Lizzie Flying Solo

by Nanci Turner Steveson

  RikkiSabrinaJasmineJade

  My stuffed animals were in the plastic bags. The panda had a purple ribbon around his neck. Other than that, they were exactly the same. I ran all the way to class, hoping to sneak in before they got there and hide in the back corner while I figured out what to say. They’d beat me to it. Eight eyes were glued to the door when I walked in.

  Jade nudged Rikki. “She’s here.”

  All four girls quickly became very interested in their homework notebooks or something in the bottom of their backpacks, pretending they didn’t see me cross the room. I stopped in front of their desks and fumbled with the zipper of my backpack. A tiny clump of stuffed golden retriever hair was stuck in the teeth. I kept fumbling until Jasmine spoke up.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I am okay. Thank you. I really mean it.”

  I scooted past and escaped to my solitary desk, wondering if they would have done something so nice if they’d known I was one of the homeless people they had cautioned me about.

  By the end of the day I was so wrung out, if it hadn’t been for English class and Ms. Fitzgerald, I would have gone to the nurse’s station and pretended to have a headache. I slipped into my chair silently, got out my notebook, and drew a picture of a girl taking a nap instead.

  “So today is the day!” Ms. Fitzgerald said brightly. “First week of March, the month of our Partners in Poetry Project. Are you all as excited as I am?”

  Danny’s head flew up, and he looked back at Jasmine. “Huh?”

  “Don’t worry, I gotcha covered.”

  He gave her a thumbs-up and laid his head down again.

  “Does anyone want to volunteer to go first tomorrow? Or do I need to assign a team?”

  Jenna’s hand flew up. “We’ll go!”

  Her partner, Brenda, grabbed Jenna’s hand and slammed it to the table.

  “No. We. Will. NOT!”

  “Why not?” Jenna whined. “We’re totally ready!”

  “I don’t care. Only nerds go first.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, why are you so worried about something that stupid?”

  “See? This is why I should have been partnered with Jasmine. She knows this stuff.”

  The whole class watched while Jenna and Brenda hashed it out. In the end, Jenna lost the battle.

  “So stupid,” she said.

  “Okay, so not Jenna and Brenda. Anyone else? Any takers?”

  After the episode that labeled whoever went first as a nerd, not one person raised a hand. Being called a nerd didn’t bother me, but I was the only one who had written a poem without a partner and was going to stand in front of the class and read it by myself. I was not volunteering.

  “Well, I anticipated this, as you might have guessed, so I have every student’s name in this bowl. Danny? Will you come up front and pick names for the first people who will present tomorrow?”

  “Huh? What am I supposed to do?”

  “Come on,” Ms. Fitzgerald said, jiggling the bowl. “Come up and draw a name.”

  Danny stumbled his way to Ms. Fitzgerald and dug his hand deep into the bowl of little pieces of paper. He pulled one out and handed it to her.

  “Lizzie,” she said, smiling. “It’s you. You will present your original poem and visual aid tomorrow.”

  After everything else that had happened over the past few weeks, reading my poem out loud didn’t send me into a tailspin like I thought it might. That’s not to say I was prepared, because I still hadn’t written the poem I knew I was meant to use. And I had no idea what sort of visual aid to provide. I’d been counting on seeing what other people did for theirs before deciding on my own. But, without spending my afternoons at Birchwood anymore, I had all the time in the world to decide once I got home to Good Hope.

  The next day, instead of going to sit in the cafeteria, I took my poem and sketch to the main office and asked for Miz Bee.

  “Hi, hon, how are you?” she asked, pushing a new pair of silver-framed cat-eye glasses up the bridge of her nose. The fourth finger on her left hand sported a new ring with a humongous purple amethyst surrounded by dozens of tiny chip diamonds.

  “Fine, thank you,” I said. “That’s a beautiful ring. It matches the school colors.”

