by Abra Ebner
The tree I sat upon was a giant version of the tiny tree my mother had given me in the box. I considered that, trying to find meaning as my hand dropped from my nose. I looked around curiously. There was nothing extraordinarily special about this place other than the respite it had provided me. Perhaps she was simply telling me that it was a place I needed. I did feel calm here, but it wasn’t a life-changing event.
I absently scratched at the trunk of the tree with my nail, eyes fixed on Axon. In my head, I repeated the nursery rhyme I’d read in class, finding it stuck with me—Ladybird, ladybird . . . As I brushed at the bark, my finger suddenly found something cold beneath it. The rhyme in my head stopped. I knew that feeling, the metallic chill and the smooth, unnatural surface. Holding my breath, I looked to where my finger had been. A key was embedded in a crack of the wood.
“Of course,” I whispered.
I leaned away from the trunk to attack the spot with both hands. I tore away small chunks of bark until I was able to grab a corner of the key and pull it out. The tree looked as though it had simply grown around it, as if the key had hung there for years and years, but I knew better than that.
Holding it in my hand, I examined the short key. The head of it was a circle, similar to the post office key I had attached to my backpack. The gold-toned material was notched in a uniform pattern. Most important, however, it was my next clue.
I slid it into my pocket and jumped down from the tree. As expected, Axon shied at the sound, throwing his head back. I walked up to him, grabbing at the reins before he had a chance to protest and run away from me. With the discovery of the key, I wanted to get home as fast as possible.
“Come on, boy. I’ll get you some more grain at home,” I promised. “Like you need it,” I added under my breath.
I hooked my boot into the stirrup and threw my other leg over the saddle. Untying the reins from the horn, I urged Axon up the hill and out of the creek bed. On the main road, the rumbling sound returned. It gained on me until it was directly beside me. I looked over just as the Buckhead boy looked at me. He did nothing and neither did I. Slowly, he managed to gain ground and passed us before turning where Chatterley Lane forced the field to end. The rumbling faded, leaving nothing but the clopping sound of Axon’s hooves. We crested the last hill half an hour later, the barn finally in sight. Axon murmured and his pace quickened at the familiar sight. Feeling my own need to get back, I kicked him into a gallop.
Reaching the barn just as the sun sank over the hills, I tucked Axon away in his stall. I grabbed my bag and Ladybird and went inside the house. I quietly left my boots and bag in the hall, hoping the TV would drown out the sounds I was forced to make.
“That you, girl?”
I clenched my jaw, fearing the worst, as always. “Yeah.”
“Feed th’ chickens?”
I walked into the kitchen and set Ladybird gently on the counter. There was a mess of dishes there to meet me. “Yes,” I answered.
“Good. Finish th’ rest of yer chores, then.”
I waited for further remarks from my father, but none ever came. I’d gotten off easy this time.
I ran the water in the sink, attempting to make soapsuds given the lack of warm water. I grew frustrated with the task, so frustrated that my body heat began to rise. Before I knew it, the water was warm, and the soap had become sudsy. All the while, the key burned a hole in my pocket, begging to be used. If I wanted my privacy, though, I had to finish my chores first.
When the dishes were done, I poured myself a tall glass of whole milk from the fridge and searched in the cabinet for something quick to eat. Finding nothing but cereal, I took the whole box and escaped with Ladybird up to my room. I locked the door and placed Ladybird, the cereal, and the milk on the bed stand before reaching under my bed to retrieve the box. Setting it atop the mattress, I fumbled with the key in my pocket then sank it easily into the lock.
Holding my breath and wondering what could possibly happen next, I turned the key. The box jolted with a tiny explosion like the one caused when you light the grill with the cover still on. I exhaled and opened the lid of the box only to be met with the smell of fertilizer. It quickly filled the room, and my first instinct was to save Ladybird. I ran to the window and flung it open. Grasping the plastic cage, I set it on the sill and covered the side facing the room with a blanket.
