Courage for Beginners

by Karen Harrington

  Lunch.

  Anibal and his friends get up and walk to the trash can. Anibal carries a book, and its title is turned out. Displayed for all to see. The Catcher in the Rye. Reading classic books was also on the list of hipster to-dos. There are so many items he’s checking off that stupid list. Just yesterday, he finally wore an ironic T-shirt. It read FIGHT APATHY, OR DON’T.

  This shirt made Rama laugh. But all this attention to detail hasn’t attracted the right girl. The one with blue-and-white ribbons and a key-chain name.

  Still, my hope of talking to him bubbles up a little as he nears our table.

  I sit up straight.

  Smile.

  Prepare.

  Be ironic.

  Here is a girl who believes her cheerful attitude might remind her friend of what he’s missing.

  “Trust the government,” I say. I hold up my fingers in a peace sign.

  “You get those shoes at Goodwill?” Anibal Gomez says, spreading around his mockery and misery.

  “Funny. See you later, Anibal,” I say nervously.

  I stuff all my trash in my lunch bag. I don’t even eat my cookie, which is something, since there was only one left and I could have given it to Laura. I should have given it to Laura.

  “Did you know Goodwill began in Boston, Massachusetts, about one hundred years ago?” Wayne adds.

  “No, thanks for that fact, dork.” This is Anibal again. An equal-opportunity teaser.

  “Do you know that guy?” Rama asks as Anibal struts away.

  “Yeah, he’s my best friend.”

  “Um, not from what I can see.”

  “Well, you can’t see everything, can you?” I say sharply.

  When I see Rama’s face get all annoyed, I say, “It’s a long story.”

  “I like stories,” Rama responds.

  “You wouldn’t understand this one.”

  “Maybe I would.”

  That Rama. She gets to the point in a hot second.

  Here is a girl wondering if she can trust a lowly sixth grader.

  Rama follows me into the girls’ restroom. The one by the library, because the one by the cafeteria is the mean girls’ restroom and should be avoided at all costs.

  “Why can’t we go in there?” Rama wants to know.

  “You go in and come out with something new to worry about. A girl says, Oh, your outfit matches really well, and you spend the rest of your day wondering if her tone conveyed sincerity or sarcasm, and by the time you go to bed, you realize that, yes, she was making fun of you.”

  “Got it. Not going into that bathroom ever,” Rama says. “But about Anibal.”

  “Anibal has been my friend since the fourth grade. He’s just joking around. Don’t take it so seriously. Don’t you have friends who joke around like that?”

  “I don’t have time for a lot of friends.”

  I want to say I’m shocked, but I just say, “Oh.”

  “It’s not that I couldn’t have a million friends, Mysti.”

  “I know.”

  “After school there is always practice, which is important. Violin practice and math practice and karate practice. I could have a lot of friends.”

  “You already said that.”

  “I don’t like Anibal. Just the ironic T-shirt, that’s all.”

  “He’s not really like this. Remember how you were at first?”

  “What? How was I at first?”

  “Sort of like a porcupine.”

  “Well, I’m new here.”

  “So we all have our reasons for how we act. Same with Anibal. He is really nice. And smart. Way smart.”

  “People change,” she says. Yes, yes, I could tell Rama. Change is coming for us all. I’ve seen its footprint all over our house.

  Rama looks in the mirror and adjusts her scarf. “Besides, who needs him when you have me?”

  “I didn’t know I had you.”

  “Lucky you, huh?” Her smile is so pretty and soft, framed by a pretty scarf the color of Realistic Rose. But roses have thorns, too.

  Rama leaves for class. I stay behind and steal a roll of toilet paper.

  Then I get out the supplies to put the first step of my Sandy Showalter plan into action.

  Texas History.

  In the hallway, I time it just right and toss out my own tube of clear lip gloss at the right moment. Sandy will think she dropped it. Because Anibal is not the only seventh grader with a theory. I have theories, too. For instance, a girl like Sandy will notice lip gloss before she notices a paperback classic.

  “Oh, Sandy?” I ask as I pick up the lip gloss.

