Drita, My Homegirl
Page 8
Even though the story is too silly, we still like it. We start watching and before I know it, my mother is asleep again, her hair spread across the pillow like feathers.
I turn off the TV and sit there for a long time. I do not want to wake her, so I hardly breathe.
Sleep, Nënë, I think to myself. Get better soon.
28
Maxie
“HOW ABOUT THIS ONE?” Miss Thing—I mean, Lisa—says. She holds up a bathrobe.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I’m not sure Drita’s mom is a teddy bear person.”
“You’re right,” she says. “Maybe teddy bears are a little too cute.”
It’s Sunday and me and my dad’s girlfriend are shopping for Drita’s mom at the Fulton Mall. It seems like we’ve gone into just about every store and we still haven’t found anything that’s right.
“Why don’t you go look at those robes over there, while I check out the bargains,” she says, spying another sales rack.
“Why do you always go there first, anyway?” I ask her. In every store she’s been like a hawk swooping down when she sees the word SALE.
Lisa smiles. “Honey, sales are my middle name,” she says.
I walk over to a rack of shirts, start looking through them, but I don’t see anything nice for Drita’s mom.
“Oh my,” goes Lisa. “My, my, my!” I look over to see what she found. It’s a kimono-type robe with a little bit of silver sparkles on the sleeve. It’s not just pretty. It’s perfect.
“Is it a lot of money?” I say because it looks real expensive and I only got twenty dollars to spend on my present.
“It’s not too bad. It’s nineteen ninety-nine, plus there’s thirty percent off,” Lisa says.
“So how much would that be?” We just started to learn about percents in school and I’m not great at that yet.
“About fourteen dollars. We’ll still be able to buy her those slippers you found before.”
“Slippers?” I don’t even remember any slippers.
“Don’t you remember those cute little poofy purple things we saw when we came in? They were on sale too!” she says.
“Cool!” I say. I got to admit the woman does know a few things about shopping.
We go to stand on line so we can pay for the slippers and the robe. Then I figure it’s time to take the subway home. It turns out I’m wrong about that.
“Come on,” she says when we leave the store. “I want to take you to someplace else.”
“Where are we going? Is it another sale?” I say, following her down the street. We stop at a store that’s got a big sign that says KIDS SHOPPE.
“They got the cutest stuff in here,” she says, opening the door. I look all around and see a little red shirt with sparkle letters on it. I look at the sleeve. Sixteen ninety-nine is what the tag says. It’s exactly the kind of shirt I always want to buy, but my grandmother never lets me.
“I wish I had more money,” I say because now I only have two dollars, forty-three cents left.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “This is on me.”
I can hardly believe it. But then I hear my grandma’s voice in my ears. “Don’t take advantage” is what she would say.
“Isn’t it kind of expensive?” I say in case she wants to change her mind.
“That’s all right,” she says. “A girl’s got to have something special once in a while.”
“Thanks!” I think I’m gonna look like a movie star in that shirt.
“You know, Maxie, I would never want to take her place.”
“Who?” I ask because now I’m thinking about being a star one day.
“Your mama,” she says.
“Oh,” I say back.
“But I would like to be friends,” Lisa says.
“That’s fine with me,” I say, because it is.
That Lisa gives me a big old smile.
Dimples! I think to myself. She sure is pretty.
“Now,” she says, clapping her hands together. “How would you feel about a slice of Junior’s cheesecake?”
29
DRITA
“YOO-HOO. ANYONE HOME?” says a voice. Maxie’s grandmother pushes the door open.
“Please, my friends, come in,” my mother says from her bed.
Today my family and Miss Mirfue are all at the hospital for a special reason. Maxie and her grandmother are visiting my mother. It is the first time my friend will see her since she was sick.
For one moment, Maxie stands at the door like she doesn’t know what to do.
But then my father jumps up.
“How do you do?” he says in English and shakes Maxie’s hand. Because my father was working when Nënë got sick, he never got to meet Maxie and her grandmother, but I can tell from Baba’s face he likes them right away.
“Hello,” Miss Mirfue says to Mrs. Nichols. “So nice to see you again.” My father arranged for Miss Mirfue to be here too, in case we needed a translator.
“Hello, Maxie,” I say, even though we are just seeing each other in school only a few hours ago.
“Hey, Drita,” she says back. Then my brother runs over.
“Hellohellohello!” he says. Everyone laughs to hear my brother speak English, but my friend’s face stays serious.
“Maxie has something for you!” says Mrs. Nichols. Maxie takes a box out of the big bag she is holding. She gives it to my mother.
“I hope you get well soon,” says Maxie.
Very carefully, my mother unties the box.
“Lovely,” my mother says when she sees what is inside. Her smile is so big. Now I remember what a beautiful woman Nënë is, with her long brown hair and pretty smile.
Baba must think so too. “Dashi, you look like a queen!” he says when Nënë puts on the blue robe.
“Thank you!” my mother says to my friend.
“You’re welcome,” Maxie says and then she stands there like she does not know what to do. My mother jumps from the bed and gives her a big hug.
“Sweet girl!” Nënë says in Albanian.
