by Carol Cujec
Breathe in Hope
“Knock, knock!”
Peter was on his eleventh joke so far, and Jaz looked like she wanted to strangle him.
Or maybe she wanted to curse Ana, who insisted we eat lunch in the cafeteria again. This time Ana convinced Peter to join us.
“Knock, knock! Who’s there? Wanda,” Peter said.
“Peter, you’re supposed to wait till we say, ‘Who’s there?’” Jaz rolled her eyes.
Peter was more than happy to have a captive audience.
Captive is the right word.
“Wanda hang out sometime? Ha!”
He ended each joke with a loud “Ha!” as if he just played a clever trick on us.
“I can’t stand when food dribbles on my shirt when I’m eating,” Jaz said. “I feel all eyes are on us—especially those dumb cheerleaders with their perfect white teeth and lip gloss and twirly cheer skirts.”
You think the cheerleaders notice us? Probability: low.
Jaz tilted her head toward the cool kids’ table. I noted Mason was not there today.
Ana did not sit with us today. Instead, she sat close by at the next table. “I’ll give you kids your space,” she said. That left me with knock-knock jokes on one side and complaints on the other.
Both conversations stopped mid-sentence when a fourth person joined us.
Mason.
Huh?
Mason put his tray on the table and nodded hello.
Jazmine and Peter’s eyes grew wide.
Shoulders hunched, he crammed a bean burrito into his mouth in three bites, grabbed his milk carton and poured some milk into his already stuffed mouth—to help mush up the burrito I guess—picked up his tray, and left.
Nothing like a relaxing thirty-second lunch.
No one knew he was my cousin. I am sure Mason wanted to keep it that way. I am also sure that dear Aunt Kiki had told him to eat lunch with me. I imagined her saying, “Wouldn’t it be lovely to have lunch with your cousin Charity, sweetie? You know she probably has no friends.”
Now he could go home and report mission accomplished.
He was out of earshot—or at least pretended to be—by the time Peter thought to ask him, “Wanna hear a joke?”
Back in the EPIC room, Ana brought out the wobble board, which is curved on the bottom and flat on the top.
Here we go again.
The goal was for me to stand on it and balance as long as I could without falling over. It reminded me of standing on the surfboard with Dad.
While standing on the wobble board, I had to beat a drum and rock in rhythm to the songs she strummed on a guitar. The first hundred times or so, I fell off after a few seconds. But with lots of practice, I got pretty good at it.
“Music therapy helps you with movement,” Ana explained.
She was right. Now, when my body got stuck on freeze, she squeezed my arms or legs rhythmically, and that seemed to unstick me. What a relief.
After the wobble board, Ana dragged out the yoga mats.
“Yoga and mindfulness can help regulate your emotions. Let’s start with downward dog,” she said, tapping the mat.
I bent down, spread my fingers on the mat and lifted my hips up while trying to keep my heels on the floor. Same as Hero waking up from a nap—drool included.
A few poses later, we moved on to meditation. Ana told me to choose a mantra, a phrase I could repeat to myself over and over to stay focused.
“The most basic mantra is Om,” she explained. “It simply means It is. But you could choose any phrase you want, like I am at peace or I am stronger each day.”
The first few times, my fidgety body did not last thirty seconds. But after two weeks, we were up to as many as five minutes of breathing and sitting.
Sitting cross-legged on my purple mat, I struggled to tune out the voice inside that said I could not do it.
Breathe in friendship.
I am more than my body.
Breathe out loneliness.
I love and accept myself.
Mom and Dad practiced with me at home too. Our neighbor Dr. Singh did a double take when she saw me and Dad doing the tree pose in the front yard. He balanced on one leg and held his arms—his branches—in the air to feel the breeze.
“Are you two doing ballet again?” she asked. “I don’t think that’s one of the positions, Steve,” she laughed.
Ana also helped me move better by tapping the body part that was supposed to react. When I got stuck sitting on the floor, for example, she tapped my leg and said, “Let’s stand now.” That simple touch usually reminded my legs what they were supposed to do.
After our yoga lesson, Ana helped me play games on an electronic tablet. She supported me gently, making it possible for my hand to tap and swipe.
One program taught me to draw letters with my finger.
“Good job, Charity. Now let’s draw the letter C. Move your finger counterclockwise. There you go . . .”
“Breathe deeply.”
I did not see her mark down any of my failures. For each new task, she gave me as much help as I needed and had faith that I would, eventually, learn it. Same as Mom when she taught me to read and Dad when he taught me to ride a bike and surf and ski. Why couldn’t all teachers be like that?
When I finally drew the letter C with no support, she yelled “Whoopee!” and held up her hand for a fist bump.
Celia joined in for a triple bump, and Skyler did a victory dance. “You did it! We believe in you, Cherry Tree!”
My mind wandered again to Isabella, stuck in that smelly classroom at Borden, probably watching Barney season four, episode ten for the millionth time. How was it fair that I escaped and she had not?
After three weeks, Celia invited Mom to school for my first progress report. Finally, the word “progress” did not sound like a total joke.
