by Susan Tan
3
SYNONYMS ARE SERIOUS BUSINESS
A Synonym is a word that means the same thing as another. So, for example, you could say Gwen’s dances are “funny” or “amusing” (or “destructive” or “make a huge mess around the house”), depending on how you look at it.
We’re learning about Synonyms in school. I love this unit, because Synonyms are all about giving you new ways to say things and new ways to see them. So if something’s really important, you can say it in lots of different ways, like “I am destined for greatness,” and also “fated for celebrity,” plus “on the road to fame.”
Synonyms can also add new meanings to your words. So I could say, “Dad’s new job means he’s busy.” But I could also use a Synonym and say, “Dad’s new job means he’s overloaded” or “buried under work” or “a mess” (which all are Synonyms for the same idea, but each with an added layer of chaos).
There’s even a special book called a thesaurus, which has lists and lists of Synonyms. Which is great to know, because words are always excellent to learn.
Or at least, that’s how things should be.
But ever since Mimi Donnelly, it’s like I haven’t been able to stop looking for new Synonyms. Less-great Synonyms.
So if I want to tell a fun story at recess, I wonder if another Synonym for fun is maybe “Silly.” Or “Immature.” And sometimes, I don’t end up telling my story, after all, because I’m not quite sure how to tell the difference.
Now that I know to listen for these Synonyms too, I’m realizing that they’re EVERYWHERE. In fact, when you know what to listen for, it’s hard to be on the playground without overhearing conversations that seem to have them. Like:
“Middle school is going to be the best because there won’t be all this little-kid stuff, they don’t even have swings there.” (Phoebe.)
Or:
“My mom tutors eighth graders and they all look super grown-up, not like any of the kids here.” (Leah.)
Or:
“I don’t know why my parents can’t let me be more Independent. They don’t believe I can handle things on my own, but I CAN, I know it.” (Colleen.)
And every time I hear these things I worry a little, because I’m not always sure what’s Independence, and if I’m doing it right, and if I’ll be Immature if I don’t do things on my own. Which is why I haven’t really told Colleen or my parents about Mimi and her friend Lisa. But that at least works out, because heroes usually work alone, especially when it comes to the big Epic showdown. So I know my Independence will really pay off.
It’s also been harder to enjoy band. In fact, I haven’t practiced much at all in the last week. Mr. Kendall keeps saying things like, “Come on, Cilla, you should know this song by now,” and my mom and dad keep saying things like, “Cilla, what’s up? You love practicing.”
Which is true. But my tuba has changed since that day with Mimi. It doesn’t seem like a Magical Talisman anymore, which is supposed to make you feel good and safe and protected. Now when I’m in band, instead of enjoying the feeling of puffing out my cheeks and hearing how all the different sounds come together in a song, I’m wondering what other people are thinking. I wonder if they think I’m weird. Or if they’re asking themselves why I’m here, in the brass section. And most of all, I’m wondering about Synonyms.
Because I hadn’t known that “girl” is a Synonym for “not allowed to play the tuba.”
Today, this was bugging me more than usual. Because OF COURSE Mimi Donnelly and Lisa play the flute. And just before we started practice, Lisa leaned over and whispered something to Mimi. They looked back toward me and giggled.
I thought about asking Colleen about the tuba at recess, because Colleen is in band too and plays the oboe. But apparently there was an Emergency Yearbook Meeting. And Melissa isn’t in band, so she doesn’t really know how it works. So when I asked, “Do you think it’s weird that I play the tuba?” she just said, “No, I think it’s great! Why?”
“No reason,” I said with a little sigh.
“Well,” Melissa said, looking at me like she was trying figure out a puzzle, or take a temperature, “do you want to do origami?”
“I guess,” I said, trying to sound more excited than I felt (I usually LOVE origami and Melissa is a GREAT teacher, and it was nothing against it or her. I just wasn’t in an origami kind of mood).
“Okay. Or…,” she went on, “I was just reading a book about these girls who find fairies outside and leave them food and make houses for them during the day to come live in at night. I thought it would be a fun game.”
