Insignificant Events in the Life of a Cactus

by Dusti Bowling

  The morning of the festival, I woke up before it was light out. I had so much to do, and I couldn’t wait to get started. The first thing I did was sit down at my computer and write a blog post.

  Come to Stagecoach Pass today for our festival! We’ll have good food and art and fireworks! It will be the most fun you’ve had since the last super-fun time you had!

  I was frustrated for the first time in a long time at how long it took me to get my jeans on. In my excitement, I kept missing the button with my hook, but I eventually got it and rushed out of the apartment and downstairs.

  Mom and Dad were already up and out in the park, making sure everything was in order. When Mom saw me, she said, “Get back upstairs and eat some breakfast.”

  “I did,” I said.

  “Liar,” she said back.

  I made my way to the petting zoo to visit Spaghetti. I petted him with my foot and whispered to him, “It’s going to be a busy day.” He lifted his head and looked at me lazily then laid it back down like he was saying, Maybe for you.

  I walked around Stagecoach Pass all morning, trying to be useful, running errands for anyone and everyone, delivering messages, and making phone calls.

  By nine o’clock, I was light-headed with hunger, so I sat down with Josephine in the kitchen of the steakhouse and ate a bowl of beans. “Today’s your big day,” she said.

  I scooped a spoonful of beans carefully into my mouth, holding the spoon with my toes. “I forgot to ask you about something,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I found an old necklace up on the hill. It’s silver with a turquoise stone in it.”

  “Was that still up there? We released Aven’s ashes at the top of that hill. That was her favorite necklace, so I hung it on a little wooden cross. I figured it would be long gone by now—probably washed away in a monsoon. Could I see that necklace sometime?”

  “Sure.” I put down my spoon and pushed the bowl away from me. “I’d better get going.” I left the kitchen, hoping the awkward feeling I got around Josephine would go away in time.

  I walked outside and was disappointed to find people weren’t already pouring in at the entrance—and more disappointed that Connor wasn’t out there. Around ten o’clock, a few people trickled in. As the morning wore on, the trickle became a steady flow.

  The Flap-Jackeroos started playing on the newly cleaned stage around noon. I had no idea what to expect of breakfast entertainers, but they weren’t bad. And except for a song about bacon or eggs benedict thrown in here and there, they mostly played normal country music.

  By late afternoon, the parking lot was fuller than it had ever been. I wandered around, enjoying the festivities and talking to the vendors about their art.

  I found Zion, and we ate an obscene amount of junk food together in the rodeo arena. He was normally so strict about what he ate, so I was glad to see him relax a bit about that.

  We watched the large group of kids in the petting zoo. Some of them even gave Spaghetti a little attention, though he didn’t seem to care much.

  I introduced Zion to Josephine and Henry, shot a rubber snake at the shooting range, and even stuck my face through a wooden painting of a cactus so Zion could take a picture.

  And everywhere we went, I looked for Connor.

  At six o’clock, I left Zion and made my way into the apartment to get changed for the evening events. Mom and I had gone shopping together the day before to pick out a new dress for the festival, and she had laid it out on my bed for me, perhaps worried I might pick something else to wear at the last minute.

  With a thumping heart, I carefully slipped the dress over my head and shimmied it down, tugging at the bottom with my toes. It took me a few minutes to get it all straightened and smoothed out. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror over my dresser.

  Mom walked up from behind and put her arms around me. “I like this look on you,” she said. “But it’s missing something.” She pulled a necklace out of her pocket and placed it around my neck—it was the turquoise necklace. I could see she had had it cleaned and had replaced the chain. “It looks beautiful with your pink dress.”

  “Thanks, Mom. That was sweet of you to do this for me. You know, this was Aven’s favorite necklace.”

  “Was it? Well then, it’s extra special, isn’t it?” She squeezed my shoulder.

  I gazed at myself in the mirror, wondering if I was really going to go out in front of other people looking like this.