  Miz Bee blushed and held her left hand out, fingers extended, so she could admire it herself. “Yes, my honey finally proposed. He knows me so well. And who’d have thought I’d get a second chance at love after all these years? There’s hope for us all, I suppose. Now, what can I do for you?”

  I carefully slid my sketch pad out of my backpack and flipped to the page I needed copied.

  “Can you enlarge it for me? It’s for my English class.”

  Miz Bee’s eyes scanned the paper left to right, and her mouth dropped open. “Oh, my, this is lovely. I can, but I have to tear the paper out of the book to do it, is that okay?”

  “Yes,” I said, ripping it along the edge.

  “How big?” Miz Bee asked.

  “I’m not sure, um, poster size? It has to clip onto a stand like the size you put one of those big pads of paper on when you’re up at the front of the class so everyone can see.”

  “Like a flip chart?” she asked.

  “Yes! Exactly like a flip chart.”

  I handed her the piece of paper. She held it carefully in her hands and walked away. “Let’s see if I can do justice to this.”

  Miz Bee brought my poem back sealed inside a plastic cover with a piece of cardboard to keep it from getting wrinkled.

  “It’s not quite as big as a flip chart, but it’s the best I could do without distorting the drawing,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  “And, Elizabeth,” she said, beaming. “Good luck. It’s beautiful. We’re mighty proud to have a real poet here at our little school.”

  As soon as I got to Ms. Fitzgerald’s room for last period, she motioned for me to go to see her at her desk.

  “I know you wanted to work on this project alone, Lizzie,” she said. “But I want to be sure you feel comfortable today.”

  “I’m okay,” I said. “But thank you. I’m glad to get it out of the way.”

  “I am sure your poem merits more confidence than that.”

  “It isn’t the poem itself. It’s just the, um, you know, like being . . . ” I pointed to the spot where we stood to read someone else’s poem but where today I would read my own, along with exposing much more about myself than I ever expected to. “I mean it feels, um—”

  “Feels like you are making yourself vulnerable in front of your peers. Is that what you mean?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Yup, I get it. That’s why we usually do it in pairs. But you know what, Lizzie? You’ve been flying solo for a long time now. You already know how to soar.”

  I went to my seat while the other kids filed in and tried to sort out exactly how soaring tied in with reading my poem. Jenna sat down and leaned into the aisle between our desks to give me a thumbs-up.

  “You’ll do great today, Lizzie, I know it!”

  Ms. Fitzgerald blew three notes on her wooden flute, signaling to the class that everyone should be quiet.

  “So, fine and budding poets, today is the day. I want you to know that months ago, when we first discussed our original poetry projects, Lizzie came to me and offered to do hers on her own since we have an odd number of students—both the poem part and the visual aid. As the rest of you will discover as the weeks go on, standing up here and reading your original work with a partner beside you still feels like walking barefoot through a fire. Lizzie will be sharing her work by herself, so please give her the respect she deserves. Lizzie? You ready?”

  I carried the plastic-covered poster up front and slipped it out with my back to the class. Everyone got quiet while I clipped it to the easel. Even Danny was sitting up watching me. Ms. Fitzgerald smiled and nodded for me to go. I took a deep breath, turned the easel so the class could see, a
nd began to read.

  I

  step

  into the forest and

  press my foot upon the soft

  earth of a path that winds through

  the woods. At the split in the trail I stop to

  catch my breath, fingering waxy honeysuckle vines,

  remembering another route I used to walk that began

  and ended with this same sweet aroma. Someone else leaves

  footprints on that other path now. Someone else lives in our old

  house, sleeps in my room, gazes out my window at the red maple tree

  where my grandparents’ ashes lie waiting for me to return.

  But I know we will never be going home.

  I found comfort and shelter under this canopy of cedar, birch,

  and oak. I made peace with my life in transition under the powerful

  gaze of a buck in winter who championed the change he saw in me.