“YES,” I said. “And we could use leaves for roofs and acorns for cups and bowls.”
“YES,” she said. We were both grinning. “Let’s grab some supplies, there’s a pile of leaves by the swings!”
“Okay,” I said. “Only…” I glanced over at the swings. Mimi was there with her friends.
“Only, why don’t we go play in the field?” I asked, gesturing the other way, where there were less leaves but a lot more grass and empty space and not-Mimis-and-Lisas. “There’s more stuff out there.”
“Okay!” Melissa said.
And we ran off to build houses out of sticks and grass, far away from everyone else, where no one could hear our stories or think we were Silly or come up with more Synonyms to tell us what we could or couldn’t do.
* * *
This afternoon, Ye Ye picked me up from school.
“I thought we could have a special afternoon together,” he said, “in Chinatown.”
“Yes!” I said. Because Chinatown is one of my favorite, treasured, cherished places on earth. (All Synonyms that mean it’s GREAT.)
“I just have to drop something off at the community center,” he said. “So we’ll swing by there first.”
The community center is a small brick building, right next to a highway at the edge of Chinatown. But inside, you’d never know that the road was so close. Inside, all you can hear are the sounds of people talking and laughing, sometimes in English but mostly in Chinese.
We walked in, and everyone said, “Hello, hello!” when they saw us, because EVERYONE knows Ye Ye. In fact, just walking down the hallway took a while because so many people said hi and asked questions and sometimes in between the Chinese I heard things like, “Tutoring tomorrow?” And Ye Ye saying things like, “Of course!” and “Did the new books come in for the reading room?” and “Ay yah, Mrs. Cheung fell? Give me her phone number, I’ll go sit with her this weekend.”
We waved goodbye as we left, and I promised to come back and visit again soon. Then, together, we turned away from the highway, into Chinatown, and walked to our favorite dumpling restaurant for a soup dumpling snack, laughing and talking all the way.
Soup dumplings come in big woven baskets. They’re thick, chewy dumplings filled with hot, delicious soup broth. To eat them you bite off the tops, being careful so you won’t spill the soup inside. Then you slurp out the broth, balancing your dumpling on a wide, flat spoon. I’m VERY good at this, though when one of my dumplings burst as I tried to pick it up with my chopsticks (which is always Tragic because then the soup inside spills out), Ye Ye took it instead and gave me his unbroken one, which is probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.
And except when we were slurping our dumplings, there were no quiet moments at all, because Ye Ye and I always have SO MANY things to talk about. I told him all about Melissa and the fairies and how INCREDIBLE the yearbook’s going to be because Colleen is working on it. (Though I didn’t tell him about the tuba. In fact, when he asked about it I said, “I don’t care about the tuba anymore, it’s just not for me.” His forehead wrinkled when I said this, and he looked at me funny. But he saw that I didn’t want to talk about it, so he didn’t ask anything else. Which was nice of him.)
All around us were SO MANY people who knew Ye Ye, and even the waiters waved and came over to say hello.
“Do you come to Chinatown every day?�
� I asked, between dumpling bites.
“Most days,” he said. “Since I retired.”
“And you help people, and do things for the community center?”
“Mmmhmm.” He nodded as he slurped a dumpling.
“Why?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, laying down his spoon and chopsticks to rest on his plate, “when I first came to America, I was all by myself. I didn’t know anyone. That’s very lonely. But then I found Chinatown. They took me in, and taught me to get around, and invited me into their homes. They were like my family. Auntie Linda’s mom even helped me get new clothes for a college dance, because I didn’t know what to wear.”
“Really?!” I said, giggling a little at the idea of Ye Ye trying to get fancy for a dance. “That was so nice of them.”
“Yes,” he said with a happy, remembering kind of smile. “So, now that I can, I volunteer. I tutor English, or I give advice to students who are here on their own, like I was. Or I just talk with them, so they won’t be lonely. And sometimes I visit people around Chinatown if they’re home sick, or just need company.”
