Mockingbird

by Kathryn Erskine

  I don’t know.

  He shrugs. You’re not weird to me. I think you’re nice.

  Thank you, I say. I’m remembering Your Manners.

  I hear someone clap. A teacher voice calls out, Okay class! Two minutes! Then we need to line up!

  Thanks for the gummy worm.

  Very good, I say, you remembered Your Manners.

  He nods. Mommy said that’s important.

  It is. You get stickers.

  His lips go down a little at the ends and his head tilts like he doesn’t Get It. I don’t think that’s why.

  You do get a sticker though, I tell him.

  From who?

  Your dad.

  He doesn’t have any stickers.

  I have a lot. I can bring you some.

  Okay. Thanks.

  You said thanks. That’s two stickers now. You’re welcome. See? I’m good at Your Manners too.

  He giggles. They’re not MY manners.

  I know. They’re YOUR Manners.

  What? His Bambi eyes look smiley but also a little . . . something else . . . maybe confused?

  Everyone has to learn Your Manners, I explain.

  You’re silly! He giggles some more.

  Why are you laughing?

  Because they’re EVERYONE’S Manners! MY Manners are when I say please and thank you. YOUR Manners are when YOU say please and thank you.

  I Look At The Person. All this time I thought I was learning YOUR Manners when really I was learning MY Manners? But then . . . everyone’s manners are the same.

  Now you Get It!

  Ohhh. Thank you. You’re very helpful. I think it’ll be easier to learn YOUR Manners—I mean MY Manners—now that I know they belong to me and I’m not trying to learn somebody else’s.

  The bell rings and the boy stands up and looks at me with his Bambi eyes. A teacher voice calls out and he turns and starts walking toward it but then he turns around again. What’s your name?

  CaitlinAnnSmith.

  Oh. Can I just call you Caitlin?

  Only if you don’t shout it. I hate when people shout my name.

  He nods. Okay. My name’s Michael.

  I hold my right hand up and close and open it three times.

  His mouth corners go up and his cheeks get puffy and his Bambi eyes smile. He has cute little dimples and blond wavy hair that drops below his cap. He holds his left hand up and opens and closes it several times back to me.

  I wonder if this means I have a friend.

  CHAPTER 11

  THE DAY OUR LIFE FELL APART

  MRS. JOHNSON GIVES ME BACK MY group project. It says Well Researched and Very Interesting and Excellent but at the bottom she also writes, Why are there capital letters in the middle of your sentences? Common nouns are not capitalized. Only the special words are capitalized. I look at my paragraph. I did not put capital letters in the middle of the sentences. They are only at the beginning of some words. She has put an X over the H in Heart and written a lowercase h. It doesn’t look right that way. I’m sure she’s wrong about the special words and capital letters even though she’s a teacher. How can any word be more special than Heart?

  At home I think about Devon’s Heart. I sit on the sofa and look at his chest. It’s still under the gray sheet. There are rays of light coming in through the blinds and the dust swirls around in the beams and hits the chest and I wonder if any of the dust particles are Devon and if I can feel him.

  I close my eyes and remember some of the things that happened on The Day Our Life Fell Apart. That’s what Dad calls it. After we came home from the hospital that night—with no Devon—Dad was yelling and kicking the furniture and the walls and he started pounding the chest with his fists and shouting, Why? Why? WHY? and he threw the woodworking books and Scout manual into Devon’s room and slammed the door and said, No no no no no, until I screamed at him to STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT! Then he put the sheet over the chest and now he never even looks in that corner.

  I press myself against the sofa and squish my eyes tight and even though I try not to I remember being at the hospital and how there were sharp lights and siren noises and loudspeaker noises and beeping noises and medicine smells and finally people dressed in green pajamas and paper slippers said to Dad, We tried but we couldn’t close your son’s chest. His Heart—there was nothing left—there was nothing we could do. Nothing we could do.

