wonderful time she didn’t realize that Cricket Cohen and Heidi Keefe were coming right at her from McGowan’s Pass.

  “Veronica!” Cricket called. Veronica was out in the open; there was no way to avoid them or to pretend she hadn’t heard. She held Cadbury’s leash tightly and walked toward them.

  “Hi,” Veronica said, “what are you guys doing?”

  “We just came from the rocks. We were hiding treasures,” Heidi said.

  How perfect. The rocks were supposed to be their secret workshop. She and Cricket had pretended to be jewelers in that crevice since they were four years old.

  “Is that your dog?” Heidi asked.

  “Veronica doesn’t have a dog,” Cricket said. “Is that Fitzy?”

  “Actually, this is my dog,” Veronica said. She enjoyed knowing something about herself that her old friend—who thought she knew everything—did not.

  “You got a dog? Oh my gosh!” Cricket squealed.

  Her mother arrived, huffing and puffing. She was clearly disturbed to be walking around in the dirt in her heels.

  “Cricket, I have been hysterical. Do not take off like that. Hello, Veronica.”

  “Mommy, Veronica got a dog!”

  “Well, I hardly think that is any reason to scream like a maniac. How are you enjoying Rudolf?” Mrs. Cohen asked.

  “Randolf, Mom,” Cricket said.

  “It’s good,” Veronica answered. Why did parents never know the names of things?

  Cadbury licked Cricket’s leg. “It tickles!” she cried. She couldn’t stop laughing.

  “Cricket,” Mrs. Cohen said, rummaging through her bag in desperate search for a wipe, “you don’t know where that dog’s mouth has been.”

  Cadbury turned to Mrs. Cohen and began licking her leg.

  “No!” Mrs. Cohen said. “Stop that, I don’t care for you. Stop.”

  The girls tried to suppress their laughter as Veronica pulled Cadbury away. But he was fixated on Mrs. Cohen and her ankle. Mrs. Cohen announced that she would wait for Cricket and Heidi on the benches and stormed off, her heels puncturing the mud with every step.

  Veronica felt bad for Cricket. It was one thing to have a mom who always embarrassed you by generally being far too enthusiastic and emotional about everything. Mrs. Morgan cried at the drop of a hat. But it must be even worse to have a mother who never seemed to enjoy anything, not even her own daughter.

  The girls said awkward goodbyes. Cricket and Heidi went east, Veronica and Cadbury went west. Veronica had imagined Cricket replacing her with someone else. And in her imagination it hurt. But today she faced that reality and it wasn’t so bad.

  * * *

  When they got home, Bach cantatas filled the apartment. Cadbury ran through the house and into the living room. He jumped on Veronica’s father’s lap, knocking the book he was reading to the floor.

  “Did you have a nice bowel movement in the park today?” he said, and rubbed Cadbury’s belly.

  “Come peel carrots with me, lovey,” her mother called from the kitchen.

  “I will, but I have to do something first,” Veronica said, and ran to her room.

  Cadbury jumped off the couch and followed.

  Veronica kept a collection of clear plastic boxes on a high shelf above her desk. They were many different colors and shapes. The afternoon sunlight spilled through them casting a rainbow on her wall. She’d never known what to do with them until now. She climbed up on her desk and set her hand on the purple one, which happened to be the tallest.

  Cadbury gazed up at her. Veronica opened the box and looked back at him through the purple plastic. She took a deep breath and when her lungs were as full as she could make them she exhaled into the box, filling it with her own breath. She snapped the lid back on as fast as she could. She climbed off her desk, sat down, and took out her gel pens. With her best handwriting she wrote:

  Happy Air. To be breathed when needed.

  Love,

  Veronica

  She Scotch-taped the label to the box and put the box on her desk.

  One day, she thought, I will fill all the boxes. It seemed like it might be a happy New Year after all, maybe, even in spite of her own personality.

  Part 3

  Winners and Losers

  After a weekend considering how to improve herself, Veronica woke Monday morning with some ideas about how to improve the rest of the world. The Three-Day Weekend was at the top of her list.

  Ever since she got Cadbury, Mondays were awful. How could anyone expect her to leave a new dog at home and go to school? A dog who smelled like warm toast and corn chips. A dog who was so loving. Cadbury was just as excited to see Veronica when she returned from the bathroom as he was when she returned from a whole day at Randolf. Come to think of it, there should be some kind of Puppy Leave for children who got new dogs. Three-day weekends would be a good start.

  She might as well also cancel gym. Veronica Louise Morgan stank at gym. Human beings preferred winning to losing and she was too slow, too clumsy, too timid, and ultimately too embarrassed to get in there and steal balls or score goals. She never helped her team win anything.