“Wow, Ye Ye,” I said.
I knew he spent a lot of time in Chinatown. But I had NO idea he did all of this. And I’d never heard about these feelings from when he was younger.
“When you were lonely,” I asked, “was it because you were the only one? I mean, the only student from China?”
“Yes,” he said. “There were a few others, but not many. And American students sometimes wouldn’t talk with us, and made fun of us.”
“NO,” I gasped.
“Unfortunately, yes,” he said. “They thought we shouldn’t be there.”
“But … you were a student too!” I said, feeling my cheeks get hot because that was a long time ago but it wasn’t fair at all. And suddenly, all these feelings were pouring out. “What did you do?” I asked. “And how do you make people see that you’re supposed to be there? And what if they always think you don’t belong, and that you’re not mature or Serious, or, I mean…” I trailed off, frustrated.
Ye Ye reached across the table and took my hand.
“You know, Cilla,” he said slowly, “there will always be people like this. But when I was young, I just decided to live my life and ignore them. When people do this, it’s because of them. Maybe they’re ignorant, or scared of something, or they’re just not happy with themselves. All you can do is keep on going and remember—it’s their problem. Not yours.”
“Oh,” I said.
We were quiet for a few minutes after that, but that was okay, because there were more soup dumplings to slurp. Which is a nice way to spend time when you’re also thinking.
“Do you have homework for today?” Ye Ye asked.
“A little,” I said. “Actually, there’s this marching song we learned in band today that I should practice. You’ll love it too—can I play it for you at home?”
“Perfect.” Ye Ye smiled. “I can’t wait.”
* * *
It was a beautiful day as we left Chinatown. So we walked and enjoyed the clear sky and the fall leaves crunching around us. As we rounded a corner, talking and laughing, I suddenly saw something that made me gasp.
It was a BEAUTIFUL carousel, all carved in wood and painted in bright colors.
“Wow,” I said, just as he said, “Wah,” because it had the most beautiful animals, not just horses, but also foxes, and rabbits, and whales, and butterflies. I looked at my Ye Ye and grinned, and he looked at me and grinned, and we understood each other perfectly.
I rode a giant turtle, a hawk, and an owl. And on each new ride, Ye Ye made a big show of getting up on an animal in one big jump, which made me laugh and clap because it was really impressive. He rode a lobster (which was very funny, and we made lobster-pincer shapes with our hands while he did), a butterfly, and a fox.
It was the BEST carousel I’ve ever been on, and we both wanted to stay. I sort of hoped we’d be able to ride every single animal (except maybe the squirrel, because there’s something about the idea of a squirrel that’s bigger than me that I don’t like).
But Ye Ye looked at his watch and said, “Ay yah, your Nai Nai will worry if we don’t get home. Not to mention the tuba!”
But before we left we took one last ride, me on a rabbit, him on a GIANT grasshopper. We skipped away from the carousel together, and I didn’t care who saw, because yes it was Silly and maybe not mature but it was SO MUCH FUN. On the ride home, we named our animals and imagined what the animals would do if they came to life at night and fought crime (which I’ve decided definitely happens). Then I gave a tuba concert for Nai Nai and Ye Ye at home, and they clapped, and Gwen danced, and Essie kicked to the beat.
The day had gone round and round, bad then good, up and down, and lots of other Synonyms for change.
I’d learned a lot. I’d learned about words, and band, and other things too.
And, most of all, that Ye Ye is very Wise. And quite possibly, the best Ye Ye in the world.
No other Synonyms required.
4
A NOT-SO-NORMAL DAY
Today started out normal.
And then it wasn’t.
But I’m going to start with the normal, because that’s what I wish the whole day had been.
Today I woke up with crushed Oreos in my hair that I somehow missed last night in the shower (normal).
I convinced my dad to pick out clothes for me so I could change under the comforter because it’s COLD in the mornings now (normal).
I ate cereal for breakfast (normal).
I said no when Gwen wanted to eat my cereal because she’s convinced that everything I have is better than what she has (normal).
