Cilla Lee-Jenkins: The Epic Story

by Susan Tan

  “Ha, ha-aaaacho!” my dad said, laughing and sneezing all at once, and it was impressive, and I took a picture.

  “I think you’re right, kiddo,” he said. “Um, guys, I’m just going to stand over here…,” he said, moving away from the fences.

  “WOW,” Alien-Face whispered as he went. “That is the BEST problem to have.”

  * * *

  We had a great day at the zoo. And on the way back to school, when we were all tired and smelled of sunblock, we talked about our trip and compared all the things our groups had done and seen.

  “Our group had the BEST time,” Tim #2 said. “A flamingo splashed me.”

  “Oh yeah?” Colleen said. “Well, I saw a giraffe running. It picked a leaf from a tree and chewed it right in front of me.”

  “Well, I got a feather in a deal with a peacock,” I said, pointing to the feather poking up from the front of the bus (my dad was holding it for safekeeping).

  “Yeah.” Mimi nodded in agreement. “Plus, her dad’s allergic to TIGERS. Which is EPIC.”

  “Whoa,” Tim #2 said.

  “Wow,” Colleen said.

  “That’s amazing,” Melissa and Sally said.

  “Yeah.” I smiled at Mimi. “And that.”

  Our day at the zoo gave me SO MANY ideas for new stories (because tigers, peacock robberies, and fun times with your dad are all great material for Adventures). But it gave me something else too. That day, I decided to give Mimi Donnelly another chance. Because I’m learning that, actually, everyone has a story. In fact, everyone has lots of stories. My dad is my dad, but also a son. He’s an artist too, and someone who’s going back to his art, back to what he loved as a kid, after a long time. Which is really, really brave.

  And Ye Ye and Nai Nai are my Ye Ye and Nai Nai, who love me and support me in all the things I do. But they also are a dad and a mom, who didn’t make all the right decisions, and didn’t always know the right ways to Take Care. But they’ve changed now, and that’s a really impressive story too.

  And Mimi Donnelly is a younger sister, and she worries about what other people think about her, like me. She was mean to me because she was worried about what Lisa thought. And that wasn’t right. But I know how that feels—I hurt Melissa’s feelings because I was worried too. Even Lisa probably has a story, and a reason why she thinks she has to be mean to people (not that I like her or ever will. But it’s still nice to know).

  And I knew, as I smiled at Mimi as we got off the bus, that I’d made the right choice.

  Besides, anyone who can appreciate a good Epic is okay in my book.

  12

  TIMELESSNESS

  One of the best parts of visiting with Ms. Clutter (other than hearing her funny jokes and trying to guess her superhero powers) is getting to talk about books.

  We talk about the stories we like, and the stories that don’t quite work for us. We talk about the stories that are predictable, but it’s okay because they’re still entertaining; and the stories that, once you realize what’s going to happen, aren’t fun anymore.

  Now, whenever I read a new book and it reminds me of another book I love, I add it to the lists that Ms. Clutter and I keep. And every few weeks she prints out a new “If you liked” list, and it’s really nice to see my ideas there, printed on an official piece of paper for ALL the school to see.

  And Ms. Clutter will tell me when a student comes in and says they liked a recommendation I suggested. Which makes me feel very proud.

  One of the big ideas Ms. Clutter and I have been talking about recently is something called Timelessness.

  A Timeless story is a story that everyone can enjoy and understand, no matter when or where it was written.

  Timelessness is great to talk about, because it’s the kind of story an Epic is, since Struggles, Triumphs, Drama, and dragons have been around for FOREVER, and I can’t imagine that people will stop enjoying them.

  But there’s an opposite of timeless too. This is when you’re something my mom calls “a product of your time.”

  And I’m sorry to say that when my mom says this, she’s always talking about my Grandpa Jenkins.

  “Being a product of your time” is everything but Timeless. It means that you have a hard time with new things.

  So when I noticed that, at dinner, everyone helps, and cooks, and clears, except for my Grandpa Jenkins, my mom explained that Grandpa Jenkins grew up in a different time from ours, when dads didn’t really help with the housework, or with kids.

