Rosie Riley's Dream

by Penny Clover Petersen

anything wrong. As she looked in the mirror eight little dancers who looked exactly alike made the same mistakes and did the same movements well.

  She didn’t stand out at all! All her hard work and she was no better than the other kids. No matter how hard she tried to do a step right, she just did it like all the other girls.

  After what seemed like an eternity to Rosie, the rehearsal was over. Her mother pulled up as she was stepping out of the door.

  “How was rehearsal? Everybody all set for the big day?” asked Mrs. Riley.

  But Rosie couldn’t answer because in the driver’s seat sat a grown-up Margery Phillips. She just shook her head and bit her thumbnail.

  “Well,” asked Mrs. Riley again, “was Miss Marion pleased with the rehearsal? Will it be a good show?

  “Rosie, are you all right? You look a little pale.”

  “Oh sure, I’m fine. Just fine. Sure. Rehearsal was fine, just fine. I’m just a little tired.” She sat there with her eyes tightly closed and tried not to think about what was happening.

  Her mother said, “I almost forgot. We have to stop by the Delgado’s to pick up some papers for tomorrow’s PTA meeting. You run in and I’ll keep the motor running. Okay?”

  They pulled to the curb in front of the Delgado house and Rosie ran up to the door. Mrs. Delgado opened it and invited her in.

  “Wait on minute, honey, while I get those hand-outs,” said Mrs. Delgado as she ran up the stairs.

  Rosie could hear the sounds of someone playing the piano really badly in the living room. She peaked around the corner and saw a girl who looked just like Margery Phillips. But it wasn’t Margery. It was her good friend, Maria. She knew it was Maria because she was wearing the engraved barrettes that had her name on them.

  But there she sat, playing the piano really badly. Her beautiful black hair was now a vivid red like Margery’s. Her dark blue eyes like the midnight sky were gone. Now they were a soft green like Margery’s. Everything was like Margery. Everything!

  “What have I done?” Rosie cried. “I only wished that I wasn’t so different. I didn’t mean for you to be just like everyone else, too. Oh, Maria, your hair and your eyes and your playing! What have I done?”

  “Oh hi, Rosie. How’s everything? I’m having a terrible time with this piece of music. I can never get it just right. Oh, well. It doesn’t really matter. After all, I’m not really better than anyone else, thank goodness.”

  “Oh, but you are. You’re great, Maria. You play the piano so beautifully. You aren’t like everyone else. Nobody’s like everybody else. This can’t be happening. It just can’t,” wailed Rosie.

  “I don’t know what’s the matter with you, Rosie. I really don’t,” said Maria. “I’ve always hated being different and now, for some reason, I’m not. It’s great. Don’t you think so?”

  “But you weren’t ever weird or funny looking or really strange. You were special. Everything you did was special. Now you’re not.”

  Mrs. Delgado walked into the room with a folder of papers. Rosie grabbed them from her and ran out of the house to the car. She sat sobbing with her eyes closed in the front seat beside the strange woman who was her mother and stated repeating to herself, “Different is good. Different is good.” But when she got home her mother still looked like Margery and so did she.

  It wasn’t really very late and the sun didn’t set for another hour, so Rosie decided to go for a ride on her bike.

  “I need to get out of here. I need to be alone,” she mumbled to herself.

  She sneaked out the side door without telling her mother and got on her bike and just rode. She didn’t have a direction in mind. She just pedaled along not looking to the left or right. She tried not to think about everything, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t understand what had happened or why, but she sure knew she didn’t like it.

  “I don’t like having red hair,” she shouted as she skidded to a sudden stop. “It’s great on Margery, but it’s boring on everybody.” She looked around and found that she was right outside the shabby little shop where she had found her ballet shoes. She peered into the window and saw her little bird friend perched on the counter. The old man wasn’t in sight.

  “At least you haven’t changed,” she cried as she opened the door and walked into the shop. “Thank goodness I have one friend who is still as special as he should be!”

  She was so happy to see the bird that she twirled around on her toes and almost toppled over as she fell into Mr. Cheever stepping out from behind his curtain.

  “What’s all this? May I help you?” he asked.

