Up From the Blue (9 page)

“I’m really going home?”

“You’re a terrible, rotten listener, Tillie.”

I beamed at him, suddenly wishing I’d taken the cigarette.

BY MORNING THE MUD
had baked into a hard crust. I walked through the tire tracks, my mind already wandering through the new house, only guessing how it might look with our decorations—the dolls and wall hangings—and Momma playing the music we liked, turned up so loud I’d feel it thumping inside of me.

“You’re up early,” Anne said, coming out on to the porch. “And already dressed, I see. But I worry you’ll be cold on the plane.” She looked at my legs, but mostly at the bruise I knew she wanted me to cover.

“Momma made this for me,” I said, smoothing my scooter skirt—a pair of shorts but with a bib across the front, where Momma had embroidered a robin.

“All right, then. But we do have to get you spruced up for your flight. Can you get this through your hair?” she asked,
handing me a comb. “I don’t want your father to think I didn’t take good care of you.”

Momma knew how to comb carefully from the bottom, and since she’d stopped getting out of bed, Dad had taken over—the braids not quite tight enough, the elastic tangling at the ends. I’d never tried to fix my hair myself. I took the comb, and right away, it got caught in the knots.

“Let me try,” she said, but I never felt the comb touch my head, as if she just stood there staring at my hair, not at all sure where to start. After a while, she simply went inside without saying a word. I was glad to have my last moments there to myself, feeling the sun heat the top of my head and imagining how it would be to run to Momma.

“Hold still,” Anne said.

She’d come back out of the house with a pair of scissors. Sitting behind me, her legs squeezed round my shoulders, she began to snip. I sat frozen in place as three- and four-inch pieces fell around me. When she was done, she combed through the snarls with no problem, and I felt my face heat up.

“Much better,” she said.

I grabbed my stomach and bent over.

“Tillie. Tillie, what’s wrong?”

“You did it because you don’t like me,” I said, my face pressed into my knees.

“What would give you an idea like that?” she asked.

“The doctor told me.”

“Walter told you that?”

I nodded and felt the tears and snot against my legs.

“Well, it’s just not true,” she said. “Come on. Sit up.”

I sat up but kept my face turned away from her, embarrassed that I cared what she thought.

“Your hair looks very pretty,” she said. “Let’s go inside so you can see for yourself.”

There was a long mirror on the bathroom door, and she stood behind me, tucking my hair behind my ears. “See? Didn’t I tell you?”

“I look like a boy,” I said.

“Well, I don’t think you do at all,” she said. “Actually, I was thinking we have the same haircut now. I hope you’re not telling me
I
look like a boy.”

I pouted but kept staring into the mirror because it was an impressive pout. I stuck out my chin a little more and said, “I just want to go home.”

“You’ll be home by this evening. And I hope you’ll tell your father how good the food was. And how much fun you had taking bubble baths.”

“I’ll show him my bruise.”

“Here. I have an idea,” Anne said, putting her hand around my shoulder and pulling me away from the mirror. She went to the stereo and turned up the violins. Then, awkwardly, she extended her hands to me while she swayed her hips. “Come join me, Tillie. This is fun. Let’s have one good dance before you go.”

I stood completely still, so embarrassed for her I had to shut my eyes.

“Maybe not this trip, I guess,” she said, patting me on the shoulder. “Here, let’s get you packed.”

“I just want to go home.”

THE PASSENGERS IN THE
airport waiting room smiled and chuckled as I hobbled past, and I waved back at them.

“Do you want me to get your book out?” Anne asked, finding a seat.

I shook my head. Swinging my legs, clasping and unclasping my hands, I was too excited about going home. I tried pulling my hair over my shoulder, but it was too short.

“I can’t wait to see Momma,” I said.

She frowned ever so slightly. “I know, whatever awaits you, you’ll do just fine,” she said.

“I’ll tell her all about my leg.”

“It’s just a bruise, Tillie. Remember we had a doctor check it.”

A stewardess came to my seat and bent down in front of me. “Is this the young girl who will be flying today?”

Anne did all the answering while the stewardess pinned flight wings to my shirt.

“And you’ve never been on an airplane before, is that right?”

Several times I’d peeked inside the cockpits of fighter jets, but again, Anne answered for me and said this was my first time.

“I think you’ll do just fine,” the stewardess said.

“Yes. You’ll do just fine,” Anne agreed. She stood and hugged me into the belt of her dress. And only then, as I gasped for air and tried to pull my face away from her waist, did I understand I’d be flying alone.

When she stopped hugging me, she noticed the panic in my eyes and told me, “You can do it. You can face whatever’s ahead.”

Something about this statement worried me, but before I could ask what she meant, the stewardess squeezed my hand in hers, saying, “Just focus on who you’ll be seeing on the other side.”