  Once she pointed this out, I started noticing it more and more. Grandpa Jenkins never changes any of Essie’s diapers. And when Essie spits up, he wrinkles his nose and says, “Delightful,” in a kind of voice that means it’s the opposite of delightful, and hands her to someone else. And when Gwen makes a mess or starts to cry, he doesn’t know what to do.

  My mom says that it all works out because Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins have an Arrangement that works for them, but that it’s really different from what she and my dad do.

  The more Independent I get, the more I see this. I see how it makes a BIG difference. When my Grandma Jenkins makes dinner, she’s not just thinking about dinner. In the morning she has to know what’s in the refrigerator, she has to plan if she’s going to the grocery store, she has to know what dishes are in the wash, when to clean and get things ready, and on top of that she has to remember to always check Essie’s diapers and to give Gwen snacks. Having me around helps a lot, of course. But the more I do, the more I notice all the things she has to keep in her head. And Grandpa Jenkins helps, but it’s a different kind, and his head is free for other things, because he’s never thinking about things like the groceries, or cleaning, or food, or spit-up.

  It’s different at home. Because even though my mom and dad have different ways of doing things, and my mom always adds salt to the soups my dad makes when he’s not looking, and my dad sighs when my mom dusts because she’s missing the corners, they’re both still doing work. And if my mom’s having a bad day, my dad will call her and say, “Don’t worry about a thing,” and he knows that there’s A LOT involved in making her not worry: there’s the dinner to make, and kitchen to clean, and lunches to make for the next day, and the hamper to check, and bath times, and homework help for me. But he knows all this, just like she knows all this, and they both do it.

  Usually, I don’t really think about the fact that my Grandpa Jenkins is a product of his time. It’s just the way things are.

  But sometimes, it’s hard to avoid.

  Which is what happened this morning.

  * * *

  I woke up for school today excited for band, and I tried to say good morning to my mom.

  But the sound was all croaky and didn’t feel good coming from my throat. My mom frowned.

  “Are you feeling okay?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I croaked, hoping it was true. I didn’t want to miss practicing our new song.

  My mom rested her hand on my forehead, which felt soft and cool, and I realized maybe I did feel funny.

  “I think you have a fever,” she said.

  I did, and it’s the flu, and it was all ESPECIALLY awful, because usually being sick can feel like a fun treat, even if you don’t feel that great, because you get to stay home and lie on the couch and watch cartoons during the day.

  But I wanted to go to band—we only have a few more music classes left, with the school year almost over. So I want to enjoy band as much as I can now (especially since I don’t know if middle school band will be as fun, or if even more people there will make fun of me for playing the tuba).

  Then, on top of that, I found out that being sick means I won’t be able to visit Ye Ye for AT LEAST a week, because you have to make sure you’re done being sick so he doesn’t catch anything, and that was AWFUL.

  And to make everything worse, my mom had a really important meeting, and my dad had to meet a big client, and Nai Nai was running errands for Ye Ye, and Grandma Jenkins had a class to t
each.

  Which is how it happened that my Grandpa Jenkins came over to stay with me.

  At first, I tried to fight this. “I can stay home by myself,” I said. “It’s only for the morning.” But my mom said no. More specifically, “Are you kidding?! Not a chance, Young Lady” (which is a very Extreme form of no, so you know she’s Serious).

  “Well,” I said (or, really, croaked), “what if he just comes to check on me? I can take care of myself.”

  But the answer was also no.

  So then I tried to explain the real problem.

  “But, Mom,” I said. “What will we do? Grandpa Jenkins doesn’t know how to make Popsicles, or soup, or take temperatures, and he won’t like it, and—”

  “It will be fine, sweetheart,” my mom said, patting my hair and giving me a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll tell him exactly what to do, I promise.” When she says things like this it usually does make me feel better, but somehow, it didn’t just then.

  Grandpa Jenkins came over soon after that, and he brought me a book with puzzles in it, and a little plastic horse figurine to play with, which was very nice of him. My mom made me a bed on the couch, and in the other room, I could hear her telling Grandpa Jenkins all about the soup cans she was leaving out—all he had to do was heat them.

