by Mary Amato
—F.
To:
Robert Wallop
From:
Ayanna Bayo
Received:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:03 P.M.
Subject:
Re: Change Can Be Good
Dear Frankie:
You ask thought-provoking questions. If naked mole-rats could talk, I certainly wouldn’t keep them cooped up in a plastic tunnel system.
Honestly yours,
Ayanna
To:
Ayanna Bayo
From:
Robert Wallop
Sent:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:05 P.M.
Subject:
Rights
Dear Ms. Bayo:
So you think it’s okay to imprison creatures because they can’t talk back? I don’t think anything should be imprisoned. It reminds me of the way grown-ups control the lives of kids. Kids and naked mole-rats should have more rights.
If I were a naked mole-rat, I wouldn’t want to be moved from Africa. Nobody should take anybody away from home. Ever.
Sincerely,
Frankie
To:
Robert Wallop
From:
Ayanna Bayo
Received:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:11 P.M.
Subject:
Re: Rights
Dear Frankie:
I certainly agree that kids, naked mole-rats, and all creatures should be treated with respect and dignity. I am a vegetarian because I don’t like the way that animals are treated by large-scale agribusiness companies.
But there are times when adults need to intervene in the lives of creatures—or kids—to protect them and help them to grow up.
If koalas were about to become extinct, wouldn’t it be better for a biologist to capture several and keep them protected in a zoo, hoping that they will mate and have babies, rather than letting them become extinct? Should koalas have the right to become extinct?
What kind of rights should kids have? Should twelve-year-old boys and girls be allowed to drive cars if they want to? Should kids be able to decide whether or not they want to go to school? Should kids be able to baby-sit themselves? At what age?
Philosophically yours,
Ayanna
To:
Ayanna Bayo
From:
Robert Wallop
Sent:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:12 P.M.
Subject:
Questions
Dear Ms. Bayo:
I didn’t like any of your questions. I thought they were smart-alecky. Obviously kids like Nutter should not be allowed to drive. What I mean is that adults should ask kids for their opinions before they make decisions about them.
Opinionatedly yours,
Frankie
To:
Robert Wallop
From:
Ayanna Bayo
Received:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:14 P.M.
Subject:
Re: Questions
Dear Frankie:
Well said. I think it’s great that you are thinking about these philosophical questions and are developing opinions of your own. Exercise your brain!
Ayanna
To:
Ayanna Bayo
From:
Robert Wallop
Sent:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:16 P.M.
Subject:
Re: Questions
Dear Ms. Bayo:
Now I have a question for you. If I am telling the truth and my dad really is getting married to somebody else, will you leave him alone?
Curiously yours,
Frankie
To:
Robert Wallop
From:
Ayanna Bayo
Received:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:18 P.M.
Subject:
Re: Questions
Dear Frankie:
I think your father is a wonderful man who deserves all the love in the world. If he found someone to love, someone who truly loved him in return, then I’d be happy for him.
Yours truly,
Ayanna
P.S. Your dad mentioned that you decided not to be in the play—I’m sorry about that.
To:
Ayanna Bayo
From:
Robert Wallop
Sent:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:19 P.M.
Subject:
Re: Questions
Why is everybody so sorry that I’m not in the stupid play?
To:
Robert Wallop
From:
Ayanna Bayo
Received:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:29 p.m.
Subject:
Re: Questions
Dear Frankie:
I can’t answer for everybody. I can only answer for myself. I’m sorry because I think being in a play is a great opportunity. Being a part of a production is a cooperative experience: all the people—the actors, the director, and the stagehands—are working together to create something meaningful. No one person could do it alone. Everyone is needed, no matter how small the part.
I think there should be more cooperative projects in the world. It used to be that everyone in a village helped one another to build houses and grow food and take care of children. Now we are all isolated. We cook in our own separate kitchens, drive our separate cars, and work in our separate offices. I have lived in my apartment for three years, and I don’t know many of my neighbors. There’s something wrong with that.
If a naked mole-rat tried to live alone, it would starve. The ground is hard, so it takes a whole colony working together to dig far enough to find food.
