Ladybird, Ladybird . . .

by Abra Ebner

  Fingers intertwined, we fell asleep.

  EIGHT

  In the morning I woke to the singing of birds. The warmth that once enveloped me had been replaced by only warm, spring air. I rolled over, looking where Leith had been beside me and wondering if it had been real. The creek tinkled in my ears, and slowly I stood. I smoothed one hand through my hair and licked my dry lips. I wiped the sleep from my eyes, feeling suddenly silly to find myself waking up under a tree, all alone. In my haste to escape the shame of the situation, I began to collect my things. My shirt, now dry, though smelling like campfire, still hung from the branch. Looking around, I wondered what time Leith had left and why he had let me sleep. Here in the farmlands, a woman waking alone was a common thing. Farms needed tending, and the morning was the best time to do it, but still.

  Axon pawed at the dirt as I changed back into my own shirt, rolling Leith’s in my hand and stuffing it into my backpack. Ladybird was fluttering around in her plastic cage. I was still a little surprised to see the insect alive and with one spot where I knew there had been none before. I brought the cage to eye level and watched her flit about. She was no different, save the spot. It was unmistakably the same ladybug I swore I had seen dead. So, why was she alive? Had I been wrong when I thought she was dead?

  I slung the backpack over my shoulder and saddled Axon. I climbed on, then placed Ladybird atop Axon’s withers and urged him up the hill and out of the trees. Instantly the world looked new to me. I rubbed my cheek, feeling the tender sting, though the swelling had greatly reduced. Kicking Axon into a gallop, I made my way home as fast as I could. Standing at the end of our drive twenty minutes later, I noticed that the front porch light was not yet turned off. My father was, thankfully, still asleep with an assured hangover.

  Stealing away into the barn, I unburdened Axon and brushed away the saddle marks before leading him to his stall and feeding him a flake of hay. The plain timothy would be good for him after all the sweet, sprouted wheat he’d feasted on yesterday. I then went to the grain bin and filled a bucket of feed for whatever chickens were left. At the coop, I regretfully removed the two deceased hens then filled the cage with more straw to cover the stench from leaving them there overnight.

  Turning to return the bucket to the barn, I came face-to-face with my father. He stood silently, his expression giving little indication of his thoughts. Quickly, I turned the bruised side of my face away from him.

  “Yer up early,” he stated in a plain voice. “Didn’t hear ya.” I could smell the remnants of whiskey waft from his skin, though the hostility had drained from his eyes.

  I nodded.

  “Well, get yer chores done, then.” He stared at me as I stood motionless. I knew he was trying to seem intimidating, or maybe this was his silent apology, maybe neither. Another awkward moment passed before he finally turned and walked away, boots crunching on earth.

  I sighed and relaxed my shoulders, running a nervous hand through my hair. The handle of the bucket in my other hand was slick with sweat. My whole body was hot and I was afraid of the idea that Father knew I had never come home last night. Luckily it seemed that the guilt over his behavior and rampant alcoholism had blinded him to my absence. I was sure he’d be able to smell the boy on me, but there was no smelling anything over his own stench.

  I took the bucket back to the barn. Father had seen me, and considering that I wasn’t in trouble, I figured I’d take the chance to shower and change before school. It was an option I didn’t think was going to be possible last night. If I had known, I still would have taken off my shirt to wash it. I’d do anything for the chance to experience what I had with Leith again. A smile secretly graced my lips.

  Entering the house, I treaded lightly up the stairs and locked myself in the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and felt my heart sink. The bruise on my cheek was worse than I’d thought. It spanned the side of my face from my chin up to my ear, leaving one eye half blackened. I couldn’t understand how one blow could create such an aftermath, but I’d always bruised easily. Ashamed of my own reflection, I turned away from the mirror altogether. I undressed and turned on the water. I stuck my hand into the stream of first cold then warm water.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I whispered shakily. And I knew it meant that she approved of my actions last night.