I cursed under my breath, not noticing the sound of my father ascending the stairs.
“What’s goin’ on, girl? Wha’ was that?” He banged on the door.
I bit my lip, looking about the room as the haze dissipated. The box on my bed was empty.
“Nothin’, Pa. Just something falling out of my closet.” I knew that the smell wouldn’t even faze him.
I looked down at the cage, relieved to see that the ladybug was still alive and fluttering its wings. The fertilizer more than likely contained insecticide, but to what degree I could not know. I heard my father walk away in the direction of his bedroom.
I pulled Ladybird back inside, leaving the window open. “Not funny, Mother.” I set Ladybird on the desk and went back to the box to shut the lid. The key was already gone. “What are you trying to say?” I wondered.
First there was the tree, then the ladybug, and now the fertilizer. It was the strangest combination I had ever received. Mother was pointing to something with these three things. Something tied them together. I had been at the tree today with that smell of fertilizer, but I hadn’t brought the bug. Perhaps, I needed to be there with all three? What if there had been a ladybug and I hadn’t seen it? And what does a ladybug with no spots even signify? Mother was playing a game with me, a game harder than all others.
I lay in bed and forgot about it all, thinking about something that perplexed me even more. What was the Buckhead boy’s name? I felt as though I knew it, as if it were on the tip of my tongue, but all I could taste was the residual sourness of fertilizer in the air. Odder yet was my fascination with him. I’d always been curious about the Buckhead boy, but my fascination felt sweet where it never had before. I couldn’t help but wonder if his excuse for farming was for just today or the rest of the week. I knew it didn’t matter. I knew he was never going to talk to me, but it didn’t hurt to allow a girl to hope? I could be left hoping for an eternity. The Buckhead kid talked to no one. But, then again, neither did I.
FIVE
I sat in biology class with a book open in my lap, scanning deeper into the world of the ladybug. I’d learned its name in every language, seen its every appearance. Once again, I repeated the children’s rhyme that was attributed to the ladybug, whispering it under my breath.
Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home.
Your house is on fire and your children are gone,
All except one, and that’s Little Anne,
For she has crept under the warming pan.
I smiled and sighed. Something about the words felt good to me. Perhaps it was the simple mention of fire in the rhyme. Just about anything having to do with fire got my attention. I looked down at my own ladybug beside me. In the poem, Ladybird lost everything to fire, save one, resilient child. I felt like that child could be me. I felt like I could hide from my own fire, if only I understood it.
“Nice, isn’t it?”
I was startled by the nearness of Ms. Rosin’s voice. I looked away from the book.
“I knew you’d like that,” she added.
Clearly, she knew the rumors about me. Who didn’t? I felt myself blush, eyes surely darkening. I looked away.
“Kids really blow things out of proportion. I know.” She was speaking low. “It’s okay to get a little flustered. It’s natural to blush as you do. You’re a beautiful person.”
Clearly she hadn’t experienced the extent of my blushing.
She leaned close, her voice low. “It’s the heat of life, Samantha. It proves you have emotion . . . and passion. These kids can’t understand that.” She pointed to Ladybird. “This insect can.”
“And I can understand,” she added.
My insides curdled. What did she know of my life and what I dealt with? I was hiding behind either fiery eyes or a fiery bruise from my father. She had nothing to hide from but her own weirdness. Of course at times I looked at her as a mother figure, but moments such as this made me reconsider.
She placed a hand on my arm, her touch warm and welcoming, making me change my mind yet again. “I’m always here if you need to talk,” she reminded me.
I was confused by the comfort that slowly leaked up my arm from her touch. I nodded and pulled my arm free, if only to get her to leave me alone.
Ms. Rosin slowly turned and walked away. The bell rang.