  Sandy turns to look at me. I hold up the lip gloss.

  “I think you dropped this.”

  “Thanks so much!” Sandy beams and accepts the lip gloss. We’re having this magical exchange right as Mr. Hipster breezes past in a cloud of Axe deodorant. Anibal looks at me sideways because he knows I made contact.

  Here is a girl who fears that classic paperback novel will likely find a new home in a trash can.

  chapter 15

  Here is a girl traveling in the back of the longest brown car in the history of cars.

  It’s a hot Saturday in a supercool car—and by cool, I don’t mean fashionable. I mean freezing.

  But it was settled. Finally settled. The Jenningses could drive us to the hospital. After nagging and whining and Yes, it’s okay to ask neighbors for help, they said they wouldn’t mind, now can we please, please go?

  Mama finds it hard to accept help from others. From anyone except Dad.

  I don’t.

  Not for this, anyway.

  It took little notes shoved under her bedroom door and the tears of a mushy seven-year-old to get her to go along with this. But she finally said yes. I don’t know why it was so hard. The Jenningses are anything but nefarious.

  “Let’s watch TV together when we get back,” I told her as I left. “I’ll change all the sheets, too.”

  I’m not certain that my words helped. Mama just nodded and locked the brown front door behind me.

  When we finally get to the hospital, we meet with Dr. Randolph in person. He wears a white coat and has a twisty mustache. He looks like he knows a thing or three.

  We are told Dad will have tubes and wires. We are told it might be scary. We are told to whisper encouragement into his ear.

  Once Dad told me, You will always be my lucky penny, Mysti.

  I take a deep breath and prepare to whisper into his ear. I could answer all the questions I know he would have if he was awake. I could say, Don’t worry. Mama is doing better than you would expect. No, she’s not crying. She found a five-pound bag of rice in the cabinet. The turnips are coming in. School is fine. We are fine. We’re all fine. So don’t worry. I’ve got this covered.

  But I don’t say any of that. I just say, “I love you.”

  He looks smaller.

  His hair has been shaved like a military man.

  There are tubes.

  And the stupid empty vinyl chair I was worried about. If no one is going to be here, they should just take that thing out of his room.

  Dr. Randolph puts his hands deep in his white coat and reassures us that he’s “optimistic” about Dad’s recovery.

  Dr. Randolph says, “Next time, when your mother comes, your father won’t have this tube here.”

  He says something else about muscle strength, but for me, his sentence came to a halt when he said “when your mother comes.” Hey, Mama, I know you are afraid to go out, but think about it, a hospital is really the perfect place to be afraid and panicky.

  I leave a stuffed bear in the empty vinyl chair. Oddly, it makes the chair seem more empty so I just tuck it under Dad’s arm. Laura says it looks dumb and I want to pinch her. It takes all of my willpower to stay nice.

  “You two okay back there?” Mr. Jennings wants to know as we cruise back toward Fargo Drive.

  “Fine.” No, I’m not.

  It may be September out
side, but it’s downright January inside this brown car.

  “Mysti, I wanted to tell you, I’m hatching a big plan,” Mr. Jennings says. “An invention!”

  Laura rubs her bare shoulders. I thank God for the invention of sleeves and that I thought to wear some today.

  “What are you talking about?” Mrs. Jennings asks. “Hatching what?”

  “The invention I told you about. The one for mixing ingredients.”

  Then Mrs. Jennings slaps him on the back and says, “Like all your other plans, Mr. Edison?” and he coughs hard and his false teeth come loose and he has to catch them with his hand before they hit the steering wheel.

  “Mysti, Mr. Jennings has been dreaming up inventions since the day I met him but hasn’t produced a single one,” Mrs. Jennings says. “Nobody wants a sun visor with a clock.”

  “Ooh, I would,” Laura pipes up.

  “Mrs. Jennings forgets that some people might fall asleep in the sun and need an alarm,” he says.

  “Sure they do, sweetheart,” she says. I think her statement is faux.

  “Mrs. Jennings here seems to have forgotten how many attempts it took for Mr. Edison to invent the lightbulb. It took more than ten thousand tries. Dear girl, you have to read the Steve Jobs biography!”