  Plus her Randolf gym shorts came to her knees, and her gym shirt was big enough to fit two more girls inside. She dawdled in the locker room trying to be the last one out.

  “How do you undo this thing?” Athena asked, trying to get out of her brand-new bra and into her sports bra. Everyone knew she and Sarah-Lisa had gone bra shopping that weekend.

  “God. Haven’t you ever seen a bra before?” Sarah-Lisa said to Veronica.

  “God. I wasn’t even looking,” Veronica said, and left the locker room way before she wanted to. Sometimes she hated Sarah-Lisa.

  * * *

  In the gymnasium, her rubber soles squeaked against the shiny floor. Liv O’Malley stood in the center of the room impatiently holding a volleyball. She was always the first one out of the locker room—she’d probably been standing there for fifteen minutes already. Liv O’Malley was the kind of girl Veronica’s mother would describe as awkward when what she really meant was unattractive. She was at least six inches taller than every other girl in their grade, she bit her nails down to the quick, and she had really bushy eyebrows. Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Liv O’Malley didn’t exist. But Mondays and Thursdays, during gym, she was a star. Liv O’Malley was really good at sports.

  What was the point of knowing how to play volleyball unless you lived on a beach? But no one in the phys-ed department had bothered to consult her about the curriculum, so Veronica gloomily took her place against the wall. Sarah-Lisa and Athena came in from the locker room holding their shoulder bags and each other’s hands. When the coach made the teams, he split them up. Sarah-Lisa and Athena tried to negotiate—all the other teachers let them stay together, it wasn’t fair, and on and on—but the coach wasn’t biting. He blew his whistle until they gave up. It practically punctured Veronica’s eardrum, but she adored him for it.

  Sylvie was across the net from Veronica. Their eyes met. Sylvie rolled hers. She was the only girl who wouldn’t be afraid to do that. Everyone else was so desperate to be in Sarah-Lisa’s good graces. Even Veronica. She had no idea why, but she was.

  Liv O’Malley balanced the volleyball in her left hand. Her right foot tapped maniacally against the floorboards. She looked at the coach, eager for his signal to serve the ball. In another life, they would probably be married with lots of athletic and bushy-eyebrowed children.

  He gave her the nod and Liv’s wrist thwacked leather. Game on. Twenty-four eyes followed the ball as it sailed high over the net. It took two girls to volley it into position before Becky Shickler could pop it back over. Veronica’s main objective in gym was to do as little damage as possible to her own team. She watched the ba
ll, praying for it to stay far away from her. It flew toward Athena, who was adjusting her shorts. She didn’t notice it until it bounced off her foot.

  “Ow!” Athena said. “My bad.”

  “Rotate!” the coach yelled. His voice echoed through the air.

  He tossed the ball right to Veronica, who wasn’t prepared, of course, and fumbled it in front of everyone. It was her turn to serve. She tried to ignore the pressure of all those eyes and after lofting the ball in the air, thwacked it with all her might. Please go over please go over please go over.

  It did! There was a first time for everything. Her teammates cheered and Veronica felt great, like a regular girl, like a popular girl, like a girl who was good at volleyball.

  She was still celebrating her newfound athleticism when her beautiful serve came right back at full speed. Veronica knew what she wanted her body to do. She knew what her body was supposed to do. But it wouldn’t. She was frozen and about to get pummeled when out of nowhere, Liv O’Malley dove in, like a volleyball superhero, and saved the day.

  Athena laughed, grabbed Veronica, and said, “We’re such losers!” Athena Mindendorfer could call herself a loser because she wasn’t one. She was popular. And nice. Everyone liked her. She even wore a bra.

  Veronica wished she knew how to laugh at herself. Maybe not taking herself so seriously would fill up her half-empty glass.

  Atonement

  On Yom Kippur, while her mother fasted and waited for sundown, her father poked at the smoked fish and ate both sesame bagels. When Veronica’s grandmother was alive, sundown was when temple let out. Now it was whenever The New York Times said. This year it reported that sundown was at 6:27 p.m.

  By three o’clock, Mrs. Morgan was hungry and antsy. She asked what time it was every five minutes. “It’s three oh five, Marion,” Mr. Morgan said between bites of whitefish salad. Veronica wasn’t allowed to fast until she was an adult. Not that she was sure she would fast when she was. She had a mother who did one thing and a father who did something else. It was really hard to say how she was going to turn out, but in the meantime she had the opportunity and the encouragement to think about it. Know thyself—that was basically her parents’ mantra. Marion and Marvin Morgan both agreed on that.