  In secret, I fed those in need: chickadees; a hungry dog; a frightened

  pony, displaced like me; a friend starving only for someone to see,

  who fed me, too, because that’s what friends do. Now I wear new

  shoes that let me fly down this path, once edged with maidenhair ferns,

  then blanketed with musty fallen leaves, a landing place for snow,

  pristine and white, like an invitation to make tracks, to reconnect,

  and to discover finally it was me all along who was in need

  and that I am ready now, to not fly solo anymore.

  Thirty-Two

  The next day when I got home from school, the baggie with all the rolls of money was taped to the bathroom counter, along with a folded piece of paper.

  Dear Lizzie,

  Your sweet note made me cry, in a good way. I’m so sorry about your friend, and the pony, and everything else. But I can’t take this money. If I wasn’t paying you, I would have to pay someone else and my girls might not like a different person. There are things in life much more precious than money, and for me, it’s my girls. I want you to keep this for yourself. For a rainy day.

  Love, Angela

  That night I tucked the golden retriever under my arm and went to the common room looking for Mom and Mrs. Ivanov. Mom was sitting alone in front of the big window, weaving lilac-colored yarn around her finger and pushing the hook through to bring up loops. I plopped down next to her.

  “Hey, sweetie, want to learn?”

  She held up what looked like might someday turn into a hat.

  “Maybe.”

  I fingered a roll of dark apricot yarn in the basket. It was fuzzy and soft and reminded me of Fire’s coat, so I stuffed it under a roll of chocolate brown.

  “Where is Mrs. Ivanov?”

  “Oh, I guess you’ve been a little out of the loop this week. She and Leonard moved to their own apartment.”

  “What? When?”

  “They left Sunday night. Isn’t that nice?”

  “I didn’t know they were leaving. I never thanked him for the rosebush.”

  “I’m sorry, maybe I should have said something. I thought that’s why he brought it for you. A goodbye gift of sorts.”

  “I guess.”

  “Brad and his boys are moving into their own place next week, too. Isn’t that nice?”

  I picked up the ball of chocolate brown yarn and shrugged. “Yeah, that’s really nice.”

  “I had a call from your English teacher this afternoon.”

  “Ms. Fitzgerald? Why?”

  She looped another piece of lilac around her finger and smiled. “She wanted me to know how proud she was of you reading your own poem by yourself and how moved she was by what you said afterward. She told me you were teary when you got the standing ovation.”

  I snuggled up against her shoulder. “Yeah. It was hard saying all that stuff in front of them.”

  “Can you share with me what it was?”

  “I had to tell them what inspired the poem. I told them it was because some people only get to dream of having a home of their own. Sometimes people have to find a place that’s special to them, like the woods are for me, and that’s home for a while.”

  “Do you think they understood what you meant?”

  “Ms. Fitzgerald understood. I like to think some of the others did, too. I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

  “Did it give you peace to put it all out there like that?”

  “I guess.”

  I leaned my head on her shoulder and hugged the stuffed dog tight. Mom wove another strand of lilac around and around, dipped the hook in and out, made loops and ridges and poetry with her hands.

  “I also had a call from Joe today.”

  “I’m not ready to go back.”

  “Well, he needs some help with something special on Saturday and was hoping you’d come regardless of how miserable you are feeling.”

  “What kind of help?”

  She handed me her phone. “Why don’t you call him and find out?”

  I looked at the numbers on the screen for a second, then punched in Joe’s number. He answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, Joe. It’s me.”

  “Hey, kiddo, how are you?”

  “I’m okay,” I said. “Sort of.”

  “We miss you.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Anyway, you know that little redheaded girl, Georgia?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Her parents are buying wicked old Bluebell for her.”

  “What? Why Bluebell? She’s a reincarnated ax murderer.”

  “Go figure, right? But that kid loves that pony, so there you have it. Bluebell gets her own human.”

  “Jeez,” I said. “There are so many ponies in the world to pick from. But I’m glad for her. And for Bluebell. Maybe she’ll stop being so nasty.”

