by Chad Morris
“That’s an amazing gift,” Dad said.
I nodded.
He sat down in the chair Nadia had been spinning in before. “Sorry to leave you this morning. You were just sleeping so sound I figured you might need a little bit of a break. Are you doing okay?”
I put the lantern back in the box. “Yeah, actually. Much better.” I think my talk with Marc had really made a difference. Or the cookie. Or both.
He scooted a little closer. “I have something else I want to talk about. You took that whale dying really hard,” he said.
I nodded.
“And it’s been tough to move back here and to have lost your mom.”
I nodded again. I didn’t like where this was going.
“And Masha said,” he paused for a moment, “that you talk to whales.”
Oh no. I’m not sure how I didn’t see that coming, but I didn’t. And I wasn’t ready to talk to him about Meg.
I shrugged.
“Look,” he said, “that may be a good thing to do. I don’t know.” He rubbed his face. “I mean, I know you’ve been through something really hard, but I don’t know what’s the best way to deal with it. I’m not a professional counselor or anything.”
I looked at him, wondering what he was trying to say. I kind of wished he would just go back to doing cheesy magic tricks.
“Which actually is what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said and took a deep breath. “Willa, when I saw you the other day, on that beach, unable to move, I knew that your pain was intense.” He scratched his big brown beard. “Some pain in life is expected. Kind of like sometimes you’ll get a bruise or you’ll scrape your knee. You don’t run to the emergency room for those things. But some pain needs help from a specialist. If you needed stitches or your appendix burst, you’d need to see a doctor who could help you.” He paused again. “What I’m trying to say is that maybe it’s time that you saw a therapist.”
He tried to explain why this was a good idea but all I kept hearing was that my dad thought I was broken.
Maylan Twitchell, Journal #13, twelve years ago
Willa took her first steps today. I had to pick her up so many times. She just kept falling. It was so discouraging to her, but for me I knew it would turn out well. She just always has to keep trying. And know that I’ll always be there to help. And her dad. And lots of others.
“How is the blue whale pod doing?” I asked across the ocean. There were a few people milling about Blue, so I stayed by the tide pools. I didn’t worry about the people hearing me talk. They were far enough away and the wind was whipping so loudly around us I’m sure they couldn’t hear a thing. And unless I was wrong, no one else seemed to be able to hear Meg.
I think Meg rolled a little before answering. “Hurting,” she said. “They started a mourning song and the pod has been singing it ever since. They trade off who sings, but there is always someone singing. And they won’t leave until they are finished.”
“How long will that last?” I asked. Even though it was amazingly sad, I kind of liked the idea. They sang their sadness. I, unfortunately, was a terrible singer. But the idea of a tribute like that sounded nice.
“I don’t know,” Meg said. “Maybe a couple of days.”
Those poor whales.
“And how are you doing, Willa?” Meg asked.
“I’m okay,” I said, walking out on the edge of the pools. “I still hurt too, but it really helps that I think Marc and I are definitely friends again. We had a great talk, and a cookie. Both were really good.”
“What’s a cookie?” Meg asked.
The fact that she had to ask that question made me wonder if Meg had ever really known happiness. I tried to think of it in terms that a whale would understand. “It’s like the best food you’ve ever tasted, with more of the best stuff you’ve ever tasted on top of it, with another best food sprinkled on top.”
“Like mackerel with krill and then plankton on top?” Meg sang happily.
“No,” I said, not holding back a disgusted face. Meg wouldn’t be able to see my face anyway. Those fish stacked on each other were nothing like a cookie. If Marc asked if I wanted to go eat mackerel with krill I think that might have made our friendship worse. But Meg did have the right idea for her. “Well, maybe it would be like that for you, I guess.”
“And yesterday I got one of my mom’s old journals. I’ve been reading it just a little at a time. I don’t want to go through it too fast.” And I didn’t. I wouldn’t. It was like my mom was talking to me. She talked about my first steps and everyone supporting me. I loved it. I’d learned a lot since then.
I kicked at a little collection of pebbles on the beach. “But also, yesterday, my dad found out that I talk to you and he thinks I’m making it up. That it’s pretend.” I hated that. It didn’t feel like Dad was behind me.
“He does?” Meg seemed surprised, but then changed her tone. “Actually, that makes sense. Other whales would think I’m making it up too.”
I grimaced. “I know. But I can talk to you. I can. And now he’s worried I might be a little more,” it was hard to say, “. . . broken than he thought.”
“Oh, dear. Are you?” Meg asked.
“Maybe a little,” I said. Then I realized that Meg probably pictured something like a piece of coral breaking off. “I mean, I’m not really broken. It’s not like my heart is actually cracked. But I still get really sad and I might need extra help.” I waited a moment. “But I don’t want them to tell me to stop talking to you. I like talking to you.”
“I like it too,” Meg said.
“But if I have to go to a therapist, people might find out I’m broken. And that might ruin everything with Marc,” I said, scooping up a handful of pebbles.
“A therapist?” Meg asked.
