Short

by Holly Goldberg Sloan

  I’m not prepared for how much Mrs. Chang likes this news.

  Her hands meet in a big clap and she says, “Isn’t that fantastic!” She looks like she means it. She sits down on a bench that’s right outside the front door, and I realize this signals that we’re going to really talk, which wasn’t my idea of what would happen when I decided to come over and take her flowers.

  But I guess if you ring someone’s doorbell and ask for something, there is always a price.

  It turns out that Mrs. Chang was once some kind of singer and dancer. She doesn’t look like she could sing or dance. She tells me a very long story that involves people and places that I’ve never heard of. And a cruise ship (where I guess she was singing).

  At a certain point I stop listening and just nod. I get sort of lost in my ice-cream bar.

  After a story about her friends named Gilbert and Sullivan, she asks me: “How are they handling the costumes?”

  I don’t realize she means my play until she says, “The costumes are one of the most important parts of any production. The Wizard of Oz has great possibilities.”

  What do I know about our outfits? We just lost our director to a fall, and he’s now stuck (like a bad keyboard on the letter S) in one position.

  I say: “We’re only getting started. I don’t have information about that stuff.”

  This answer makes Mrs. Chang very, very happy. She hits her knees with two fists and then springs upright.

  It’s sort of surprising, and I jump back. She didn’t look capable of that kind of leap.

  “I can sew anything,” she says. “I’d like to volunteer my services.”

  I don’t answer. I’m not in charge of the play, and as far as I can tell, I have the worst voice of all of the singers. I’m not any kind of dancer, and I’m pretty sure I only got the part because I’m not tall but I can be like a terrier. I could be one of the people who don’t make it past rehearsals to opening night.

  I’ve started to worry about that.

  I asked Randy if he was worried, and he just laughed. But of course he’s not worried. He doesn’t care what people think, which is why he sometimes wears socks that don’t match.

  I say, “You can give me your number and I’ll have my mom call you. This feels like something you guys should talk about.”

  Mrs. Chang says, “Will do!”

  This strikes me as weird because she’s not doing anything. Unless she means giving me her number and waiting for my mom to call.

  But her “will do” is filled with excitement, so I smile.

  Mrs. Chang runs into the house, and when I say run, I mean that she’s really doing that. She comes back with her phone number on a piece of paper and gives it to me.

  I’ve had enough, so I tell her, “I have to be going because my grandma Mittens is coming over.”

  That’s a lie, but she does drop in sometimes unannounced, so maybe it will later be true.

  Plus I feel like leaving one old person for another sounds good.

  I walk home, and it’s not until I get there that I realize I didn’t even bring back flowers to be pressed for my scrapbook.

  I got distracted by the ice-cream bar, so all I have is a four-inch-long stick.

  It’s the first time I’ve looked at the wooden thing that’s inside an ice-cream bar, and now I realize it’s part of a tree and maybe this tree was cut down just so some ungrateful kid could eat dessert (and not even at dessert time).

  Shawn Barr told us to pay attention to our actions in the world.

  It’s harder than it sounds.

  I’m going to glue the stick into my scrapbook, because I feel as if I’ll remember this afternoon with Mrs. Chang for a long time, which means it might be important.

  I’m pretty sure I will at least remember the ice cream. It was really good and not just sweet but salty too.

  Instead of giving my mom Mrs. Chang’s phone number, I glue it next to the stick. It makes a better presentation because Mrs. Chang has very nice handwriting, and also because she wrote on interesting pink paper.

  My mom won’t know the difference, and I’m not lying or stealing or causing trouble.

  Okay, maybe I’m lying, because I told Mrs. Chang I’d give the number to my mother. But it doesn’t feel that wrong, which might mean that one day I’ll be a bad person.

  If so, then this page with the stick and the phone number will be the first clue for the police.

  • • •

  It’s later, just after dark, when our doorbell rings.

  My dad answers it, and Mrs. Chang is standing there. She’s wearing a green dress that goes all the way to the ground. She’s not carrying flowers, which would have been nice because then I could have pressed them in my book. She has photos in her hands, and I hear her say they are pictures of Munchkins. I guess she printed them from her computer or something.

  I can see this happening from my position in the hallway. Sometimes it’s good to be not tall because I’m low to the ground and don’t get noticed in a quick glance, especially when I’ve dropped to my knees right away.

  My mom joins my dad at the door, and the next thing I know they have Mrs. Chang in the living room.

  I stay hidden because I didn’t give my parents the telephone number.

  I didn’t even say I was down in the old lady’s yard today. Also, I ate ice cream again for dessert only a few minutes ago, and my mom can be really strict about double treats.

  I don’t remember my parents ever talking to Mrs. Chang, because she’s so much older than they are and people like to stay in their age groups for friends. Plus she keeps to herself (unless you ring her doorbell and ask for flowers). My parents are always in their cars, so they’ve probably never even seen her on her knees pulling weeds.

  I stay in the hall and I listen, and it turns out Mrs. Chang wants to make a Munchkin costume and have me wear it to practice to show everyone that she is some kind of sewing expert.