I stood and gathered my things, feeling irritable as I went through the routine process without any thought, almost as if muscle memory took over. Trying to inject some normalcy into my day, I went to my locker to leave Ladybird inside. I inched a small leaf into the plastic cage before shutting the locker door. The Buckhead boy’s locker remained untouched. He was more than likely still out in the field. I felt a glimmer of hope slide away from me. Had I expected to finally have the nerve to ask him his name? That was embarrassing. Chances were he knew who I was. Everyone did. Sick Sam, that’s what they called me. My nickname contained my name.
The warning bell rang, and this time I made it to history on time. The National Geographic movie continued. I figured this was how the rest of the year would play out. Halfway through class, a note was slipped onto my desk by a kid I barely knew. He seemed to know plenty about me based on the freaked-out look in his eye. He recoiled quickly. I pressed my lips together and unraveled the paper.
I don’t think we’re going to work out.
David
Duh.
At least he was polite enough to write me a note. I looked three rows back at him, but he just looked away. I’d rather he had said nothing at all. This was rejection, pure and simple. Not knowing was just avoidance. I preferred avoidance to fact.
When the bell rang, I was happy to go to the buses, Ladybird in hand. I sat in the front, a seat that, by now, was practically labeled with my name. The ride home was long and dusty. Early-spring rain had already turned to late-spring drought. At home, my father met me at the barn, a stern look on his face.
I got off the bus, wanting nothing more than to grab on to the wheel well and have it take me away. I approached him slowly, cautiously.
“I thought I told ya to feed them chickens!” he yelled without so much as a “hello.”
I froze on the spot, knowing that tone. “I—I did.” My stomach sank, feeling embarrassed as the bus rattled on down the road, relieved only mildly when it disappeared out of view. I saw it was going to be one of those days.
“Well, two are dead, girl.” He marched closer.
I tried to back away but stumbled. He took advantage of my faltering step. Father managed to swat the plastic cage from my hand with his left hand then followed it with a second slap across my cheek with his other. Balance already lost, I fell to the ground. The sting on my cheek felt so sudden, so deep. There was no holding back the store of tears I’d already gathered during the day.
Father looked down on me in the dirt. “Worthless,” he spit.
I tasted blood in my mouth where the inside of my cheek had split from the force of his hand. I had expected the worst but not so soon. Typically, he would yell for a while first, allowing me time to stoke my fire and prepare to retaliate. Often that worked but today he’d planned for that.
“Cursed,” he murmured as he turned and walked away, leaving me to wallow.
I waited until he had descended into the depths of the house. Like an aftershock, I heard things being thrown against walls, even from this distance. I could smell the whiskey lingering in the air he once occupied. Beer never got him to this point, but whiskey definitely did. The Devil was in whiskey, so the Devil was in my father. It was a bad day for sure, and I wanted nothing more to do with it.
I crawled to where the plastic cage lay sideways on the dirt road. I knew before I saw it. I had known when the cage flew from my hand, feeling the same, overwhelming sense of falling. Ladybird was dead. Another tear fell. She was a simple beetle, but she had been my beetle. The immensity of everything washed over me: my mother’s confusing signs, Ladybird’s death, and the taunting kids at school.
I squeezed my eyes shut as hard as I could, forcing the tears away. The only real thing I could feel was the pain in my cheek. Opening my eyes, I gathered my things, including the cage, from the driveway and ran into the barn. I tacked Axon as fast as I could, receiving resistance when I didn’t bother to give him any grain. Luckily, once I was on his back, backpack on, he knew where to go to get some. We galloped over the hills past Chatterley Lane until the road came to an end at the creek.
By the time we arrived, my nerves had calmed, but my cheek burned more than ever. I dismounted and led Axon down the hill into the trees. The air changed, filled with a fresh smell and cool essence. Unlike last time, I removed Axon’s bridle, allowing him to eat more freely without the restricting bit in his mouth. He’d earned my trust. I hung the bridle on a branch and knelt by the creek, washing cold water over my face. My cheek felt swollen, bitten by an angry hand it hadn’t seen in a while.
I swore under my breath. “I hate my life.”