  I let my head sink slowly into the spray of water, allowing it to trickle over my forehead and down my face. Hair thoroughly dampened, I then set to the task of trying to get what little shampoo there was left out of the bottle. Shaking it, I heard it clank and rattle. Only mildly surprised, I let soap run through my fingers as I held the bottle up to the light. Inside, I saw the shadow of an obscured key. I placed the bottle on the ledge of the tub, laughing to myself as I finished showering. Once I stepped out and stood in front of the mirror, I felt much better. I reached back around and grabbed the damp shampoo bottle and stared at the key just out of reach within it.

  Trying to think of a way to get inside the bottle, I abruptly leaned forward and opened the drawer where my father kept his razor blades. I pierced the bottle, carving the thick plastic just above the bottom. When I had cut about three-quarters of the way around, I set the razor blade down and bent the plastic enough to shake the key out over the sink. It fell into my hands, slippery with the shampoo. I threw the destroyed bottle and the used razor blade into the trash can.

  Bringing the key to eye level, I couldn’t help but smile. I washed it under the faucet, scrubbing the ancient, rusty hilt. I smiled with recognition. My finger caressed the organic, puzzle-like key end, circling the plump, heart-shaped top that was pierced for a chain to be fed through. It was an exact replica of the key I had described to Leith—the key to our tree. Excited, I couldn’t wait to see what the box would hold.

  Without bothering to fully dry my hair, I rushed from the bathroom to my room. Towel wrapped around me, I locked the door and dove under my bed. Retrieving the box, I tried to unlock it with the key.

  It didn’t fit.

  “What?” I whispered.

  I tried again and again, from different angles, but nothing worked. Giving up, I decided to be happy with the fact that I’d gotten the key to begin with. But why? I needed what was in that box. I needed my next clue.

  Grinding my teeth together, I hit the top of the box with a gentle fist. I wanted nothing more than to smash it open. Huffing in frustration, I set to the task of stringing the key onto a piece of yarn. I would wait until the box was ready to accept the key. Not wanting to lose it in the meantime, I tied the key around my neck. I cursed the box one last time, kicking it onto the ground. I looked at the clock then quickly got dressed. Catching my profile in the crooked mirror on my closet door, I reluctantly ran a brush through my hair and fluffed it, allowing the natural curl to take over as it dried. Without the time to be finicky, I quickly slicked some foundation over the bruise, though it did little to hide it. I didn’t really like makeup, nor did I really think I needed it, but for times such as this, I always kept a foundation in my drawer.

  I could already hear the bus rumbling down the road in the distance. Anxiety rippled through me, leaving me with a queasy stomach and shaky hands. I hastily grabbed my bag off my bed with one hand and Ladybird with my other hand and ran down the stairs and out the door. Along with the rumble of the bus, I also heard the far-off sound of my father’s combine and felt comforted by his distance.

  The bus crested the hill and came to a grinding stop before me. The driver allowed the dust to settle before opening the door. I felt on display, all eyes staring at my battered face through the soiled windows. Keeping my head down, I boarded to the sound of a slowly thumping heart, beating down my confidence as the other students stared at my face. Everyone was silent, hardly a good sign.

  By lunch, I had seen a hundred looks of pity, even from those who usually offered only hate. In a way it was nice, though I wasn’t keen to see it happen again unless the part with Leith saving me could always be involved. Days suc
h as today were bittersweet. I always felt there was a chance that, perhaps, someone would finally change. They would see the pain I went through and, for the first time, decide to treat me in a civilized manner. But this had happened enough times now for me to know that a look of pity was all I’d get. Within a few days, their mean thoughts would return as the color faded from my cheek.

  I wished Leith were here.

  He was still farming, as he would for the remainder of the school year. In a small way, I wanted to show him off. If they saw us together, holding hands, nuzzling at a lunch table, then they would maybe see that we’re both all right. Our forged connection would save us.