  “You know,” Mom said. “I heard there are a lot of people out there who came today because of your blog.”

  I looked up at her. “My blog?”

  “Yep. They said they love it.”

  “I don’t know why. I don’t have anything very interesting to say.”

  Mom cupped my cheeks in her hands. “You, Aven Green, are the most interesting person I know.” She kissed me on the nose.

  As I walked toward the door, she said, “Would you like a sweater, Aven? It might get a little chilly tonight.”

  I shook my head. “My shoulders have been covered long enough. They need to breathe.”

  She walked to me, slipped a finger under one of my spaghetti straps and snapped it. “Yes, they do.”

  The sky looked like cotton candy as I made my way downstairs. I loved all the sounds and smells of the festival—corn dogs and kettle corn and chili and funnel cakes. Walking over to the Flap-Jackeroos, I ran into Jessica and a large group of girls from soccer.

  “You guys came,” I said, smiling hugely.

  “This is great, Aven,” Jessica said. “And you look amazing.”

  “Thanks.” I blushed at the compliment. “You should come watch the music.”

  As they walked behind me, I spotted Zion sitting at a table by himself, munching on a box of popcorn. I walked with the girls over to him and introduced them. He mumbled a hello to the girls as he stared at his feet and tried to hide his popcorn behind his back.

  I made my way to the stage and stood at the bottom of the steps. When the lead singer of the Flap-Jackeroos saw me, he told the audience they had a special accompaniment, and I walked up the stairs to join them. He placed my guitar in front of a chair on the stage for me, and I sat down.

  But it wasn’t my guitar. It was the guitar we had found in the storage room hidden under the old desk. It was the guitar that had belonged to my mother. It had been cleaned, repaired, and restrung. I looked out into the audience and saw my parents watching me. Mom put her fingers to her mouth and blew me a kiss. I slipped my feet out of my flowery flats and carefully plucked at a string with one not quite steady toe.

  We played “Tumbling Tumbleweeds,” which I had been feverishly practicing all week, even though my part was quite simple. A large audience formed to watch as we played, and I saw that all their eyes were on me—me in my strappy pink dress. Me in my mother’s necklace, playing my mother’s guitar. Me with terribly flushed cheeks, beaming as the lead singer winked at me while we played. I looked out into the crowd and saw Jessica and the other girls watching me with excited faces. I saw Zion smiling and waving and I nodded back. I saw my parents, arms around each other, swaying to the music.

  I saw Josephine watching me from the very back of the crowd. She had a painful look on her face, and I wondered if she was thinking about her daughter. I tried to imagine how hard it would be for a woman who had been in her position, having just lost her only daughter, already “gettin’ on in years,” as she had put it. I thought about what Connor had said. She probably truly believed she was doing the best thing for me.

  So I decided maybe I would visit her at the Golden Sunset Retirement Home when she left. Maybe we could share a meal of mediocre cafeteria food. Maybe swim in a pool full of old people. I smiled at her, and the painful look on her face seemed to dissolve.

  And then, right in the center of the crowd, slowly making his way to the front, I saw Connor. He wasn’t ticcing, even though he was completely surrounded by people. He looked tota
lly at peace while I played.

  When the song ended, and the audience clapped for us, I stood and took a bow. The lead singer pointed at me and clapped, causing the audience to clap louder. And so I bowed again.

  I ran off the stage and straight into Connor at the bottom of the stairs. I felt exuberant and full of energy I couldn’t contain. “Come on!” I said to him. “The fireworks are starting soon.” We ran away from the stage and found Zion toward the back of the crowd. He joined us as we ran past the gold mine (overseen by a new man named Ramiro who did not hate children), where lots of little kids were aggressively focused on finding real Stagecoach Pass gold. We took the trail out to the desert and the three of us made our way up my mighty hill, lit at this point only by the light of the full, shining moon.

  We were almost at the top when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I stopped and stared at the ground just in time to see what looked like a monstrous spider scurry into a hole.

  Connor turned around. “What?”