Remember how I told you I try to keep the mole-rats active by re-creating the challenges they experience in their natural habitat? In the wild, naked mole-rats dig through the hard ground until they run into a “root” vegetable. Once they’ve chomped through that veggie, they have to dig through the hard dirt until they bump into another root or bulb. So here’s what I do: From time to time I plug up one of their tunnels with about six inches of very hard dirt. At the end I stick in half a sweet potato or an ear of corn, as if it has grown in the dirt beyond their existing tunnel. As soon as I get done packing in the dirt with the food at the end, a few mole-rats scurry down the other end of the tunnel to investigate. Soon, they form an assembly line for digging. It’s so much fun to watch. They form a single-file line with a “digger” mole-rat in the front, followed by a line of “sweeper” mole rats. The digger chews the dirt with his or her long teeth and brushes the dirt under his or her legs. The sweeper directly behind him or her collects the dirt into a pile and scuttles backward with it, brushing the dirt back with him or her. The funny thing is that all the rest of the mole-rats in the line rise up on their tiptoes so that the sweeper can go backward under their arms and legs. The digger keeps working and passes more dirt to the next sweeper in line, who takes that little pile all the way to the back of the line. It looks like a game that children might play, but really it’s a lot of work. One animal could never do it alone. They depend on one another.
I hope that you will audition for the next play.
Dramatically yours,
Ayanna
To:
Ayanna Bayo
From:
Robert Wallop
Sent:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:30 P.M.
Subject:
Independence
A.:
I’m glad I am not a naked mole-rat. I am independent. I am proud of being able to take care of myself. I don’t need anybody, and that’s the way I like it.
—F.
To:
<
br /> Robert Wallop
From:
Ayanna Bayo
Received:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:31 P.M.
Subject:
Re: Independence
Dear F.:
I admire your spirit. You are independent, but you aren’t alone. You are a part of a family. Your brothers depend on you. I think it is good to be needed. Being needed can keep an independent person balanced.
I am independent, too. But other than my naked mole-rats, nobody really needs me, and that makes me feel lonely sometimes. I spend way too much time on the computer.
Yours,
A.
To:
Ayanna Bayo
From:
Robert Wallop
Sent:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:32 P.M.
Subject:
Re: Independence
Why doesn’t anybody need you? Don’t you have any family?
To:
Robert Wallop
From:
Ayanna Bayo
Received:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:35 P.M.
Subject:
Re: Independence
Dear Frankie:
I don’t have any brothers or sisters. My parents have both passed away. I have several aunts and uncles and many cousins, but they live in either New York or Kenya. I do enjoy working with my colleagues at the zoo, and I love talking with all the children who visit the naked mole-rat exhibit.
We’re having a big party here on Halloween called “The Zoo Boo.” All the people who work at the zoo hand out treats to the visitors. It’s my favorite day of the year.
I think you are lucky to have Skip and Nutter and your dad. From the way your dad has talked about Pepper Blossom, it sounds like the kind of village where everybody looks out for everybody else. I think that sounds nice.
—A.
P.S. Are you looking forward to Halloween? What’s your costume?
To:
Ayanna Bayo
From:
Robert Wallop
Sent:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:37 P.M.
Subject:
Halloween
I am too old for Halloween. I have to make Nutter a koala costume. Skip is dressing up as a spy, which is not a costume because he really is one.
—F.
To:
Robert Wallop
From:
Ayanna Bayo
Received:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:38 P.M.
Subject:
Re: Halloween
I might be too old to dress up, but I’m doing it anyway. I love costumes.
—A.
To:
Ayanna Bayo
From:
Robert Wallop
Sent:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:39 P.M.
Subject:
Re: Halloween
Let me guess. You’re going as a naked mole-rat.
—F.
To:
Robert Wallop
From:
Ayanna Bayo
Received:
Tuesday, Oct. 21, 6:48 P.M.
Subject:
Re: Halloween
Ha! No, I’m not going as a naked mole-rat. I am going as a giraffe this year. I’m making a fun costume—did I mention that I make costumes and masks? I have quite a collection. One of the local children’s theater companies often asks me to make things for their productions. Here’s a scanned sketch of my giraffe headdress:
Anyway I’m tall and skinny, so I think I’ll make a good giraffe. I’ll be the only tall mammal in the small mammal house. Ha-ha. I need to go now. Nice “talking” with you.
—A.
Still Tuesday, 8:10 P.M.
What goes on in our house is more dramatic than anything you could possibly see on stage or screen. Although I am hungry enough to gnaw off my own right arm, I’m going to refrain so that I can write down everything that has happened since 3:00 P.M.