Maxie hugs her back.
Then I remember that my family has a big surprise too. I go over to Miss Mirfue.
“Miss Mirfue,” I say to her, “tell Maxie and her grandmother our good news.”
“Zot, Drita, tell them yourself! Your English is good enough,” she says. I know she is right.
So then I tell Mrs. Nichols myself. “Mrs. Nichols, tomorrow Mother goes home.”
“Congratulations!” Mrs. Nichols says, and she kisses my head.
Soon everyone is talking in Albanian and English. I think my friend Maxie will be happy too. But when I look at her, I realize she is not even listening. She is just standing by the door, and her eyes are watching my mother.
“Come on, baby girl,” Maxie’s gjyshe says softly, putting her arm around Maxie’s shoulder. “Time to go.”
Maxie puts her face against her grandmother. I feel so strange because now I see my friend is unhappy.
“Did I say something wrong?” I ask Gjyshe when they leave. “Why didn’t they stay?”
My grandmother looks at my mother and my mother looks at me.
“Kush e dí sí e ka hallin,” she says in Albanian. Sometimes there is more to people than meets the eye.
30
Maxie
TUESDAY AFTERNOON ALWAYS MEANS THE SAME THING in my class: project time. When we were studying colonial times, I thought project time was kind of boring. But now, I like project time much more because Drita is my partner. “You seen the glue sticks?” yells a boy. It’s Samuel. He and Jordan are partners, and they’re making a map of ancient Egypt.
“No, I haven’t seen no glue sticks,” I say back. Now can you please keep it quiet?
“Guys. We need to keep our voices down,” Miss Salvato says because the only problem with project time is my class sometimes gets noisy. Then she comes over to us.
“How’s the project going?” Miss Salvato says, looking over the ma
p that me and Drita are making.
“Good,” says Drita, carefully. Her English is getting better every day, especially now that she’s got me helping her.
“I like how you drew the map key, Maxie,” says Miss Salvato.
“Actually, that was Drita’s idea,” I tell her.
“I was wondering if the two of you would like to work in the hallway,” says Miss Salvato. I look over at Drita to see if she understands, and she just nods.
“Yes, please,” I say. Because it’s kind of a privilege in my class when you get to work by yourself in the hallway.
“C’mon, Drita,” I say, and we pick up our stuff and go out into the hall. But when we go out there, it turns out we’re not alone after all, because someone else is out there too, sitting on the floor reading her book.
“Brandee’s working in the hall too,” Miss S. says. “But I’m sure you won’t bother each other.”
“Hi, Brandee,” I say. Drita and I put our map stuff down on the floor. But Brandee just sniffs and looks the other way.
Even though I wrote her a letter saying I was sorry like I was supposed to, now homegirl won’t even talk to me. She even acts like I’m invisible. And since we’re still in the same class together, that’s pretty hard to do.
“Okay, whatever. Don’t talk to me, see if I care,” I say. After all, it’s not like me and Drita don’t have a lot of work to do. This week, we’ve got to finish our whole map and then write a report. So we just get busy. After a while, I realize Brandee is standing right there, watching us.
“You making a map or something?” she says.
“Yeah. It’s Kosovo,” I say.
“That’s her place, right?” Brandee asks.
“Yes, this is my country. Only, my people call it Kosov a,” Drita says, holding out a Magic Marker. “You want to help?”
“No!” Brandee says, and then she picks up all her stuff and moves down the hall like we got the chicken pox or something.
Drita just looks at me and shrugs. I guess Brandee’s probably never gonna like Drita, but that don’t even matter. Suddenly I get this idea.
“Hey, Drita, now that your mother’s feeling better, would you like to come to my house for a sleepover?”
Drita just looks at me, and I can tell she doesn’t get what I’m asking her.
That’s all right. I’m sure I can make her understand.
31
DRITA
“DRITA, HOLD STILL,” my mother says, smiling at me.
“Ow,” I say, because now the comb she is holding has hit a knot, pulling my hair. In Albania, one of my mother’s jobs was as a hairdresser. Now that she is feeling better, she begins to practice for her old job again. One bad part of thi s—too many hairstyles for me!
But then my mother is finished.
“Gorgeous!” my mother says in English, looking at me.
One thing that surprises me very much, when my mother comes back from the hospital, is how much she likes to speak English. She practices every day. My mother is a fast learner. Already she knows as much as me and sometimes even more.
I look at myself in the mirror. My mother has made me look like a queen.
“Such a pretty girl. No wonder all the Americans love you,” she says with a smile.
An uncomfortable feeling comes inside me. I put down the mirror.
“What’s wrong, e bukura e mamit?” my mother asks. For a long time, I can’t think of the words I want to tell her, but then I do.
“Nënë,” I say, finally. “I am not kam shoge shumë—very popular. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. I don’t have so many friends. The other girls at my school, they don’t like me too much. Maxie is the only one.”
Even though I know my mother is much, much better, and will not cry when I tell her this, I still feel worried to upset her. But now I am surprised when I see the smile on her face.
“That’s okay,” she says.
“You mean you knew?” I say. My mother bends down and she is kissing me.