  “She’s not going to read that doorstopper of a book!” Mrs. Jennings says. “She’s too young, and that wouldn’t interest her anyway. Mysti, I have some great books you can borrow. Maybe you’d like Anne of Green Gables?”

  “Doorstoppers are the best kinds of books! And one is never too young or too old to be inspired by greatness!”

  “I guess you were pretty inspired to marry me!”

  “Marrying this old gal was the best decision I ever made,” he says. His statement doesn’t seem very faux at all.

  This is how it goes. Back and forth. Inventions and sweet talk and book suggestions all the way home. I like it. It makes me wonder how many conversations Mama and Dad might have had while driving. Maybe they were sort of like this before their story included two daughters, a dog, and a house full of paintings. Mama had to go out sometime in her life. I’ve seen my parents’ wedding photos. They sure didn’t get married at 4520 Fargo Drive.

  It’s hard to picture Mama in a car, looking over her shoulder into the backseat, smiling at two daughters. I dig deep into my imagination and try to see her there. Woman Who Rides on the Passenger Side. Woman Who Has Conversations in Cars.

  chapter 16

  Here is a girl who has actually read The Catcher in the Rye because it was recommended by her father.

  Ur lip gloss trick was so obvious

  Can you really name the main character in CITR?

  Holden Caulfield! Boosh!

  It’s on the back cover.

  So

  So

  Dad status?

  Same. Dr. optimistic

  That’s his doc’s name?

  No, dweeb, his doc IS optimistic

  Oh

  L8tr

  Wait!

  Whut?

  Need help w English

  Topic?

  Write acrostic poem about ur summer. Acrostic?

  Pick word. Use as acronym that means something.

  Such as?

  S-A-N-D-Y. She attracts nerds daily, yo!

  lol

  chapter 17

  Here is a girl annoyed by a fat, well-fed, non-store-shopping tree rat chowing down near the backyard fence of her childhood home.

  Stupid squirrel.

  Stupid tree.

  Stupid lack of snacks.

  When you go four weeks without grocery shopping, you realize how much you took the store for granted. Oh yes. When you can replace what you like to eat, life is simple. Your refrigerator is a place you can move things around in and search and think, Oh yeah, I love baloney. Let’s make an eggy doodle sandwich. But then the fridge gets a lot of room in it and suddenly you can open it and scan with your eyes, no hands needed, and think, Oh, since eggs are really important in an eggy doodle sandwich, I think I’ll pass.

  And also, when you look at the back of the pantry and you check an expiration date on a dusty jar of red peppers and olives and wonder if it’s still good, you think of stores in a new way. Then when your mama mixes the contents of that old jar with some rice for Sunday dinner and makes the “You better not say a word” face, you eat it.

  And your sister complains, “This is gross. I’m not eating it.”

  And so you give her the double evil eye and a kick under the table.

  Then you go to bed and keep your stomach superstill and pray to God that expiration dates are more of a suggestion than a rule.

  That’s what you have to do when you haven’t gone to the store in a month.

  In the afternoon, I search the kitchen, hoping I might discover something I’d overlooked.

  “We’re out of crackers,” I shout.

  “I know.” Mama is folding clothes on the couch and watching TV while Judge Judy is telling someone to “talk only to me!” I hope Judy calls someone out and shouts Baloney! I love it when she does that. Or maybe I won’t now because it will remind me of a food item we don’t have.

  “Only one box of mac and cheese.”

  “I know.”

  “No more bread.”

  “Mysti, I know. I’m working on a solution.” Mama crumples the shirt in her hands. She tries not to cry.

  “And the birthday cake for Laura?” Laura’s birthday is coming up and if that kid doesn’t get a cake, there will be no living with her.

  “Mysti! Please!”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  Mama takes the crumpled shirt and folds it smooth as sheets. If Dad was here, he’d rub her shoulders and say, Oh, Melly, it will be all right, I’ll finish these clothes while you go take a bubble bath.

  But I don’t do that because it feels weird.