  While I heard all of this, I felt a bad rumbling in my stomach, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want my mom to miss her meeting, but most of all, I didn’t want my Grandpa Jenkins to say “delightful” in that voice that means something other than what he’s actually saying. So when my mom came over and asked, “Everything okay?” I said yes. And even though she frowned for a minute like she didn’t believe me, she said, “Okay,” and “I love you,” and she gave me a hug and a kiss and reminded me to call if I needed her, and said, “Thanks again, Dad, you’re a lifesaver.” She grabbed her briefcase and ran out the door.

  “Well, Cilla, my dear,” Grandpa Jenkins said, coming to sit in the chair next to me. “It’s just you and me. What would you like to do?”

  “Can we watch TV?” I asked in a small voice, trying to ignore the way my stomach felt.

  “Of course,” he said.

  We found a cartoon station that I liked, and I said, “I’m okay. You can sit in the other room and do your crossword, if you want” (because he loves crosswords).

  “Well, I’ll stay here,” he said. But he did pull out his crossword, and we sat there for a while like that, and I hoped the TV sounds weren’t bothering him. And even though I liked the cartoon show we’d found (the mice always do a dance after they’ve saved the world from evil, and there are some GREAT car chases), I couldn’t focus, because my head hurt and I can’t see Ye Ye for a week, and my Grandpa Jenkins didn’t think it was his job to take care of kids, and my throat was sore and my stomach, and …

  Grandpa Jenkins was saying something to me, but I wasn’t sure what, when I jumped up from the couch and ran to the bathroom, and started to be maybe a little bit sick. And it didn’t feel good, and my nose was stuffy, and I could feel my eyes hot and crying a little, and would my Grandpa Jenkins wrinkle his nose and think I was gross, and where was my mom, and—

  “Shhh, it’s okay.” I felt cool hands softly pulling my hair away from my forehead. “It’s okay, Cilla, I’m here,” my Grandpa said, rubbing my back. “Get it out, I’ll sit with you until it’s over.”

  “You…,” I said, sniffing, “you don’t have to. I’m okay.”

  “Don’t be Silly,” he said, in a nice, calm-sounding voice, rubbing my back with his hand. “Of course I won’t leave you.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  * * *

  When I was done being sick (which I’ll admit, was more than a little gross), Grandpa Jenkins took a washcloth and helped me wash my face and hands. Then he patted me dry and carried me back to the couch, which I didn’t even know he could do, it’s been so long since he’s carried me.

  He tucked me in and showed me a trick where you tuck the blankets underneath the couch cushions to make them snug and tight, which felt nice and made me giggle, because he has A LOT of opinions on how to tuck in sheets and make a bed Just Right.

  Grandpa Jenkins sat down, but didn’t take out his crossword this time. “Now,” he said, “what’s happening here? Dancing mice, huh?” So I explained how they only dance after they’ve saved the world, and we watched a whole two more episodes, and when the bad guy came on-screen, Grandpa Jenkins gasped and agreed that he was pretty scary (he has the head of a lion, after all).

  And I was impressed.

  “Grandpa,” I said, a little later, after I was feeling much better and sort of sitting up and playing a game of Go Fish, “you’re really good at taking care of kids.”

  “Why, thank you, Cilla,” he said. “That means a lot.”

  “It’s just,” I said again, after a minute, “I thought you didn’t know how.”

  “Well,” he said, putting down another Go Fish card. “I never did, really, until you came along, and then your cousin, Helen, and now Gwen and Essie. I grew up in a different time. It never really occurred to me that I could stay home with the kids—I was always working. Why, I was even working the night your mother was born. Fathers weren’t allowed in hospital rooms then, to be with their wives. I had a big deal to close, too, so I stayed at work until it was all over.”

  “Wow,” I said.

  “Pretty bad, right?” he said with a small laugh. “Luckily, things have changed. I’m glad, because I’ve learned new things as time’s gone on. It’s a good thing, too, because if I hadn’t, I’d miss out on afternoons like this, with my favorite oldest granddaughter.”