  I’m shaking and sucking my sleeve and I try to stop thinking about The Day Our Life Fell Apart but when I open my eyes Devon’s chest is staring at me so I slide off of the sofa and crawl over to it and pull the sheet up from the bottom and push underneath it and get inside the empty hollow chest and I imagine myself as the Heart. Devon’s Heart. My arms are atria and my legs are ventricles and I pump the blood all around the right way because there has to be something I can do. Something I can do. First I pump the blood to the lungs to pick up the oxygen then to the left atrium and ventricle then to the aorta to go all around his body like it should. All my valves are working so the blood flow is right and I can feel the beat and I rock with it because rocking makes me feel alive and I want his chest to be alive. I pump the blood around Devon’s body. Dev-on. Dev-on. Dev-on. I say it louder and louder to make it true and my whole body is beating for his louder and louder and wilder and wilder and my head is banging the sides of the chest but I don’t care. DEV-ON! DEV-ON! DEV-ON! And I hear Dad’s voice screaming like at the hospital and I don’t want to hear it because I don’t want any part of The Day Our Life Fell Apart to happen again so I focus and become the Heart louder and louder and harder and harder but then I fall out of the chest because there’s no way to close it and I feel Dad grabbing me but all I can do is scream the words from the green hospital people, I TRIED BUT THERE WAS NOTHING I COULD DO!

  Caitlin! Caitlin! I hear Dad yelling but I can’t stop crying. I feel him wrap me in my blanket and put me back on the sofa and I feel his arm around me as he sits next to me in the dark. The ringing in my ears finally stops but then the phone rings.

  I feel Dad get up and watch him disappear into the kitchen. He comes running back into the living room and turns on the TV and stands there looking at it. He breathes heavily.

  The man on Fox Five News has a microphone in his hand and is talking in front of a brick building. I’m at the courthouse where the remaining killer from the Virginia Dare Middle School shooting has just had his preliminary hearing. The hearing found that there’s enough evidence against him to be put on trial for the murders of teacher Roberta Schneider and young students Julieanne Morris and Devon Smith. That horrific shooting was a devastating blow to this small community—oh! There he is! The picture jumps around wildly until it’s on a boy in an orange suit with police all around him. He doesn’t look much older than Devon. Mr. Fox Five News shouts as he pushes his microphone past a crowd of people, What do you have to say for yourself? The boy in orange stares into the camera and grins a half smile. Then he lifts his handcuffed hands and gives a thumbs-up sign. Dad goes to the bathroom and throws up. The camera switches to a lady sitting inside at the news desk. She says, We’ll hear more about this story later but isn’t it good that we now have closure?

  I suck my sleeve. I don’t think there is anything good about any of it. And I wonder how CLOsure can help. And what it is. When Dad comes back to the living room and turns off the TV I ask him, What is CLOsure? He says he has to call a neighbor but when Mrs. Robbins comes over he forgets to ask her what closure means. He just says she is going to take care of me because he has a headache and needs to take a shower. I wonder if it is one of the crying showers. I close my eyes.

  I can see the light come on through my eyelids and I hear a creaking sound and then Mrs. Robbins’s shaky voice. Can I get you something Caitlin? Hot chocolate? Warm milk?

  My Dictionary.

  Dictionary?

  Yes.

  Oh. I was thinking of—

  PLEASE.

  More creaking. Okay dear.

 
I look up CLOsure and it says: the state of experiencing an emotional conclusion to a difficult life event such as the death of loved one. I do not know how to get to the state of experiencing an emotional conclusion so I ask Mrs. Robbins, How do I get to the state of experiencing an emotional conclusion to a difficult life event?

  Her mouth opens and closes three times and makes a squeaky noise. Excuse me, she says, and runs into the kitchen but I can hear her blowing her nose and now I can hear Dad crying in the shower so I put my purple fleece over my head and close my eyes and plug my ears and with my elbows I squeeze my Dictionary tight against my chest.

  CHAPTER 12

  CLOSURE

  I WAIT ALL MORNING FOR MY MRS. Brook time. I run-walk to her room because of No Running In The Halls. I push the door open without even knocking and ask, How do I get to the state of experiencing an emotional conclusion to a difficult life event?