My mother was on the other side, with her bright orange
hair and watery eyes, and the thought of her waiting for me helped a lot. Soon I was smiling and remembering to drag my bruised leg through the tunnel that would take us to the plane. And behind me, farther and farther away, Anne pleaded, “Stop it. Stop limping. There’s nothing wrong with your leg.”

7
National Airport

I
FELT POSITIVELY GIDDY. NO
one told me flying on an airplane would be like this. I could press a button at will to bring lovely ladies, all dressed alike, hovering about my seat. They came with drinks and peanuts and playing cards. They came with gum when my ears hurt.

Mostly I pressed the button to tell them how delicious the food was, how the ginger ale bubbles had tickled my nose. I pressed it to find out where my mother might buy the beautiful outfits they wore. And I pressed it to ask if I was really and truly allowed to keep the miniature suitcase they’d given me that was round and dark blue with a little zipper along the top.

“Really? Are you sure?” I asked. Because when you unzipped it, there was a needle and colored thread inside, and an emery board, and best of all, a shower cap! What a marvelous way to hide a terrible haircut.

For the entire fight, I wore that shower cap, and when we landed, the stewardess waited with me until all the other passengers
exited the plane before she walked me through the tunnel. “Keep a lookout for your mother,” she told me, holding my hand and carrying my suitcase. I carried the smaller one. And though I was anxious to see Momma, we had to go slowly because of my bruised leg, which I dragged beside me, the brave girl walking, miraculously, without crutches. Out of the tunnel and into a waiting room of faces that turned my way, I looked for her orange hair.

“Right here,” Dad called.

As I stood with my hands on my hips, searching the terminal, he thanked the stewardess, who smiled and said, “She’s a lively one.”

“Yes. We’re working on that.” He nodded thanks to the stewardess, and reached out to take my chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Where’s Momma?” I asked.

“Slow down. The first thing I need to do is check out this leg.”

“The doctor almost sawed it off.”

“I’ll bet,” he said. “And it can’t be easy walking on a hurt leg when you have your shoes on the wrong feet.”

He lifted me up on a low brick wall, beside a couple of indoor trees. “We need to give those shoes a clean while we’re at it. Phil, stay with Tillie while I get some napkins.”

My brother, who hadn’t said hello yet, scowled at me. “Take that off your head,” he said. “Don’t be so stupid.”

I reached up and felt the shower cap. “Anne just cut my hair without asking,” I said, pulling it off. “See? She didn’t even try to do a good job.”

“There are bigger things to complain about,” he said, his voice distant and almost chilly. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“What don’t I know?”

“Just that things are pretty different in the new house.”

“What’s so different?”

Over my shoulder he saw Dad approaching with a handful of napkins. “Dad says it’s not mine to tell,” he said abruptly. “You’ll just have to wait.”

I knew this cautious language. There was something Dad wanted Phil to keep quiet about, and I feared it had to do with Momma.

“What?” I asked again. “Tell me.” But I knew to stop talking as Dad came near.

He sat beside me, put one of my feet across his lap and began rubbing the dirt off my shoes. “What did you get into?” he asked.

“Mud.”

“I see that. Next time, go around the mud.” He gripped my ankle and pulled off one sandal.

“Momma didn’t come?”

He shook his head, pulling off the other sandal. My leg relaxed in his grip.

“Dad?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Is something wrong with her?”

“Tillie, that’s a big question,” he said, buckling one shoe on to the correct foot. “She needs a lot of rest these days.” He took my other foot into his lap and went to work.

“I know she’s tired, Dad. But why?”

“It’s not for you to worry about,” he said, buckling the other sandal and patting the top of it to let me know he was all done. “Tennis shoes next time.”

I nodded, then showed him the bruise. He whistled as he turned my leg left and right to see the length of it, and it was
impressive, much larger than the initial hurt. I giggled when he whistled again, wondering how it was I’d forgotten to miss him while I was gone.

NATIONAL AIRPORT WAS A
blur of men and women dashing past in their tailored suits. I held tight to Dad’s hand through the terminal, and then through the enormous parking lot.

I was grateful to see our station wagon again and to have the backseat to myself, where I could curl up against something that smelled like our family. I didn’t see any of the scenery during the drive to our new home—not the bridges over the Potomac River or the white monuments standing taller than all the other buildings. I didn’t see us race through the beltway with the cars lit up in the dark or the sign as we entered Montgomery County, Maryland. I didn’t see the outside of our suburban house before I saw the inside.

I woke up the next morning in a sleeping bag in a bare living room, horrified that I’d not stayed awake to see Momma the night before. As I crawled out of the sleeping bag, I realized I’d wet myself and paused, only a moment, with the embarrassment of greeting her in damp and smelly clothes.

I followed my nose to the kitchen, where Dad stood over the electric fryer, turning slices of french toast. “Where’s Momma?” I asked, touching all the knobs and woodwork in the room, trying to feel ownership of the new house.

“Just sit now,” Dad said. “Eat.”