  He smiled, and I smiled, and then I said, “Go Fish.”

  A little while later, my Grandpa Jenkins said I should put something in my stomach. He brought me a plate of crackers, which I ate slowly as I watched another cartoon. So I was barely paying attention when Grandpa Jenkins put a cup of something hot in my hands.

  I took a sip and almost dropped the cup in surprise.

  “Honey tea!” I said.

  “Your Ye Ye told me you liked it,” he said, “and how to make it. Well, he told me, and your Nai Nai translated. He has VERY specific ideas about how much honey to add, and the right way to stir. We should call later today, when your Nai Nai’s there. You can tell them how you’re feeling. I know he’ll be worried.”

  Grandpa Jenkins put his hand on my forehead as I leaned back into the cushions, holding my steaming mug. His hand felt nice and cool, and I closed my eyes and took a sip of my tea, and breathed in the familiar steam.

  And my honey tea, made for me by Grandpa Jenkins and my Ye Ye, was just like it’s always been: sweet, and warm, and magic.

  I sipped my honey tea, as the hurt in my throat softened, and listened to the sounds of my Grandpa Jenkins dropping things in the kitchen while he made me soup (it’s okay—he’s trying. Just give him time).

  And I felt a lot better.

  * * *

  My dad came home soon after that, and he said I was looking much better, though I probably still would need to stay home from school tomorrow, just in case. But my Grandpa said he’d come to keep me company in the afternoon again, and promised to teach me a game called backgammon, which he used to play with his grandmother, and which sounds very exciting.

  Right now, I’m writing this chapter from the white-and-blue-striped living room couch. I am eleven and a half years old, the sky outside is sunny, the flowers are just beginning to blossom, and today is a sick day. But none of these details actually matter.

  Because this story, like my Grandpa Jenkins, is timeless.

  13

  GRADUATIONS

  A Graduation marks a big change.

  So I guess it makes sense that there’s been A LOT of big changes recently.

  It’s just that time.

  The morning of the fifth-grade graduation ceremony, my mom helped me get ready and drove me to school, where the rest of my family would meet me later.<
br />
  “Are you excited, sweetie?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. “It’ll be fun.” And I was excited, even though the idea of all those people, and English Awards, and the last day of elementary school, made my stomach a little fluttery. “Mimi Donnelly will win the English Award, though,” I said, after a moment.

  “So?” my mom asked. “Even if that’s true, it’s still your day. Award or no, you have so much to be proud of.” She gave me a hug.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Because I knew it was true.

  But I still wanted it.

  I thought about this conversation as my classmates and I took our seats and turned with everyone else to try to find our families in the auditorium behind us.

  “I see Ye Ye!” Alien-Face yelled. We both began to wave as he pointed me to the middle row, where Ye Ye sat between Nai Nai and Grandpa Jenkins. Next to them, my mom, dad, Gwen, Essie, and Grandma Jenkins sat, talking and laughing with Colleen’s family in the row in front of them.

  I was just turning back from my waving, when I heard a voice say my name. A voice I didn’t know that well but which was familiar all the same.

  “Cilla!” I turned. There, standing right at the edge of my row, was Hattie Donnelly. “You’re Cilla, right?” she asked, leaning over Alien-Face.

  “Um, yeah,” I said, sitting up straight and trying to be very calm and Serious.

  “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be bugging you before the ceremony,” she said, “but Mimi just told me you play the tuba! I play the tuba!”

  “WHAT?!” I said (maybe forgetting about Seriousness for a minute).

  “Yeah!” she said, jumping up and down with a grin that was big like mine. “I’m the section leader next year! It’s going to be SO AMAZING having another girl in the brass section. And we’re going to be getting a new teacher too. He used to teach band at the high school, and my older brother says he’s a real ogre, but then when you get to know him he’s really nice. So don’t worry, we’ll face him together! Brass Buddies for Life!” she said, punching the air, in a way that was VERY Dramatic, and not Serious, and great.