  My heart beat rapidly—from the performance, from running up the hill, from whatever it was I might have just seen. “I thought I saw something.”

  “Tell us about it later,” Connor said. “We need to hurry.”

  When we got to the top of the hill, I sat down beside my saguaro, and Connor sat beside me, and Zion sat beside him. “I knew you’d come,” I said to Connor.

  He laughed. “I didn’t even know I would until about an hour ago.” He looked at me in the moonlight, blinking his eyes. “But I’m really glad I did.” He let out a bark.

  “Me, too,” Zion and I both said at the same time.

  Connor looked down at the city lights. “You spend a lot of time up here, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I come up here when I need to think or be alone. Up here I can see things clearly.”

  “What do you see?” Connor asked.

  I looked down at Stagecoach Pass then back at Connor and Zion. “I see two of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

  Zion smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

  “So I’m glad we came here,” I said. “And I’m glad for everything that’s happened. Because if it hadn’t, I wouldn’t know either of you. And I’m glad I know you.”

  Connor’s hazel eyes flashed from the very first firework. “I’m glad I know you, too, Aven.”

  “Me, too,” Zion said.

  As the fireworks exploded over the lights of the city—millions of lights for millions of people—I didn’t feel so insignificant anymore. I felt as big as the giant saguaro beside me. I felt like I was shining, and this time I thought maybe it wasn’t just the moon. Maybe the light was in me.

  I sat at my desk, staring at my computer screen. “When I’m done with you, there won’t be anything left to snore,” I heard the cowboy outside shout. I smiled, remembering my prank with Connor. It seemed like so long ago.

  As the gunshots fired off outside, I gently tapped my toes on the keys and hummed “Tumbling Tumbleweeds” to myself, thinking about what I should write.

  Thanks so much to everyone who visited Stagecoach Pass for our festival yesterday. It was a wonderful day and one I know I won’t ever forget.

  Over the last several weeks, I’ve been getting more and more emails from other kids like me—kids without arms. A lot of them are looking for advice about all kinds of things, but I’d say most of the emails are about school—everything from making friends to handling homework assignments to dealing with mean comments and the “looks.”

  I’ve thought about it a lot, and I came up with a list of twenty supplies you need to survive middle school when you don’t have arms. So here it is:

  1. Good shoes. Ease of removal is of utmost importance here. Ease of reapplication—equally important.

  2. Sense of humor. I’m being very serious here—you’ve got to have one. Seriously.

  3. A sizeable daily breakfast. You never know when you might chicken out in the lunchroom. Get your daily fuel requirement early in the day.

  4. Easy-to-eat bagged lunches. Do you really want to carry that giant tray through the cafeteria? And forget about bringing stuff like chili and clam chowder for lunch. Really. Forget. That.

  5. An easy-to-carry/open/close/get-things-out-of book bag.

  6. Lots of cute shirts. This really applies to both people with and without arms. And when you’re ready—tank tops.

  7. Bully spray. Similar to bear spray, only better. Would be great to have for those nasty little comments. I’m totally inventing this.

  8. Thick skin. More like armor. Armor skin.

  9. An e-reader is super helpful. And no more toe paper cuts.

  10. Some kind of sport or recreational activity—soccer, dance, swimming, professional hopscotch. You can do it! I’m trying out my motivational speaking skills here.

  11. Pants that button easily. Trust me, when nature calls at school, you’ll be grateful you listened.

  12. Your handy-dandy hook. From buttoning pants to lifting a dollar out of your pocket, a good hook is essential.

  13. A wide variety of nail polishes. Boys probably don’t care much about this, but when people are staring at our feet as much as they do, we want to look our best. Am I right, ladies, or am I right?

  14. Nunchuks. At least until bully spray becomes available.

  15. An open heart and eyes. You think you’re the only one out there who feels different? What about that kid sitting alone in the library or out on the sidewalk?