  I stood in the sandwich line at the cafeteria and ordered a simple turkey on wheat. Once I had my sandwich in hand, I left for my favorite spot in the library. I scrunched down in an aisle between two stacks, the worn carpet on cement providing no cushion. I had my customary fantasy novel in hand, open to where I’d last left off. I shut my eyes for a moment, imagining that the stack behind my back was a tree and the carpet the earth where I had sat last night with Leith.

  I found I had no interest in reading my fantasy novel today. I’d just lived out my own romantic scene, and I was struggling to make it feel as real now as it had been last night. The thread between my reality and my dreams was very thin, but when I began to convince myself that Leith hadn’t been real, all I had to do was grasp at the key around my neck, the very real key that proved the existence between us and our world under the tree.

  Leith. That name meant so much to me now. Every glance I’d received from him over the years was suddenly loaded with intent. It was an odd feeling to think back on those moments and know that he had been thinking of me, worrying about a bruise here or there and hearing all the tears I’d left behind my locker door. There was a fire inside me that wouldn’t go away, and not just the fire I already possessed. It had been coaxed to life overnight, writhing in the wind of my soul, refusing to be snuffed. I had a crush—the worst I’d ever felt. Leith was more than just someone who could save me. He was someone who could love me.

  I opened my eyes and forced myself back to the cold reality of the library. Only Leith could make this day bearable. When the bell rang to signify the end of lunch, I found myself springing to my feet, knowing I was one step closer to finding him again. Making my way through the halls, I noticed most students had settled on simply turning away from me. I swept into biology, placed Ladybird on my desk, and spread out my other materials.

  I sighed as the second bell rang. For the first fifteen minutes, Ms. Rosin set us to work studying our bug’s flourishes as she had yesterday. Most students fretted and stressed over what to include in their reports. I, on the other hand, spent the time watching Ladybird move about her tiny confines. I was amazed by her. I wanted to know how she had come back from the dead, and how I might do it too. I imagined how I would use it to change my life and start over. If I could die then come back, I could change everything. Father would have to forget about me, and I could make a new name for myself. Such dreaming seemed impossible, but I allowed my mind to dream it anyway. I deserved a little fun.

  I knew that I should have been more surprised by the reincarnation of Ladybird, but so many inexplicable things ruled my life that at the time, it hadn’t been all that surprising to me. In my world, strange things happened all the time. Chickens dropped dead. Ladybugs came back to life. Every boy who ever took an interest in me ended up blistered—save one. My relationship with Mother was my biggest mystery. Given all this, it seemed anything could be possible. That’s just what I was beginning to believe.

  Ms. Rosin approached me as I sat, resting my chin in my hands.

  “And how are things with you?” Her eyes quickly swept over the bruise on my face. “You seem oddly content.”

  I sat up. She was right. I could tell by the confusion on her face that she was trying to decide where the bruise came from. My somewhat cheerful demeanor would not suggest I had just been hit by my father.

  I smiled, trying to confuse her more.

  She glanced down at Ladybird, eyes growing hard with interest. “Hmm,” was all she said.

  “What?” I asked, tilting my head to better see her expression, but there was no making sense of the look on her face. Lines cut across her forehead, shielded slightly by a wave of her auburn hair. At odds with this, her lip had a slight upward curl of amusement.

  After a moment of watching Ladybird, Ms. Rosin’s eyes met mine. Her brow rose to release the lines of confusion from her face. “She has a spot. I don’t remember her having a spot before,” she stated inquisitively.

  “I didn’t replace her, if that’s what you mean. She just grew a spot overnight.” I shrugged harmlessly.

  Ms. Rosin nodded once. I didn’t think she believed me. But the small smile returned, and the disbelief on her face was suddenly replaced with a different sort of look. She had decided there was truth in what I had said, but clearly it wasn’t the whole truth.

  She placed a hand on the table and shifted her weight to rest on it, leaning closer to me. “Do you know how a ladybug gets its spots, Samantha?”

  I swallowed. I hadn’t found a single thing about it. I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

  Ms. Rosin’s head dropped low, as though to tell me a great secret. “There is an ancient myth that a ladybug receives its spots much in the same way that a cat has nine lives. Each spot signifies a life it has lived to completion, and then it starts anew.”