  This is a terrible idea.

  I wait for my mom to tell her that her plan is rotten and also embarrassing, but instead I hear, “What a generous offer!”

  Generous? Says who?

  This is a university production and we have people like Shawn Barr, who came all the way here from Pigeon Forge. The actor who will play Dorothy is arriving any moment and she’s getting paid to be in this play. We can’t have old neighbor ladies in long green dresses sewing things and making kids put on homemade projects. We’re learning to be professionals!

  I go into the bathroom and I lock the door.

  It doesn’t take long before my mom can be heard on the other side: “Julia—come out and say hello to Mrs. Chang.”

  “I can’t,” I say. “I’m busy in here.”

  I stay sitting on the tile floor for what feels like an hour.

  When I finally come out Mrs. Chang is gone.

  But so are my favorite white pants and my red button-up shirt and my new pair of brown shoes! My mom gave these valuable and important pieces of clothing to an old, unknown neighbor lady.

  There is a word for what I’m feeling and it’s called “outrage,” and I guess that comes from saying it’s rage that’s just right out there.

  I’m outraged!

  Mom and I are in my bedroom and the bureau drawers are open. Here is what happens next, which involves yelling on my part:

  “You gave away my white pants?!”

  “Julia, I didn’t give anything away. Mrs. Chang took the clothing for measurements.”

  “You don’t even know her! I’ll never see those pants again!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a nice woman. She’s excited to make a costume for you.”

  “No one asked her to do that! There is a theater department and there are people with jobs making the Munchkin outfits!”

  I
’m surprised to hear something strong in my voice that sounds just like Shawn Barr, which is amazing because he only worked with us a week before his accident. I guess I’m good at imitations!

  “Mrs. Chang is a nice woman and she’s doing a nice thing and your attitude is both confusing and unkind.”

  My mother steps back. She moves away from me. The look on her face tells me she’s done with this discussion. The next thing I know, my mom’s heading down the hall to her home office.

  I don’t follow her.

  Randy sticks his head into my room and whispers, “What’s wrong with having the lady make you an outfit?”

  I don’t even answer.

  Why can’t my brother be Mrs. Chang’s Munchkin model?

  He wore a cape every day until he was five years old and the kindergarten teacher made him take it off. He bought a top hat at a garage sale three months ago, and he puts that on to practice magic tricks. So far he hasn’t mastered even one in any kind of believable way. But he’s a better Munchkin than me on all levels.

  Let him wear the homemade costume and look like he’s dressing up for Halloween.

  TEN

  I wake up late the next day and go to the kitchen to drink Dad’s leftover coffee.

  Parents hate the idea of kids drinking coffee, so of course I started sneaking some over a year ago. Now I love it even though in the beginning it just tasted like medicine and was probably staining my teeth.

  It’s not true that coffee stunts your growth. I looked this up and there is no evidence. Piper told me that adults get coffee breath, which she says smells like a cat bed. I add lots of milk to my coffee because I don’t want to smell like a cat bed.

  I sit by the window with my cold coffee and milk, and I think about the dance steps we learned from Shawn Barr.

  Mom had to go in to work and she left Tim in charge. He doesn’t care what we do as long as we don’t get him in trouble.

  If Ramon were here I’d take him for a walk. I’d know that he was happy, because nothing was better to him than getting out into the world and smelling every tree and bush and lamppost he could find as he worked to eliminate squirrels from our planet.

  I decide to walk down the street and just pretend he’s with me.

  I think about taking his leash, but it would look weird to people if I was dragging a leather strap behind me. I don’t want to make a scene, so instead I just roll up his collar and put it in my pocket. It’s very bulky. I should leave it home, but I don’t because I’m imagining that we’re together.

  I’m barely out the door when I start to sing the Wizard of Oz songs in my head just to practice the words. I think I’m singing silently, but I’m not. I pass Mrs. Chang’s house, and I should have gone to the other side of the street, because suddenly the door opens and she’s right there.

  She calls out: “Your Munchkin shoes are ready!”

  I look down at my feet. I’m wearing running shoes. She’s had one night and part of a day, and she already has shoes for me?

  Mrs. Chang comes down the not long walkway and opens the swinging gate to her garden. “Come on in. Let’s see if they fit.”

  I don’t want to go into her house. Plus, how in the world did she make shoes? We don’t live in Roman times.

  Mrs. Chang doesn’t know that I did a report on the discovery of sandals found in the Fort Rock Cave, and I know for a fact that these were just “foot bags” made from bear parts. I didn’t work very hard on the report and I have trouble remembering the details. Maybe Mrs. Chang has a plastic mold and a heating oven, because I can’t imagine her going on a bear hunt to find a hide.

  Most of the shoes made today aren’t made of animal skins. And I’m not going to wear homemade rubber shoes, no matter what my parents say about being nice to old people.

  The next thing I know, I’ve stepped into Mrs. Chang’s house.

  It’s not at all what I expected.