I started picking out the white rocks from my palm. “It’s a person that you talk to who helps you with your problems.”
“Why would people not like it if you were getting better?” Meg asked.
I opened my mouth to answer, but didn’t have anything to say. I picked out a few more white pebbles, then threw them back into the ocean.
“I’ve heard,” Meg said, “that in the Antarctic there are penguins.” She paused. “Do you know what a penguin is?”
“Yes,” The question felt odd. Everyone knew what a penguin was. I bet even Hannah could point one out.
“Wonderful,” Meg said. “I didn’t. A friend had to explain them to me. I don’t migrate south enough to see them. And you can’t find them up north anywhere.” She let out a musical sigh. “Where was I? Oh, right. The dad penguin is in charge of the egg for two cold months while the mother treks to the ocean to hunt. He sits on the egg to keep it warm and because he needs to stay with the egg he gets so very hungry. But still, he doesn’t abandon his child. The whale who told me the story said that these dads can get so hungry waiting that they can be half their weight by the time the mother returns with food.”
“Those are really good dads,” I said, trying to guess the moral of this story.
“Yes, indeed,” Meg said, then added, “Why was I telling you this story?”
“Because I have a good dad too?”
Meg laughed. “Oh, yes, you do. You really do. But I wanted you to see that sometimes we are all like that egg. And we need help. That egg couldn’t keep itself warm. That egg couldn’t go hunting. It needs its father. It’s not bad to need help sometimes.”
That sounded like something my dad would say, except without the penguins. He had tried to explain to me that going to a therapist shouldn’t be any more embarrassing than seeing a dentist when you have a toothache. That seeing a therapist when you needed to was actually the smart thing to do. It would be foolish not to take care of a broken arm. And it would be foolish not to see a therapist when you really needed one. If someone’s emotions are hur
t badly, the wise thing to do is to get help. He even said that he went to a therapist right after the divorce.
Maybe my dad and Meg were right. I’d think about it some more.
“I need help with something else right now,” I said, running my hand over the rough rock of the tide pool while the spray misted me. “The people around here don’t know what to do with Blue. There are rumors that they want to cut him up or even explode him. I don’t like it.”
Meg made a disapproving sound. “I don’t like that either,” she said. “Is there anything we can do to change that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m really thinking about it.”
“You have a big heart, Willa,” Meg said. “That’s one thing that tragedy can do for people. When someone loses their mother, they have a bigger heart toward someone else who loses someone.”
Maybe that was true. I did feel really strongly about this. “But,” I said, “if we were to measure hearts, yours is definitely bigger.”
“True,” Meg said with a sing-songy laugh. Hers was probably bigger than my entire chest. “In size. But I really like yours.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but what can I do for Blue? How do I give him a respectful goodbye?”
Meg thought for a moment. “For humpbacks, we stay by our loved one while they float. And when they fall, we say goodbye and move on.”
I had to think about that for a moment, picture it. “I like that idea,” I said. I wished Blue could be in the ocean surrounded by his family, and then they could move on once he sank. It would be like a whale underwater funeral. “But I don’t think that’s going to work. He’s stranded here; we don’t have a way to get him far enough into the ocean.” I had to think of something else.
“Hmmm,” Meg thought. “I’m not very familiar with what you do on land. Could you get your pod together to do something for him?”
Me and my pod?
I started to think about that, and then I had an idea.
Maylan Twitchell, Journal #13, twelve years ago
I saw three specimens of Oxycomanthus Bennetti feather stars on this afternoon’s dive. One of them was swimming, which is still one of the most entrancing things to see in all the ocean. It was beautiful, with key lime and neon yellow legs, flipping over and over each other, like a swimming spider. This one had close to forty or fifty legs moving in a synchronization that was completely hypnotizing.
It’s funny to think that less than 200 years ago we thought that these were stationary plants, and then when we figured out that they were animals in the 1800s, we still only believed that they crawled along the bottom of the sea bed. But science was wrong again. They move like nothing else on this planet. We have to be careful about being too sure that we’re right sometimes.
“So we’ve got some ideas, but it’s still not enough,” I said, my legs pushing hard against the pedals. It had been a few days. Blue was stinkier. The crowds came and went. And I had asked my dad for help. That was hard after he said I should think about seeing a therapist. But I asked, and he helped. He had some breakthrough ideas and was emailing and calling people about them. I hoped his ideas worked. But even if they did, it wouldn’t completely solve the problem. We asked Jean, and she had some helpful connections, too.
“I know,” Marc said, riding his bike beside me. “But I think we’re on the right trail.” His family was also thinking of ways to help Blue.
As I glanced over at my friend, I noticed that he was a little different—a little happier. He still hadn’t told me what had been bothering him. I guess it was too much for now. But ever since we chatted over cookies, we spoke more often. And it wasn’t just about my mom, or this meeting with the city. We just talked.
Except about the exploding whale video. I didn’t want to talk about that.