  She stands up from the round table. What do you mean?

  Closure, I say. I’m talking about Closure. How do I find it?

  Sit down Caitlin. Is this . . . are you talking about the news? The boy from the shooting?

  I nod about a hundred times because she is a little slow Getting It today.

  This is very stressful for our entire community. We’re all looking for Closure.

  I Look At The Person. But she’s not answering my question.

  Come sit down.

  I’m still standing.

  Okay, says Mrs. Brook, I’ll sit. She puts her hands in front of her on the table and clasps them together. She takes a deep breath and lets it out. Slowly. She closes her eyes.

  Is she praying? This isn’t church, I remind her.

  I know. I’m thinking. She scratches the part in her hair then puts her hands together again. Sometimes the process of a funeral and burial and doing things like putting wreaths on grave sites help give Closure.

  Devon was cremated so that will not work for me.

  Some people go to church.

  It’s not Sunday, I point out.

  I mean on Sundays do you and your father go to church?

  I shrug. We used to go to one with the Boy Scouts but not anymore. Now we just drive past it.

  Church might be helpful. Or seeing a counselor.

  I Look At The Person. You’re a counselor. I see you.

  I know but your dad might like to go see a counselor too.

  Can he come see you about Closure?

  Sometimes we can do that but I’m really here to help the students. But talking can help both of you a lot, she says. Talking about your feelings.

  That will not work for me. I don’t like Let’s Talk About It.

  Now Caitlin—

  Is there anything else?

  Well if nothing else, Mrs. Brook says, time helps.

  But I didn’t ask if there was nothing else. I asked if there was anything else. I start shaking my hands because the world is spinning and if I shake my hands faster than the rest of the world then the world’s spinning doesn’t seem so fast. Devon says it makes no sense but it makes sense to me.

  It’s something you have to find for yourself because everyone is different. We all have to find our own special way.

  I thought I was the one who was special and everyone else was normal. I almost ask her what normal people do but I suppose that would not work for me anyway. That doesn’t help.

  She touches my shaking hand and I pull it away. Something will come to you Caitlin, she says. There’s a solution out there with your name written on it.

  I look around her room for my name.

  I’m sorry, she says, I don’t mean that your name will actually be written on anything. But you’ll think of something.

  I give a big sigh and say, Fine. I will figure it out myself.

  But I have no clue how.

  We walk together on the playground and Mrs. Brook talks but I can’t hear her. I’m thinking too hard about Closure. When the bell rings I stand there sucking my sleeve until I remember I have a maybe friend and I go find Michael. He’s on the jungle gym but comes over to me when I do our wave.

  Hi Caitlin.

  Do you know how to get to the state of experiencing an emotional conclusion to a difficult life event?

  What?

  Closure. Do you know how to get there?

  No. But I’ll ask my dad. He’s good at finding stuff.

  Really? My dad isn’t. Is your dad extra smart or something?

  He shrugs. I don’t know. He seems extra happy.

  You’re lucky. My dad’s sad all the time.

  Michael shakes his head. I don’t feel lucky. I feel bad because I’m not happy all the time like he is. Like I’m supposed to be. He always wants to do something like throw a football or play Frisbee or go bowling and sometimes I just don’t want to do that stuff because I’m sad.

  Maybe my dad and your dad should get together and become normal.

  Maybe.

  So will you ask him?

  Ask him what?

  About Closure?

  That’s a hard word.

  It’s like closing. Only it’s Closure.

  Okay. I’ll ask him.

  Thank you. I smile. That’s MY manners. And that reminds me. Here are YOUR stickers. They’re of the planets. Some of them glow in the dark.

  He looks at the stickers. Whoa. I LOVE these! Thank you Caitlin!

  You’re welcome.

  When Dad drives me home from school I look at the sign in front of the church we used to go to. It says, OUR HEARTS are still with the families of Julianne, Devon and Roberta. Except OUR HEARTS couldn’t do anything to save Devon’s Heart. Maybe that’s why Dad drives past.

  I need to figure out Closure.

