At 10:27, Ms. W. asked, “Ida, will you take this form to the office, please?”
Now this was bad timing. My body drooped and I gave her a look that said, “Do I have to?” without the words.
“Ida, please.” She put her arm out to me with the form, and her head went back to her work.
As soon as I was in the hall, I ran as fast as I could to the office, slowed to a walk ten feet from the door, dropped off the form, and ran back to the room. My head just about spun all the way around on my neck looking for Claire. Sure enough, just as I feared, she was gone.
I felt a little breeze across my back, turned around, and there she was, back from her morning trip.
Claire didn’t go all afternoon. I watched and I waited, but she waited longer.
Twenty minutes before the end of the day I realized that I myself needed to use the bathroom. Badly. I’d been so focused on Claire that I hadn’t noticed the pressure building, and there was no way I’d make it all the way home, thumping and bumping over ruts in the road, on that bus.
Ms. W. gave me the all-clear, out-with-no-waiting release. Then I did the speedy keep-your-feet-low-to-the-ground-so-you-don’t-bounce-too-much shuffle down to the lav, took care of my business, opened the stall door feeling one hundred percent better, and shot straight up in the air.
Claire DeLuna was standing right in front of me, arms crossed, leaning against the sink. She was looking straight at me, waiting for me, alone, like I’d been trying to do to her all week. If I had been any less shocked, I would have turned around and locked the stall door, but I was petrified. I was the Statue of Surprise, the Venus of Dismay.
I had been outplanned.
“Why are you following me?” she asked.
My mouth, which had been hanging wide open, shut itself for a second, then gave up and just hung there again.
“Are you trying to do something else mean to me?” she said.
Well, I’d been so focused on getting Claire alone, and I was just so startled by her superior cleverness and that she thought my following her was to do something nasty, that I couldn’t remember what I wanted to tell her.
As I stood there with my arms out, my head bobbing, and my mouth babbling, “I ... I ... I ...” Claire turned away.
And as she walked out the bathroom door, she yelled back at me, “Just leave me alone!”
So there I was. A week of planning and trying my hardest and everything was worse instead of better.
It rained that afternoon and all evening, the kind of rain that stings when it hits your skin. And that felt just about right.
Chapter 29
Saturday morning, I was sitting on the front porch, waiting for nothing, with nothing I wanted to do. Rufus sat beside me for a while, hoping I’d be up to something more than misery. But he got tired of waiting and went off on his own, leaving a small sea of spit where he’d been sitting.
Just as I was about to take myself back to bed and try starting the day over again in the afternoon, I saw the big white car come down the road and turn left at the T. And right away, I knew what I had to do.
No plans. No least-possible-pain-and-humiliation scheming. Just plain and straight do the deed.
As soon as the white car disappeared down the DeLunas’ drive, I picked myself up and headed out through the fields, then around the base of the mountain.
I walked through the orchard, eyes fixed forward, not slow and not rushed, either. Like I was on my way to the final showdown. Yes, there was a bunch of them and only one of me. Yes, they might ambush me, and I might not come back in one piece. But I’d take whatever those people needed to dish out, because I was going to do the right thing.
I stopped just before I stepped onto the land that now belonged to the DeLunas, and took a deep breath as I walked over that invisible boundary line.
And there was Claire straight ahead, looking at me, waiting for me. Her mom and little brother were crouched down at the side of the house, planting little bushes.
Clump . . . clump . . . clump . . . was the only sound my feet were making this time as I walked toward Claire, arms out from my sides and palms up, letting her know that I wasn’t coming for a fight, even if she had some trouble and torture she needed to visit on me.
Claire’s mother spotted me and stood, dusted off her hands, and watched as I walked up to Claire. Then all of the world was still except for the two of us.
“Claire,” I said, making myself look her in the eye, “I’m sorry I scared you in the woods. I’m sorry I was mean to you. I was following you in school so I could apologize. I . . . I . . . ” And there I was, babbling again. Should I tell her about Mama and the trees and school and everything? Where would I start if I was going to explain it all?
Then Ms. W. came into my head and I knew it didn’t really matter.
“I’m just sorry,” I said.
Sometimes, on spring days, there will be the brightest, warmest sun and the darkest, rainiest clouds sharing the sky. All day long you wonder, “Will it rain? Will it shine?” And that’s what I was thinking then, while I was looking at Claire’s face. Everything was there, but nothing was happening one way or the other. I couldn’t hang around any longer to see what would win out, though, because I had something else to do.
I turned to Claire’s little brother, who had his arm around his mama’s leg, and I could see that he was scared of me. He thought I was a monster, just like I’d wanted him to.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” I said. “I won’t ever do it again. I promise.”
And he just stared at me, too. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that this family’s mouths were under repair.
It was too hard waiting there for those people to decide if they wanted to tell me something, and I wasn’t quite sure I could stand to hear the words they might want to say anyway. So I turned back to the orchard and started home.