  I didn’t really have an idea in my head of what it would look like in here, but if I had, it would have been a house with a lot of pictures of flowers. She has so many growing in the yard that it might be some kind of obsession, which can happen when you care too much about one thing. Grandma Mittens says that the Dodgers have caused her as much heartache as joy, but that’s the nature of being a sports fan. She has more Dodger hats and sweatshirts than is considered normal, because of her obsessive feelings for the team.

  But Mrs. Chang doesn’t have a single framed picture of a flower. She has cooler stuff.

  First of all, there is a puppet collection.

  I thought puppets were incredibly stupid, until now. None of Mrs. Chang’s puppets are people. They’re animals. There is a cat wearing a red dress, and a chicken with rain boots. There are many different dogs, some in outfits and others with elaborate fur and interesting faces. There are all kinds of birds, including a flamingo that has glass eyes that look real.

  But the puppet wall is only the beginning.

  I follow Mrs. Chang into the living room, where the floor is wood but each board has been painted a different color. There are more lights hanging from the ceiling than we have in our whole house. There is an orange couch, and a set of mint-green chairs around a coffee table made out of silverware. It’s as if every knife and fork and spoon in town ended up stuck together to make this piece of furniture. It might be dangerous to have this table if there were toddlers in the house, because one fall could lead to the emergency room.

  I can’t stop myself. I blurt out, “What’s going on in here?”

  Mrs. Chang just shrugs.

  That’s it. No explanation.

  Here I thought she was only a boring old lady who spent a lot of time growing flowers.

  Before I can ask any real questions about the puppets or the furniture or the life-sized buffalo made from buttons that I now see in the other room, Mrs. Chang disappears down a hallway.

  She comes back carrying shoes.

  These are not regular footwear.

  First of all, the shoes are made of leather but also of fabric that looks like ribbons and is sunny orange and bright, bright blue. It ends in a tip that curls in a complete circle.

  I don’t even try them on before I say, “You made these?!”

  I don’t care if they fit.

  They can give me blisters or hammertoe, which is what Grandma Mittens said happened to her from wearing bad shoes when she was a teenager in a very cold climate.

  I want to take these shoes and not just wear them: I want to hug them.

  I look up, and I have tears in my eyes, so Mrs. Chang is now all blurry. I say, “You made these for me?”

  She nods like it’s no big deal. But I can tell she’s happy, because she takes a seat on the fuzzy orange couch and she adjusts the pleats on her skirt in sort of a formal way.

  I go over to her. “Are you a famous creator or something?”

  She laughs but then says, “I did date one of the Beatles a long time ago. I was very young. It was before I met Ivan.”

  I know that the Beatles were a big-deal music group that changed the way people thought about getting haircuts. They sang songs that were pretty good because you can still listen to them today and not get angry. If you were born at a certain time, which was long, long ago, you had a favorite Beatle.

  It is unusual that Mrs. Chang dated one.

  I can’t imagine her dating anybody. But I’m not interested in her love life. Right now I’m just crazy about these shoes.

  I drop to the floor, pull off my sneakers, and carefully slip the left shoe on my foot. I look up at Mrs. Chang and try not to scream: “It fits!”

  I’m more wild with the second shoe; I jam my toes inside and spring back up to my feet. Right then and there it happens: I feel like a Munchkin.

  A real one.

  I grab Mrs. Chang’s hand and I pull her up off
the orange couch and I start singing as I twirl her around.

  I have to say that she’s pretty light on her feet, and she spins and even holds up her arm when she turns, which is a nice touch.

  We sing and dance until I’m so out of breath and dizzy that I realize I have to go home.

  ELEVEN

  My mom and dad and Randy love the shoes.

  Tim doesn’t do more than shrug, but that’s because he’s at what my parents say is “the difficult age.” I’m not sure if it’s difficult for him, or for us because we have to live with him. He has his guitar and his drawing, and we’re just people who eat at the same dining table.

  My mom says I’m getting valuable experience about men by having two brothers. I don’t ask her what I’m learning exactly, because it’s important in life to have a positive attitude about the future.

  I can’t wait to go to rehearsal with my new Munchkin footwear. The best thing about the shoes is that Mrs. Chang is very smart and so she made them by starting first with ballet slippers. She took my brown shoes so that she’d know my size, and then she bought new ballet slippers to be the “foundation for her work.”

  Mrs. Chang explained that when you are creating something, it helps to have a solid start.

  I guess this is a kind of trick, because she lowered her voice to a whisper.

  I’m wondering if making pasta by beginning with a jar of spaghetti sauce from the market and then adding in wine and herbs is an example of this. My mom does that. I don’t ask my mom anything about her tricks in the kitchen because she’s really busy with work and three kids, and if I show too much interest in cooking I might end up having to make dinner for my family.

  My friend Piper finds herself in this position because her mom has a job at the airport and she works bad hours. My dad doesn’t do much except reheat food in the kitchen or BBQ. My mom says he acts like he’s from another era when it comes to meals. Maybe she means he’s a caveman because he likes cooking meat over flames.

  I think Randy would like a pair of Munchkin shoes, but Mrs. Chang didn’t say anything about making footwear for him too, and right now I feel like she and I have a special relationship.