  CHAPTER 13

  TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD

  I’M STANDING IN FRONT OF Devon’s door. Whenever I don’t know what to do I go to Devon’s room and ask him. I REALLY want to know about Closure. And I don’t know who else to ask.

  Except Devon’s not here.

  But his room is.

  I haven’t been inside since Dad slammed the door on The Day Our Life Fell Apart. I know that means Dad doesn’t want me to go in but I don’t know why. Even though the door doesn’t have my name on it I want to be with Devon. I need to be with Devon. And I know Devon would open his door for me.

  I put my hand on the doorknob. It’s cool and strong. I hold it awhile like I’m holding Devon’s hand. Like I did when I followed him into his room and he let me draw while he did his homework as long as I didn’t talk or hum or make weird mouth noises. I close my eyes and promise the door that I will not talk or hum or make weird mouth noises and I turn the knob. After a cracking sound the door opens.

  When I push my head into the soft blue blur of his room I can smell him and feel him and I smile. It’s like pure Devon in here. I go all the way in and quietly shut the door behind me.

  There is the beanbag chair where Devon always sits. And the books on the floor that Dad threw there. And the bed which is never made because Devon hates making his bed. And the shelf with his trophies. Baseball. Basketball. Boy Scouts.

  I look around the walls that are full of my pictures. He still has stuff taped up that I did in preschool. I don’t know why. They’re really bad. I can do so much better now. The bird I drew when I was four hardly even looks like a bird. Now I can draw a bird that looks real. Last year Dad entered the eagle I drew in a grown-up art show and it won first prize. Dad and Devon were so happy I was sure they got confused and thought they’d drawn the bird themselves. But they didn’t because Devon said, You may be the best artist in Virginia, and Dad said so too.

  Devon even said that by the time I’m an adult I might be the best artist in the country! I remember where he was sitting when he said it. Right there. In the blue beanbag chair with the plastic cover that feels weird and makes fart noises when you slide into it. It’s Devon’s favorite place to sit. Not mine.

  I turn around and I see it. My hidey-hole. The bes
t place in the world. If there’s a thunderstorm or fireworks or a lot of sirens Devon lets me sit in the hidey-hole in the corner between the foot of his bed and his dresser. He even used his Boy Scout knife to carve my name underneath his dresser where Dad can’t see it and get mad because you’re not supposed to use stickers on the furniture and Devon says it’s a pretty safe bet that the No Stickers On The Furniture rule applies to knives also.

  I decide to get in my hidey-hole and slide all the way underneath the dresser and look up at my name and feel it. It’s not my real name. It’s Devon’s name for me which is Scout. It’s from To Kill a Mockingbird because he loves that movie. It has two kids in it: Jem and Scout. They are a brother and a sister and there is a father too and a lady I used to think was the mother who is always in the kitchen except when she leaves every night to go take care of her other children. I thought maybe that’s where my mother went. To take care of her other children. And she had trouble with directions like me and couldn’t find the way back here again. I asked Devon about it and he said that was crazy and I shouldn’t blame Mom for having cancer and dying. She didn’t want to die. I said Scout and Jem should be nicer to their mom because she is probably dying of cancer and one day will not be able to come back and fix them breakfast. He said, She’s a maid! but she still seems like a mom to me.

  The dad has funny glasses and is always dressed up and doesn’t get mad even when people spit in his face. I wish Dad wouldn’t shout when I throw things at him. And he shot a dog. Jem and Scout’s dad I mean. But Devon said it was a sick dog who would attack them and make them all die. I guess sometimes it’s good to shoot things. But not Devon. Devon was not going to attack anyone or make them die.

  Devon is like Jem. A lot like Jem. He even looks like Jem. Except Devon’s nose got broken playing baseball. And I don’t know what color Jem’s hair or eyes actually are because the movie is in black and white which means mostly gray. Devon’s hair is brown and people say his eyes are big and beautiful and brown but really there’s a lot of black and white in his eyes. I like things in black and white. Black and white is easier to understand. All that color is too confusing.