I said, “Argh, Gwen!” when she plunked her hand into my cereal bowl and grabbed some cereal anyway (normal).
I wiped splashed milk out of my hair while Dad took Gwen away crying, and my mom helped me and said “Ew” (normal).
I caught the bus and sat with Colleen, like I always do, and we talked about how the yearbook committee is looking for the right cover and hasn’t found anything yet. She’s worried that they’ll go with something boring and the yearbook won’t be perfect. I told her that it would be perfect, because she’s working on it, and then I told her a joke that made her smile. (Normal.)
In class we practiced Synonyms (normal), and when Ms. Paradise asked, “Who can think of a Synonym for ‘good’?” she called on me, and I was SO EXCITED to tell everyone and said, “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!”
But Ms. Paradise said, “No, that’s not a real word.” Then she called on Mimi Donnelly, who said, “‘Excellent’ is a Synonym for ‘good.’”
“Perfect, Mimi!” Ms. Paradise said with a big smile. And this was all, I’m sad to say, very normal.
In band, Lisa looked at me and giggled. “Her problem, not mine,” I repeated to myself. “Her problem, not mine.” But I still “accidentally” blew in my tuba right next to her ear when she passed by the tubas to go to the bathroom (which was also her problem, not mine, plus REALLY satisfying). And this, also, is normal.
At recess, Melissa taught me and Colleen to fold paper cranes, and Tim #2 and Melvin came over to say hello, and Alien-Face ran by and said, “Silly Lee!” I shook my head and pretend-sighed and was pretend-mad, even though it makes me laugh because it’s a joke we’ve had for a long time (plus he’s always been annoying, so why stop now?).
I left recess when Mr. McKinstry blew his whistle for Library Privileges and found a new book all about a girl who’s a brilliant scientist and uses her inventions to fly and turn herself invisible. I told Ms. Clutter all about the latest Jenny Ojukwo book and how much I liked it. And when I saw Mimi Donnelly in the library too, wandering near the Fantasy section, I grabbed the book I wanted quickly and hid it in front of me so she wouldn’t see the cover and think I was Silly.
All of this, too, was normal.
And a pretty great day.
So I wasn’t expectin
g it when I got home and found my mom there waiting for me on the front steps. She’s usually at work when I get home, and my dad’s the one who waits to pick me up from the bus now.
Her face was pale, and her eyes were red, like she had been crying.
“Everything’s okay,” was the first thing she said to me, hugging me tightly. “But something’s happened. This morning, your Ye Ye had something called a stroke.”
And just like that, normal was gone.
* * *
A stroke is not what it sounds like. It’s not a stroke of luck, or a swimming stroke that takes you toward a finish line. A stroke, my mom explained, is when the blood that usually goes to our brains can’t get there. It meant that some of the cells in Ye Ye’s brain didn’t have the oxygen they needed. And it happened while Nai Nai was out running errands, so it was a while before she came home and found him and could call an ambulance.
“But Ye Ye was so brave, and Nai Nai found him and knew exactly what to do. She leaped into action so fast,” my mom said. “He’s already awake. Your dad’s at the hospital with him now. In a few days, we’ll all go see him too.”
“So … he’ll be okay, right?” I asked. “He just has to get better, and then he’ll be back to normal.”
“Well,” my mom said, “he’ll absolutely be okay. But it might take a while. Strokes can be hard to recover from, and he might need to work for a long time, before he’s on his feet again. The doctors will know more in the next few days. And you can visit him soon, maybe even tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I said quietly.
And I did feel better. Because this is my Ye Ye we’re talking about. Ye Ye who is Wise and strong, and can pick me up, and twirl me around, and leap onto giant wooden grasshoppers.
So when my mom said she thought Ye Ye would really like a card from me, Gwendolyn, and Essie, I was excited to make it. I was in charge of it, which is smart, because Gwendolyn can’t write, and even though Essie is destined for artistic fame, she hasn’t really figured out that paper is for drawing, not eating.