  And I fear her solution will have something to do with turnips. They are popping up in the backyard now and if memory serves, Mama thinks you can make a soup of them. News flash: You can’t. Or, you shouldn’t.

  Okay.

  “That’s baloney!” Judge Judy shouts at a defendant.

  I glance at Mama and smile. “No baloney, either.”

  Mama whips me playfully with a shirt. “Well, maybe I can interest you in some dog food. I heard you served it to your sister.”

  That little brat told on me!

  “Oh, I have homework to do! See ya!”

  Three red checks on the calendar later, I’m riding the bus to school and we pass Woman Who Goes Somewhere. She wears orange pants and a yellow top and looks like a walking candy corn, which I take as a good sign. I could stare at her longer for more clues, but I’m in need of an egg. Three eggs to be precise. You can steal toilet paper from Beatty Middle School, but not eggs.

  “Can I borrow something?” I asked Rama on the bus.

  “Sure.”

  “Do you have three eggs at home?”

  “Well, probably.”

  “I need them.”

  “What for?”

  “Oh, never mind,” I said nervously. “I just wanted to see if you’d say yes.”

  I didn’t want to tell her I needed eggs for a secret birthday cake. Then I’d have to tell her about Mama and the secret and the pamphlets because she would have a thousand questions. I’m just not ready for that yet because we haven’t crossed that friendship threshold.

  “Sometimes you’re weird, Mysti Murphy.”

  “What can I say, it’s a gift.”

  “That keeps on giving.”

  “Touché.”

  “Have you forgotten about that Gomez boy?”

  “Who?”

  “You know.”

  “See, I’ve already forgotten!”

  “See you tomorrow! Go, Bears!”

  Beatty Middle School Bears. I’d soon be forgetting about them, too.

  It’s the next day of school. The day I forgot all about Beatty Middle School Bears.<
br />
  The good thing about today at school is that there is no last-period Texas History class to endure with the hip and not-so-hip and Ms. Overstreet giving us a pop quiz. Mr. Red already took care of that agony earlier in the day when he tested us on our knowledge of the Pythagorean theorem. When I will ever use this theorem in real life is beyond me. The bad thing about today is that there is a pep rally during last period and because I am one of the few Beatty Middle School students who forgot to be obsessed with the colors blue and white, I will be on an island where Sandy Showalter and everyone like her will not talk to me. And in case a student should forget, all through the halls there are posters and cheer signs to remind us that we are the Beatty Bears. Mr. Red walks down the hall in his Bear costume, holding the giant Bear head under one arm as he walks. He looks nefarious.

  And there are the blue-ribbon girls. Walking. Swaying. Smiling. Holding the cheer signs and clapping their way to the gym. Wayne Kovok, dressed in blue, walks behind them dizzy with happiness like an entourage of one. He probably likes pep-rally day the way I like clean-sheet day.

  “Miss Murphy, aren’t you going to the pep rally where there will be cheers and shouts and school spirit that will wash away your homework blues forevermore, that is, if you have homework blues or blues of any kind you’d like to talk about in my office, where I have newly upholstered green chairs?” It is the counselor, Ms. Peet, who really needs to become familiar with verbal punctuation. I think my hair grew a full inch in the time it took her to finish talking.

  “I would like to sit in your new green chair if you don’t mind,” I say. It is the only way I know to get out of going to the pep rally. I would rather read anyway. I just checked out a novel about kids who were genetically engineered to survive underwater, and would like to spend some time in a place where that makes sense. So Ms. Peet and I go to her office and I tell her I just need to be quiet if that’s all right.

  I read my book and Ms. Peet types on her computer as fast as she speaks. After a while, I hear a roar of laughter come from the gym and wish I knew what it was. Sometimes Mr. Red goes really wild with his mascot routine. It’s hard to concentrate on my book, so I read a bunch of the posters plastered along Ms. Peet’s walls. There are enough for a less sophisticated reader like Laura to spend at least a half hour on. My favorite is I AM IN CHARGE OF HOW I FEEL AND TODAY I CHOOSE HAPPINESS.