“Charity has done a wonderful job adapting to a new and often chaotic environment,” Celia said. “She should be very proud.” Celia turned to me. “Querida, we feel you are ready to attend some mainstream classes starting next week.”
What?
My body tensed up and started to rock.
Back and forth, back and forth.
Mom shook her head, “But things are going so well. Charity seems happier. She’s eating and sleeping better. Couldn’t we keep things as they are for now?”
Back and forth, back and forth.
“Mrs. Wood, Charity has already waited years to attend age-appropriate classes. She shouldn’t waste any more time.”
Ana put her hand on Mom’s shoulder. “It will be all right. I will be there to support her, and the teachers and I have already discussed ways she might participate.”
Mom smiled. She actually smiled. I sensed no worry hiding underneath it.
Maybe Ana really could perform miracles.
Down the Rabbit Hole
Mason’s eyes popped when I stumbled into his math class the following Monday.
My stomach sent up a dribble of morning OJ into my mouth. My polo shirt wanted to strangle me after my nervous fingers had buttoned it all the way to the top. I tugged at the neck.
Ana squeezed my shoulder. “You will be all right, Charity.” I focused on her soothing voice and tried not to look at the sixty-four eyeballs pointed in my direction.
Page 278: A turtle’s upper shell is called a carapace. Its lower shell is a plastron.
If I were a turtle, I would hide in my shell.
Mason turned his eyes down to his notebook, as if he were deep in thought.
Do not worry, Mason. Your secret is safe with me.
Obviously.
Ana and I sat at the back table of Mr. Byrd’s math class.
Jaz whizzed up next to me in her wheelchair. “You’re gonna love this class, Charity. Mr. B is super cool.”
I knew she was right when I saw his T-shirt with a picture of Einstein sticking out his tongue.
“Welcome, young Jedi knight,” he said, bowing to me.
Still, I could not help gnawing on my knuckles for the first thirteen minutes.
I loved math. The logic and peacefulness of numbers. Sad to say, in all my classes at school, math lessons had never gone past counting to ten.
The teacher would command, “Pick up three blocks, pick up three blocks, pick up three blocks.” When my hands grabbed one block or five blocks, the Thinkers concluded I had no understanding of numbers.
The aide at Borden would say the same thing over and over. “If Suzy has two pieces of bubble gum and Bobby gives her one more, how many pieces of bubble gum does Suzy have?” I prayed that Suzy would just choke on her stupid gum.
I watched Mr. Byrd scribble equations on the board and talk about monomials and binomials. My mind flashed to all of Mom’s flashcards on multiplication and division. Algebra was the same but with Xs and Ys. Yes, it made sense to me, but with no way to communicate, I could only sit and listen. I started picking pieces of lint off Jazmine’s sweater.
“Here is a fidget for you to spin.” Ana handed me a blue spinner and my eyes drank in the perfect circle that formed each time I spun it. Round and round and round.
Mr. Byrd gave the class a problem to solve: 15x2yx ÷ 5xy.
Numbers and letters floated in my head.
Round and round and round.
The answer is 3x2.
Round and round and round.
No way to tell anyone, though.
Page 278: The leatherback sea turtle is the largest species of turtle, some weighing more than 2000 pounds.
Round and round and round.
I dropped the spinner on the floor.
Mr. B walked over and handed me a Rubik’s cube. “Maybe you’d like to fix this for me, young Jedi.”
I know he only gave it to me for fidgeting, but I so wished my hands would cooperate in solving it just this once.
Fact: No one will ever know I have a brain.
Page 276: The Galápagos tortoise can live for more than 200 years.
Twist, twist, twist, twist.
My mind could see the twenty-five or so turns that needed to be made. Would my hands obey? To my amazement, they did. I counted down the turns . . . 13 . . . 12 . . . 11 . . . Just ten more turns, and I would have it. My body rocked with each twist.
Rock, twist, rock, twist, rock.
My hands twisted the cube automatically.
Everyone will finally see what I can do.
Or not.
A noise scraped my ears. A bright light flashed above the door.
CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH.
My hands dropped the cube and covered my ears.
Every blast hammered a stake into my brain cells.
“Let’s exit in an orderly fashion, dudes and dudettes,” Mr. B said.
My logical brain knew it was only a fire alarm. But my bulldog impulse acted on instinct.
My legs sprang up.
Run! Get away!
My feet sprinted out the door.
CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH.
Faster! Go!
Down the hall.
Move! Run!
The sound stabbed my ears.
Get out! Escape!
I crashed into kids, banged into walls, stumbled over backpacks.
CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH.
Run! MOVE!
My feet kept flying.
Away! NOW!
My sneakers scrambled like prey escaping a predator.
A flash of sunlight pulled me toward the end of a hallway, an emergency exit. I knew that beyond the exit was a sidewalk. Beyond the sidewalk was a busy street.
CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH.
My brain yelled at my feet: Stop! Stop! Two steps out that door, and I would be in the middle of the street.
My bulldog impulse commanded: Keep going!
The sun threw a spotlight on the door. A truck engine roared from the street outside. My brain hollered: Freeze!