  “That remains to be seen,” he said. “Anyway, I had to find a replacement school pony. I’m going to pick it up on Saturday. Kennedy is on her photography trip for finals, and I was hoping you could come hold down the fort for an hour or so in the morning until I get back. It’ll be early, before the students come, but I need someone reliable in case I’m a little late. You don’t have to work, just be here, oversee the new working students.”

  “Be there like the token grown-up? That’s kind of funny.”

  “Makes perfect sense to me. Besides, you get to be in on a huge secret if you do it.”

  “What’s the secret?”

  “You have to agree first. It’s big. Really big.”

  “Okay.”

  “Atta girl.”

  “So?”

  “Jamie bought Kennedy a horse for an early graduation gift. I’m picking her up, too.”

  A jolt of happiness launched me off the couch. The basket of yarn tumbled to the floor.

  “What? You’re not kidding, right? You wouldn’t kid about that. Oh, man, she’s going to be so excited!”

  “Yeah, she is.”

  “What is it? What breed? It’s a mare? You said she. What color? She loves bays, you know. With white markings. Lots of chrome. Do you even know what kind of horse she wants? It has to be tall, at least sixteen hands—is it tall?”

  Joe laughed into the phone. “Relax, relax. Trust me, I know exactly what kind of horse she wants. She’s talked about it for years. We searched far and wide for this mare, and she is everything Kennedy ever dreamed of. You’ll see Saturday.”

  “Oh, man, I’m so excited for her.”

  And I meant it.

  In the week since I’d walked the path to Birchwood, the woods had come alive. Specks of emerald-green laced the tree limbs. Clumps of wild daffodils grew in sunny pockets along the trail, bright yellow with orange trumpets that smelled like clean linens. When I came up behind the double chestnut, a robin was tug-of-warring with an earthworm lodged into the mud by Fire’s old paddock.

  I walked slowly past the fields to the barn and pressed my hand to my belly to quiet the butterflies.

 
The two new working students were checking the lesson list in Joe’s office when I went in.

  “Hi,” one said. “I’m Amelia. This is Erika.”

  “Hi, I’m Lizzie.”

  “We know. Joe said you would be here and could answer questions if we needed help. Is that all right?”

  “Sure,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “Winter tried to bite when we tightened her girth. We just wanted you to check and be sure it was done right.”

  “Did you ask Robert or Luis?”

  The girls looked quickly at each other and blushed. “No, we didn’t want them to laugh at us, so we decided to wait for you.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Give me one second. I’ll be right there.”

  I closed the door and looked around Joe’s office. Neither Joe nor Kennedy had ever laughed, or made me feel stupid, when I was new. They’d never made me feel I was anything other than one of them. I opened the working student logbook and signed in: Lizzie St. Clair, 8:30 am.

  Winter’s girth was so loose the saddle had already slipped to one side. “Don’t feel bad,” I told the girls. “She’s an expert at blowing up her belly.”

  Back at the office, a lanky man waited in the doorway with a tiny girl clinging to his thigh. Blue eyes peeked out from under a scuffed green plastic helmet that had been tied under her chin instead of clipped with safety snaps. She toed the floor with worn-out paddock boots that were way too big.

  “Hi, I’m Daniel and this is Emily English. She has her first lesson today. We’re about an hour early, but she couldn’t wait.”

  “I understand that completely,” I said. “Joe’s teaching the beginner lesson today. He’ll be back soon.”

  “Is he a good teacher?” Daniel asked.

  “The best,” I said. “The very, very best.”

  I leaned close to Emily.

  “I’m Lizzie.”

  Emily pushed her dad in front of her. He tried to pry her arms from around his leg.

  “Come on, Em, you’ve been waiting so long for this.”

  I held out a peppermint. “It says on the list you get to ride Rusty today. I happen to know Rusty is particularly fond of peppermints. Wanna know how I know that?”