Once my cheek felt numb enough to leave the water’s edge, I picked up my backpack and approached the tree. I gazed up at it, looking at the large canopy spread overhead. There was a catacomb of branches, big and twisted, worlds hidden inside worlds. I imagined a plethora of possibilities concealed inside this tree, but my fear of heights kept me from exploring them. Of the cluster of trees, this was the largest. Climbing up onto the same low branch I had before, I rested my head against the trunk with my bag in my lap. In the silence, I felt I could hear the beat of the tree’s heart, the beat of the world, thumping on despite the feeling that my own world had stopped.
It was days such as today that made the point of living disappear. I forgot what it meant to have hope. The future seemed too far away to care about anymore. My mind drowned in dangerous thoughts, but I lacked the courage to do anything about them. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, trying to purge the adrenaline from my blood, trying my best to return to a gentle glow instead of a burning inferno.
Once I felt more at peace, I opened my eyes and unzipped my bag. I pulled out the small, plastic cage, treating it as though Ladybird were still alive inside, though the box had become a tomb. I tried to clean the outside with the hem of my black T shirt, but it did little to remove the dirt. I opened the lid and reached for the frozen, lifeless Ladybird, lifting her on my finger to eye level.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I wanted her to move but nothing happened.
“I should have taken better care of you. You were all I had.” I rolled her into my palm, wing side up. I stared at her spotless shell, the color like fire. She was like me. She had known what it was like to burn.
Sighing one last time, it was then that I heard a low laugh echo through the branches overhead.
Startled, I dropped Ladybird’s corpse into my lap and looked up, resenting the sound of laughter at such a moment. My eyes met that of a boy, a boy I’d known but eyes I’d rarely seen. Wind blew through the branches of the tree, allowing sunlight to dance down and blind me. I blinked the spots away from my eyes, and the wind died. The branches fell back into place, shading me once again. From this angle, the boy’s tattered hat hid nothing of the face that always seemed so vague. Rendered speechless, I was taken by the simple playfulness of his gaze. Feeling fire wash over me, I looked away to hide my changing eyes, not able to allow him to see not only what I was, but what had happened to me.
Head down and eyes shut, my bruised cheek began to sting as heat flushed my face. Emotion I thought to have under control came roaring back to life with a fiery vengeance. Adrenaline pumped through me, heightening every noise that followed.
There was clambering overhead, and small chunks of bark sprinkled my hair. My lips and eyelids pressed more tightly together, begging the fire to go away before he saw it. Then I heard him drop from the tree. Feet struck the earth directly in front of me. My inferno peaked, a mixture of embarrassment, sadness, and, oddly, attraction. My eyes flew open out of instinct when something tickled my leg. I almost screamed when I saw what had caused the tickle, but instead I was overwhelmed by the desire to smile. The once-dead Ladybird was alive in my lap, crawling slowly over my leg, one new spot visible on its wing.
I gasped but quickly cut it off with my free hand, further embarrassed by my display of what surely appeared to be childish elation. Forgetting myself, I looked into the eyes of the Buckhead boy once more, fearing his reaction. He had a wry smile on his face and one dimple that I had never noticed, now showing. I guessed I’d never noticed it because I’d never seen him smile.
His head tilted, brows raised. “I swear those eyes were blue just a moment ago,” he challenged.
Hearing his voice stole the breath from my lungs. I quickly looked away, fighting to find my sanity.
“I’m pretty sure I saw you in here yesterday while I was working. I’m right, aren’t I?”
I watched Ladybird scale my knee. My hand still covered my mouth, and I left it there for a moment, giving myself a little time. I had turned my cheek away from him, not knowing what it looked like but knowing it couldn’t be good.
“Nice bug.”
He reached forward, placing a finger against my knee, and Ladybird gladly climbed on. Watching, I swore I saw Ladybird’s color change to an even deeper shade of rouge. The Buckhead boy was quick to place her inside the small, plastic cage he had also snatched off my lap.