My bulldog impulse commanded: Get out NOW!
CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH . . . CREECH.
My arms rammed the door open.
I’m dead! I’m roadkill!
My left foot stepped outside, heading toward a massive garbage truck.
At that second, my body snapped back like a yo-yo. Someone had grabbed the back of my shirt. My throat choked on the collar. My arms swung around. My fist smashed a face.
Right in the nose.
Mason?
Mason breathed hard. He was hanging onto my shirt with one hand and covering his bloody nose with the other.
“What the crud, Charity.”
How did you even keep up with me?
My feet froze. I stared in shock at the river of red dripping from his nose. He wiped blood onto his sweatshirt. Then he led me out the emergency exit and to the soccer field at the back of the school.
All the kids were standing in lines with their classes. In front of everyone, Mason held my hand and walked me to a frantic Celia, who was on the phone to a frantic Ana. “Gracias a Dios! Thank you for your help, young man!”
Mason nodded and left.
My heartbeat slowed as I watched Mason walk away, still wiping away blood.
Hypothesis: Cousin = friend.
…
Even after my morning freak-out, Ana insisted on taking me to my new English class that afternoon. Walking down the hallway, I heard the whispers. I am sure they all knew about my five-hundred-yard dash that morning.
“That’s the one who went ballistic . . . OMG, she almost mowed me down . . .”
I wanted to scream at them.
OMG, I have ears, you know!
Every giggle, every glare added a new bruise.
“That fire alarm was no drill,” Ana said. “It was pulled by a student as a prank. For normal drills, we always lead our students outside before the alarm sounds since so many have sensitivity to loud noises.”
My legs could barely take the next step, like they were plowing through frigid, knee-deep snow.
Ana squeezed my shoulders. “Do not let fear stop you, Charity. We conquer our fears by facing them head on.”
When we arrived at English, more kids were staring.
Ana and Celia’s little plan was not going so well.
Ana laid out a two-hundred-piece puzzle on the back table, a sailboat gliding on an aquamarine sea. “This should keep your hands busy so your mind can focus.”
My body rocked back and forth, back and forth.
“Breathe, Charity,” she said. “Remember what we practiced.”
Okay, I can do this. Focus on the puzzle. Look for blue pieces. Look for blue pieces.
I spotted Grace’s friends, Lilly and Darcy.
Oh, great.
Back and forth, back and forth.
Blue pieces. Blue pieces . . . 7, 8, 9 . . .
The teacher, Ms. Beckett, came and put her hand over mine. “So nice to meet you, Charity. Welcome to our class.”
I looked down at her fingers—dotted with age spots—and up at her face—wrinkled with wisdom. I felt welcome here.
Breathe in peace.
Wait a minute. Who’s that?
Standing a few feet behind us was the principal, Mr. Jergen, wearing a frown. Next to him stood a large woman wearing a red blouse that tied in a bow at her neck. Her eyes pointed in my direction. She held a pen and notebook, and I could hear her nose whistle a little
when she breathed.
Ana looked back at them and stiffened.
Breathe in peace?
Were they here because of me? Celia said the administration would keep a close eye on me.
My heartbeat multiplied by two.
Holy hippopotamus.
Blue pieces, blue pieces. How many did I have so far?
Ms. Beckett dove into a discussion about Alice in Wonderland. Her petite body bopped and boogied around the classroom as she described scenes from the story. The whole time her short gray hair never moved a millimeter.
Mom had read me the book when I was ten. As Ms. Beckett spoke, images of the blue caterpillar, grinning cat, and terrible Queen of Hearts floated in my mind. I could almost taste Alice’s cake and tarts and tea. My brain felt like a dry sponge soaking in its first drops of water.
I can do this. Focus on the puzzle. Red pieces now . . . 1, 2, 3 . . .
I always felt close to Alice. She fell down a rabbit hole and found her body too small, then too large. The creatures in Wonderland considered her a freak, but, to her, they were the strange ones. Alice had a hard time living in Wonderland. Did the author Lewis Carroll feel out of place in his world? I filed that question away with a million others I would never get to ask.
Brown pieces now . . . 1, 2, 3 . . . Are Jergen and that lady still staring at me?
I peeked back. Jergen had left, but the whistle-breathing woman stayed. She reminded me of the Queen of Hearts. At any moment, I expected her to point and shout, “Off with her head!”
“Let’s get in groups to discuss the questions on the board,” Ms. Beckett said. “How about a few people form a group with Charity? Stuart, Alex, Lilly, Rachel, join her at the back table, please.”
Lilly with pink hair? Oh, no. Hasn’t she already called me tragic twice?
The kids pulled chairs up to my table, leaving miles of space between them and me.
Diagnosis: contagious.
Stuart was the only one who did not squirm at my strangeness. He opened his copy of Alice in Wonderland, crammed with yellow highlights and notes scribbled in the margin. His long legs barely fit under the table as he laid out his notebook and adjusted his glasses to examine Ms. Beckett’s questions. I could guess he loved learning as much as I did.
“Okay, what does everyone think about question one?” he said. “What aspects of the story suggest that this is a dream?”