I had asked my pod for help. Good move. But right now, I was glad that I asked Marc if there was any way we could get back to swim team. And though he was nervous, he agreed to ask his parents for the money. He didn’t tell me why that was hard, but he did it. And they surprised him. They didn’t know he was going to swim team and despite whatever problem they were having, they agreed to pay.
He was still worried about the money, but we were headed back to the community pool.
“Maybe we should ask Mr. Norton,” I said, still pedaling. “He might be able to help.”
“And,” Marc said, “we could ask one of the other smartest people I know.”
“Perfect,” I said. “Who?”
He smiled a dolphin-like mischievous smile. “Lizzy Wallace.”
I glared at him.
“No way,” I said, pumping my pedals a little harder. “She’s the worst.” Like a barnacle clinging to my boat.
“Nope,” Marc said. “Lex Luthor is the worst. Hitler is the worst. ET on Atari was the worst. Lizzy is just a smart girl.”
I liked the idea of comparing her to a supervillain or a horrible video game. “She’s always trying to show off how much better she is at everything. And then she rubs my face in it. Grades, debate, swim. Anytime she can.”
“Lizzy?” Marc asked. He was panting a little. We had to ride up a hill to get to the community center. “She isn’t mean,” he said. “Sure, she’s smart and is always trying to get attention for it. And maybe she does some awkward stuff, but she isn’t mean.” He pedaled a few more times. “At least I don’t think she’s trying to be.”
“Are you kidding me?” I almost growled out the words as we climbed the hill. “She’s my enemy.”
“She is not,” Marc said. “You don’t have an enemy.”
“Yes, she is,” I said.
“She asks about scores. And she wants to win debates.” He panted more as we crested the hill and pulled into the community center parking lot. “In fact, I think in some ways you two are a lot alike.”
I almost fell off my bike.
“No,” I said, bumping my wheels up the curb and zooming towards the bike rack.
“Yeah,” he said. “When she finishes swimming, she looks around to see how she did compared to everyone else. You do the same thing. She cares about test scores a lot. So do you. You’ve asked me what I got on tests before, too. And you’ve mentioned what you got, and that was always better than me.” I had. I remembered that. But I didn’t do it to rub Marc’s face in it, like Lizzy did to me. At least, that’s not how I meant it. “And when you win something, you look really proud of yourself too. It’s not bad. It’s just what you and Lizzy do.”
I think my mouth fell open, like largemouth-bass open. There was no way he was right. Right?
“What are you guys talking about?” a voice asked by the entrance. We turned and Lizzy was holding the door open. And she looked just as super confident and annoying as ever.
“Just stuff,” Marc said as we walked toward the door. Not a brilliant cover, but it would do.
“It’s good to see you,” she said. “We missed you last practice.” And she did one of her annoying, I’m-better-than-you smiles. “But I warn you, I got faster while you guys have been gone.” Yep. Same Lizzy. Now she could feel better about herself because I was back to being the slow one.
But as I walked past her, I wondered if maybe it was just a normal smile—not a fake I’m-better-than-you smile. And maybe she just wanted attention. That wasn’t the same as being mean. It’s possible she needed it bad enough that she didn’t notice that it could make other people feel bad.
Maybe it was just how she tried to get through middle school.
Maybe.
And maybe I would ask for her help.
Maylan Twitchell, Journal #13, twelve years ago
Migration means different things to different animals.
Creatures in the mesopelagic zone travel from the dark deep to the surface every evening, looking for a meal or favorable temperatures, and then make their w
ay back down every morning. A daily migration.
Whales, to the best of our knowledge, migrate every year from the cold waters to the warm waters and back again. An annual migration.
The bluefish tuna is born off the coast of Japan and swims to California, 5,000 miles, when it is still very young. There it will spend several years growing, then return all of the way back to Japan to spawn. A life migration.
All of these creatures know better than to just stay where they are. They need to be on the move. They have somewhere they’re supposed to be.
And if they are going to make a terrifying, dangerous, amazing journey, isn’t it great that they’ve got schools and pods and families to help them out?
The city council room was underwhelming to say the least. I was expecting at least dark solid wood desks that looked like a courtroom, or maybe an ornate podium. Nope. Instead, the Tupkuk Island City Council, all five of them, met in the back of the city building in a multipurpose room. There was a portable basketball hoop pushed up against the wall and thin, worn carpet on the floor. We all were seated in metal folding chairs and there wasn’t enough room for everyone to sit. People lined the back and were even standing in the hall outside the door. It was probably a record attendance, but for such a small room that wasn’t very many.
My dad sat beside me, nervously playing with his beard. He’d even bought a new suit. He didn’t have to come. I could have ridden my bike here all by myself. Of course, that would have been hard in a dress. I learned that trick from Lizzy. The dress might just make me seem more confident, more professional. I had given my presentation in front of my dad several times now, but he seemed more nervous than I was.
Still, I was glad he was here. And surrounding us was the rest of my pod. All my stepsibs were dressed up nice and sitting by us. Except Masha, who was standing in the doorway, bouncing baby Hannah. She was dressed in a nice red dress and smiled at me when I turned to look at her.