The first thing I did when I got home from school was send an e-mail to Ratlady, informing her that Dad is getting married again. Brilliant, eh? I thought the lie would stop her in her little ratty tracks. But she didn’t believe me, and somehow we got off track. She is highly effective at going off track. I need to figure out a way to stay on track and convince her.
I have to admit that there is one good thing about Ratlady: She doesn’t talk down to me.
Dad came home late and brought a chicken potpie from Mae’s, which I could smell the minute he walked in the door. I did not relish the idea of sitting down to dinner with Skip the Spy, Nutter the Koala-wannabe, and Dad the wild shirt–wearing lover boy, who is carrying on a secret correspondence when he should be working. But I was starved, and I love Mae’s chicken potpie: all golden and bubbly under the crisp crust.
Dad also brought home the pieces of a new dulcimer to work on after dinner. He never does that, and it made me wonder. Did he bring it home because he was too busy e-mailing Ratlady to get his work done during the day? Or did he bring it home because it’s a special dulcimer that he’s making for someone special? On the phone he had been trying to talk Ratlady into playing. And in his note he had said that she should expect a box in the mail. Could he be making a dulcimer for her?
The thought of him giving a dulcimer to her made me really angry. He and Mom played together. He shouldn’t be playing with anybody else.
All these thoughts were bubbling under the crisp crust of my brain as we sat down to dinner. Dad dished up big helpings of potpie to everybody, and Nutter’s face scrunched up like he was about to vomit. “I hate chicken pie,” he complained.
“Well it’s what we’re having for dinner. So dig in,” Dad said with a big smile. He clearly didn’t care.
“Well I’m not eating.” Nutter crossed his arms.
“Fine.”
Nutter started to cry. “You want me to starve?”
Dad ignored him. “Skip, it’s your turn to wash the dishes tonight. After dinner I need to spend some time working in the basement. I’m making a masterpiece.”
“So who’s the new dulcimer for?” I asked very casually.
He took a swig of water. “Nobody special. I’m just experimenting with a new design idea.”
Liar, I wanted to say. I stuck my fork into a chunk of white meat.
Dad asked Skip how school was. While Skip chattered on about what he saw in his teacher’s desk drawer, I stared at the square of chicken on my fork. Normally I would pop it into my mouth, but tonight I couldn’t. Every time I looked at the little piece, I kept seeing a live chicken staring back at me. How could somebody chop up a live chicken and bake it in a pie?
I pushed my plate away.
“Frankie—why aren’t you eating?”
“I can’t eat it,” I said. “I’m a vegetarian.”
Dad dropped his fork. “Since when?”
“Since now.”
He shook his head like he wanted to stick us in a box and ship us to China. “Two out of three not eating. You guys have no idea how annoying you can be.”
“What’s wrong with being a vegetarian?” I asked. Your darling Ayanna Bayo is a vegetarian, I wanted to say, and I bet you don’t yell at her for it.
Nutter wailed. “I’m not annoying. I’m starving. Nobody cares that I’m starving?”
“You can’t starve, Nutter,” Skip said. “You ate the rest of Frankie’s birthday cake right before dinner.”
Instead of getting mad at Nutter for eating the cake, or at Skip for tattling, Dad turned his attention to me. “Frankie, why on earth did you let Nutter have cake before dinner?”
“I didn’t give it to him.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be watching him after school?”
Nutter sniffled and hug
ged his koala backpack to his chest. “She’s supposed to make me a koala costume, and all she did was e-mail.”
“She was e-mailing Ayanna Bayo,” Skip blurted out.
The truth came flying at me like an ice ball in the face. “You skinny little creep!” I shrieked, and threw down my fork. It bounced off the table and almost hit Skip.
My anger shut up everybody for a second. Then Dad’s voice became as tight and thin as a wire. “Frankie, that is way out of line.”
“Why don’t you tell Skip to mind his own business? Why don’t you tell Nutter to stop being such a baby?”
Nutter ran from the table.
I got up, and Dad grabbed my hand.
“Sit down,” he said.
“Forget it.” I pulled away.
“Don’t talk to me like that, Frankie.”
“What are you going to do? Nail me to the chair? You don’t care about me anyway.” I ran up to my room and locked the door.
He pounded up the stairs and knocked. “Frankie, you can’t keep locking yourself in there.”