  I blinked a few times, my skin tingling with the fitting information. “Really?” I was trying not to sound too suspicious, though the excitement in my tone was a giveaway.

  Ms. Rosin slowly pulled her weight off her hand and stood tall. She looked down her nose at me, face quite solemn and unforgiving. “Step out into the hall with me.” Ms. Rosin’s hand waved me to follow as she turned her back on me and walked down the aisle toward the door.

  I glanced at the rest of the class. No one seemed bothered about where Ms. Rosin was going or what she was doing. I wasn’t surprised. Reluctantly, I stood and followed.

  In the hall, Ms. Rosin was facing the lockers on the other side, hands clasped before her. When the door shut behind me, she turned to me quite abruptly and grasped both my hands. “I’ve heard the rumors about you for a long time now, Samantha.”

  I laughed nervously, trying to pull my hands away, but Ms. Rosin only held on tighter. “They’re rumors, Ms. Rosin. It doesn’t bother me,” I lied.

  Ms. Rosin shook her head. “I didn’t bring you out here to discuss your well-being. Besides, if it really were just a rumor, then it wouldn’t leave evidence like it does on many of the kids at this school. I’ve seen some of the blisters.” She gave me a little half smile, surprising me. “Nice work. As much as I’m never supposed to want to see harm done to any of my students, there are still a few . . .” her voice trailed off and her eyes narrowed.

  I was holding my breath. “Ms. Rosin.”

  She snapped out of the happy trance she seemed to be in, imagining her bad students burning. “Jacqueline. Please just call me Jacqueline.” She shivered dramatically. “By the end of the day, Ms. Rosin starts to drive me mad.”

  I smiled a little. “Okay, Jacqueline.” I yanked my hands from hers, finally freeing them from the vise-like grip she had assumed. “I don’t care what you’ve seen. The rumors still aren’t true. I swear the boys do it to themselves,” I hopelessly continued to lie.

  Jacqueline laughed once. “Well, isn’t that true. They can never keep their hands off a pretty thing.”

  She laughed some more, and I found it angering me.

  “But still,” she went on, “you don’t need to discredit yourself. There’s nothing wrong with burning a few hormonally aggressive boys.” She grabbed my hands again, and I gave up trying to keep them to myself. “Listen, I gave you that ladybug on purpose. I wanted to see what would happen. For a long, long time I thought I was the only one,” she said. “But you�
�re different—just like me!” Excitement overcame her.

  I was confused. My heart rate quickened. “What do you mean, ‘just like you’?” I asked her.

  “I’m a full moon child too, Samantha.”

  “Full moon child?” She made it sound so simple, like saying she was a short child or a smart child. “You? What?” I asked incredulously.

  She grasped my hands tighter. “Yes, me.”

  I was frozen by the moment. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

  “Born on a full moon from a dead vessel,” she explained in an exasperated tone, as though I should have known this.

  “Okay. . .” I was trying to understand what was happening. A minute ago she was my teacher, and now she seemed like someone much different. “But there are lots of children born on the night of a full moon. This is just bogus.” I tried again to dissipate the situation.

  “Is it?” she challenged. “Were they all born to a mother already dead? I don’t think so. Mother’s don’t die in childbirth that often anymore. Not like they used to. We weren’t always such a rare thing.”

  My jaw finally dropped, and I gave up pretending.

  “See? You agree with me. Stop trying to deny it.”

  I shook my head. “And what about the keys?” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Keys?” She clearly didn’t know what I was talking about, but I went on anyway.

  “Yeah, keys.” I lifted the one out from under my shirt. “My mother . . . she leaves me keys.” I felt crazy in that moment, saying that out loud for the first time.

  Jacqueline stared at the key for a moment. “That’s certainly creative. I just get sentences in books.” She hungrily gazed at my key, eyes wide and thoughts traveling away from her.