“Drita, don’t you know? It’s better to have one true friend than to have a million others,” she says. “I am glad you have found a shoge të ngushte. When I look at Maxie, I know she is a good girl. I think she will be your friend for a long time.”
When my mother looks at me, I notice once again how round and brown her eyes are. To me they are as warm as the sun.
Beep, goes a car horn on the street. It’s my friend’s big blue car waiting to take me to her house. I hug my mother as tight as I can.
“Have fun, my girl. Don’t stay up too late,” she says.
“And don’t forget the byrek me qumësht!” Gjyshe shouts from the kitchen. Now my grandmother comes into the room holding something. It is a special present she has made for Maxie’s family to thank them for their kindness. When I pick up the byrek she has baked, the plate still feels warm in my hand.
I quickly kiss her good-bye.
“Mirë upafshim,” Gjyshe says as I run out. “See you tomorrow!”
“What took so long?” Maxie says when I climb in the door. In the front seat, Maxie’s grandmother Mrs. Nichols is smiling at me.
“Hello, Mrs. Nichols, how are you today?” I say carefully.
“I’m good. And I swear, Drita, your English gets better every time I see you.”
This is such a good compliment for me, I feel my face getting red. “Thank you!” I say.
Then I remember something. “From my family, to say thank you very much.” I hand her the dish.
“You’re welcome very much!” says Mrs. Nichols. “That sure smells good.”
At Maxie’s house there is very much to do, because now I am helping her with a big projekt she is writing for school. On her computer Maxie has written down many facts about my country, and about me too, because the subject of her report is my journey to America. At first when I found this out, I was embarrassed, but now I am glad to help her by answering more questions, and drawing a map.
We are working all the way through dinner and at night too. Finally at ten o’clock, Maxie’s grandmother claps her hands.
“Time for bed, girls!” she says.
As a present, my father bought me some new pajamas. Now I don’t have to wear my old torn kind with the feet.
“Cool pajamas,” Maxie says when I come out of the bathroom.
“I made you a bed in Maxie’s room,” Mrs. Nichols says, opening the door to Maxie’s room.
I think my friend is so lucky. Her room is very nice. Her bed is purple with toy animals on it. On her wall, she has many posters of animals, especially cats, which I like too. Next to the window, there is a home for an animal. When I tap on the side, a fat little hamster comes over to kiss my finger.
“Her name is Cupcake,” Maxie says.
Then I see something else. On one table there are some things. I go over to look.
This is what I see: a gold ring, and a lady’s watch, also gold. A pretty bottle and pictures in frames. I pick one up. Inside, it shows a beautiful lady holding a baby. I look at my friend, where she is sitting on the bed. Now I think I understand something.
“Your mother, she is vdekur?” I say, forgetting that my friend does not speak Albanian.
But I think she understands anyway. Maxie puts her head down.
Now I know the secret of my friend. It is not a secret about boys or friends or superstars. It is not the kind of secret two children might tell each other on a funny American TV show. It is a real secret, and something close to her heart. And now, I am very glad to share it.
I do not know the right words in English for when I put my arm around her shoulder.
“Më vjen shumë keq, Maxie,” is all I can say. I am so sorry.
32
Maxie and DRITA
“MAXIE! DRITA! Help me move this table!” my teacher says, grabbing one end of the long worktable we got in our classroom.
“Where does this go?” I ask. Miss S. points over to the wall.
“Watch out!” says Brandee because Drita almost bumps into her. When she realizes we’re just helping out, she sniffs and keeps working on her report about the French Revolution. If you ask me, dressing a Barbie doll up like Marie Antoinette is pretty dumb, but my teacher said it showed imagination.
Today is a big day for our class. It’s Project Day, which means that all of the kids in our class get to invite their families to a big celebration so that we can share our social studies projects with them. Right now, a whole bunch of parents are waiting in the hall for us to finish setting up.
“Are you nervous?” I ask Drita.
Drita shakes her head no. When she does, a whole bunch of little braids bounce around her head. That’s one thing that really surprised me when she came to school this morning—Drita in cornrows.
“What about you, Maxie, are you nervous?” Drita asks.
“Kind of,” I tell her. But that’s not really true unless “kind of” means “kind of a lot.”
“Don’t worry, Maxie, I think you will do a great job,” she says and gives me a pat on the back.
See, the reason I got so much pressure on me is because I’m the one person in my class who has to read their report in front of everyone. My dad says it’s an honor, but I don’t know about that. I don’t have the time to feel nervous, though, because now my teacher opens the door. All kinds of people come streaming into the room.
“Welcome to Project Day,” my teacher says.
It seems like everyone and his brother is walking around our classroom oohing and ahhing at all the projects. There’s Jordania’s mom and dad looking at the Roman Coliseum she made out of modeling clay. They’re the tallest people in the room, just like their daughter. There’s Brandee’s mom, all dressed up and fancy-looking, fussing over her Barbie Antoinette. And there’s Mr. Littman standing in line to see Kayla’s diorama of King Tut’s tomb.
The room is crowded with people, but neither me or Drita have seen our families yet. Then I look over at the door.