  16. Awesome parents. This is a must.

  17. Friends who listen.

  18. Friends who laugh with you.

  19. Friends who are brave.

  20. Friends who love you just the way you are.

  These last few supplies are hard to find, but when you do find them (and I sincerely hope you do), hold on to them forever. Don’t ever let go.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to find Mom standing behind me. “I didn’t know you were there, you sneak,” I said.

  “I like your latest post.”

  “Thanks. Oh, and I finally thought of a good name for my blog. Aven’s Random Thoughts is kind of lame.”

  “So what will this world famous blog be called then?” she asked.

  “The Unarmed Middle Schooler’s Guide to Survival.”

  She laughed. “I love it. And I can guarantee there’s not another blog out there like it.”

  “Nope,” I agreed. “I’m totally an original.”

  Connor, Zion, and I walked down the crowded sidewalk at school. It was lunchtime, and everyone milled about, carrying lunch bags. They congregated in the grass, eating their sandwiches.

  We discussed our plans for the weekend. The guys were going to help me come up with a memorial for Aven to put at the top of the hill. I thought it would be a nice surprise for Josephine. I was also going to start teaching them how to play the guitar. Connor hoped it would help his tics, and Zion hoped it would help him with the ladies.

  “We already have five shops rented out from the festival,” I told them. “Really great artists, too.”

  “That’s awesome,” Zion said.

  “And I’ve been thinking about how dead Stagecoach Pass is over the summer,” I said. “It’s just too hot for people to come and walk around, so I’ve been at the outdoor malls taking notes about what they have to offer that still draws people in during the summer, and get this.” I jumped in front of them. They both stopped and gave me their full attention. I waited a moment for tension. Finally I said, “Splash pad,” with serious dramatic flair.

  “You want to put in a splash pad at Stagecoach Pass?” Connor said.

  “Not a regular splash pad,” I explained. “Like an old-fashioned splash pad.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Zion said. “Like the splash pads they used to have that Billy the Kid brought his kids to.”

  “Ha-ha,” I said. “I mean instead of a regular splash pad, it would have, like, a water-pump
ing windmill and a little creek that runs around it and maybe even a fort with a water slide or something like that. It would, of course, have to stick with the Stagecoach Pass theme.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Connor said.

  “Yeah. And we could plant some big trees around it with picnic benches underneath for the parents to sit. And then if we get our sandwich shop and our smoothie place, they’ll have something to pick up for lunch. I also thought we need a store that sells old-fashioned toys. Like really cool ones. It could be quite the summer outing for families.”

  “You know, Aven,” said Zion, “I think one day you might be running that place.”

  “Are you kidding me?” said Connor. “She already is.”

  “Oh, and another thing,” I said. “I’m going to learn how to ride a horse.”

  “Cool,” said Connor.

  “Awesome,” said Zion.

  And you know what? They didn’t look surprised at all.

  Jessica walked by us. “Hey, Aven,” she called, and a couple of girls walking with her waved at me.

  “Hey,” I said. “See you guys at practice later.”

  I saw that we were walking by the cafeteria. I stopped. The guys stopped and both gave me questioning looks. I looked at Connor. I looked at Zion. And I walked to the doors. “You guys want to eat lunch together?” I said.

  The corner of Connor’s mouth tipped up a little and he barked. He walked to the doors and opened one for me. “Ladies first?” he said, almost as if he were asking me if I had thought this through—if I was certain.

  I smiled at Connor, stepped forward into the doorway, and entered a cafeteria I had never seen before. After all, there was a lot I needed to do with my life. I had places to see, things to try, new friends to meet.

  And light to shine.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to my supportive agent, Shannon Hassan, for picking Aven out of the slush and falling in love with her. To my brilliant editor, Christina Pulles, whose insight and direction made this book so much better. To Ryan Thomann for designing a beautiful cover. And to everyone at Sterling who worked so hard for this book: Hannah Reich, Ardi Alspach, Sari Lampert Murray, Maha Khalil, Chris Vaccari, and the entire sales team. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.