  “Oh, Mr. Cheever. I was in here yesterday with my mother and we bought a pair of ballet shoes. And just now I saw a little bird I know sitting on the counter and I came in to talk to him.”

  She looked over at the counter, but the bird wasn’t there.

  Mr. Cheever said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you coming in yesterday. I only sold one pair of ballet shoes and that was to a lovely little girl who was very special.”

  “How do you know she was special?”

  “Well, she was a wonderful dancer and a good student. And as I watched her dance around my shop, I could see her eyes sparkling with delight in what she was doing.

  “I’ve seen many other children sparkle that way. And that’s what makes them special.”

  “Do you really think she’s special? Not everyone is, you know.”

  “Oh, I think every child is. Of course, sometimes that specialness is quite easily seen. Some children can play an instrument, or be very good at sports, or sing like an angel.

  “But sometimes that specialness is a little harder to spot. I’ve known very quiet, shy children who have the gift of being able to make you laugh when you’re sad or have a smile that can melt the hardest heart. And some who are loyal and true friends that can always be trusted.

  “Every child has so much to offer and they’re all so different. It amazes me to see all the unique little people in this world.”

  “Oh, I know. You’re right. I know just what you mean! I really am the little girl who was in here yesterday. I am that dancer, really!” cried Rosie.

  “I don’t know. You seem so ordinary, so ‘the same’. The little girl who bought my shoes was far from ordinary. She had eyes that always saw the best in people and admired what others could do well.

  “But the craziest thing about her was that she couldn’t see the best in herself. She just wanted to be ordinary, like you. Very sad. She was wishing so hard to be like other people that she didn’t enjoy being her wonderful self!”

  Mr. Cheever ducked under the counter and put the closing sign in the door.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to go now. It’s closing time and your mother’s probably looking for you. If I see your little bird friend, I’ll tell him to look for you.” Rosie went out the door and didn’t hear Mr. Cheever murmur, “For the real you.”

  She jumped on her bike and rode home quickly so her mother wouldn’t worry. As she pedaled, she thought about what Mr. Cheever had said. “Me. He thinks I’m special. I don’t know. I mean I know Maria’s brilliant and Margery’s beautiful. But I’ve never thought about me being anything special.

  “And now I never will be! Now I really am just like everyone else.” Tears streamed down her face as she ran into the house and up to her room. She threw herself on her bed and sobbed into the pillow until she finally fell asleep. Her mother crept into the room, kissed her head, and covered her up with a quilt; then opened the window a crack.

  In the pine tree outside her window, two tiny emerald lights kept a vigil.

  Late that night, a breeze blew in through Rosie’s window again. Once again the ballet shoes hanging on the closet door started to sway slowly back and forth as if moving to the first quiet strains of a waltz. As the breeze picked up, the shoes began to tap in rhythm with the wind. They leaped off the doorknob and started dancing wildly on the floor. They gracefully whirled around the room
in polka time, and did great leaps over the bed, and pirouetted, and kicked their invisible legs high into the air.

  They danced and twirled and leaped. And once again, the shoes stopped dancing and slowly walked around Rosie on her bed in small, mincing steps. They circled her from head to toe and landed quietly on top of her ballet bag. Then they lay still and did not move again.

  Rosie woke to the hurried voice of her mother in the hall. She peeped from under the covers and there was her mother, her actual, real mother, walking into her room.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I forgot to tell you last night that Daddy and I have an early appointment this morning. Your breakfast is…”

  But before her mother could speak another word, Rosie was out of bed hugging her with all her might.

  “Mom, oh Mom, I’m so happy you’re you! You’re the most beautiful mother in the world.” She ran over to the mirror and laughed. There staring back at her was Rosie Riley, the same weird Rosie Riley that she always saw first thing in the morning. But now as she looked at herself, she saw that she wasn’t weird at all.

  “Look Mom, it’s me. With the plain hair and the crooked teeth. Just me, Mom. And you know what? I think I’m kind of special!”

  “Well dear,” said her mother looking a little puzzled, “I’m sure glad you recognize yourself. Knowing who you are is always a help. And I’ve always known you’re kind of special.

  “But right now, I’m in a big hurry. Be good and don’t forget