I braced myself for a DeLuna ambush from behind and decided that when Mama and Daddy found me, just holding on to a tiny sliver of life, my last words would be, “Turn the land into a park, teach Rufus some mouth-related manners, and make sure Lulu gets her treats. Please.”
But I got to the property line without harm or hollering, and by the time I crossed it, I did feel better. Like my heart was heavier and lighter at the same time.
Chapter 30
Apologizing is like spring-cleaning. First of all, you don’t want to do it. But there’s something inside you, or somebody outside you who’s standing there with her hands on her hips saying, “It’s time to make things right around here,” and there’s no getting out of it.
Once you get started, though, you find out that you can’t just clean out one room and be done with it; you have to do the whole house or you’re tracking dirt from one place to the other. Well, it starts to seem like too, too much, and you want to quit more than Christmas. But there’s that somebody or something telling you again, “Keep going. You’re almost done. No quitting allowed.”
Then all of a sudden you are done. It was an awful terrible time, and you never want to have to do it again in your whole life. But it is kind of nice seeing everything clean and looking just right.
And at that moment you’re almost glad you did it. Sort of.
So I had a good sleep on Saturday night, but when I woke up on Sunday morning, I knew I wasn’t finished.
I walked out to the middle of the orchard and took a deep breath. My legs were shaking because those trees and I hadn’t chatted in quite a while, and I wasn’t sure how angry and maybe vicious they were going to be. There were a whole lot of them, and some of them could be quite rude, as you know.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect your friends. I’m sorry I couldn’t save Winston and Philomena and the rest of them,” I started out. “Daddy says we can plant more trees in the south field, and I know that doesn’t make anything okay, but we’re trying.” I knew that part wouldn’t help, and it might even hurt me with them, but for some reason I wanted the
m to know that Mama and Daddy cared.
“I miss them, too,” I said.
Well, all of those trees, hundreds of them, and not one of them said a word. I was beginning to think that my apologies made people’s voices freeze up, and I would have to try that out on Emma Aaronson next time she started going on about how she’s so good the angels had reserved a special spot for her sitting right alongside them in heaven.
But if you’ve ever talked to a bunch of people, and that bunch of people was some of your best friends, and they acted as if they didn’t even hear you, like you weren’t even there, you know how lonely that can feel. I guess I was just to my limit with feeling bad about myself, and lonely, and tired out in general. So I sat down on the ground and I cried.
And since those trees weren’t talking to me but I figured they weren’t going anywhere, either, I told them everything. I just let it all pour out of me, for the first time, I guess. I told them about Mama and the lump, Ms. Myers and my name, what I did to the DeLuna kids, what I said to Mama and Daddy. And how I’d missed those trees but figured they’d be angry with me, and I was afraid something exactly like this would happen, so I hadn’t come to visit.
When I was all done, it was still quiet. For a minute I felt that awful fear you can get when you think about maybe never, ever having somebody you love’s company again.
But then Viola, who is the kindest of the bunch, whispered, “We missed you too, Ida B.”
Maurice, who’s about fourth nicest, said, “Welcome back, Ida B.”
And right then, my heart almost overfilled with happiness.
Then that stinker Paulie T. said, “I’m still mad, and don’t think I’m forgetting anything, Ida B. And I’m not too sure about forgiving, either.”
“Oh, Paulie T.,” said Viola.
But I was feeling so much better, I could deal with Paulie T. myself. “Are you going to hold a grudge?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said back, being the punk that he is.
“That’s okay, Paulie T.,” I told him. “But if you want to talk, I’m ready to listen.”
Then I chatted with the nice ones for a bit, and it wasn’t like old times. But sometimes, when you haven’t talked with a friend for a while, even if it’s strange and stiff and you don’t quite know what to say, it can still feel better than ever.
Before long it was time to go, since I had a few more stops to make on Ida B’s Avenue of Atonement. I got all the way to the edge of the orchard before I realized I had something else I needed to tell those trees.
I turned around so I was facing all of them.
“I won’t ever let it happen again,” I told them. “I won’t ever let it happen again, I promise.”
And I headed over to the brook.
The brook started right in with so many questions I couldn’t keep up. “Where have you been, Ida B? What have you been up to? Why haven’t you stopped by? What’s been going on?” And then it started repeating itself, so I interrupted.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been by,” I said. “I was busy and sad and that’s no excuse, but I missed you and I’m back now, so don’t worry.”
Then I had to get going because the brook can keep you busy for a whole day just listening, and I had one more place I needed to go.
When I got up to the top of the mountain, I cleared my throat.
“Hello,” I said. I stood there in front of the old tree, back straight, hands clasped in front of me. “You’re looking well. How’ve you been?” I asked, just to get things going in a cordial kind of way.
But the old tree doesn’t bother much with small talk, so I moved on with my business.
“I’m sorry I was rude. I’m sorry I was disrespectful. You were right, sort of, because it all did work out okay, but not perfect. I got mad at you, and I apologize for that,” I said.
But those words were not doing the job. I was saying the right things, but not the really true things.
Because I’d done something to the old tree that was just wrong, and that I didn’t want to admit I would even think about doing. When I kicked that tree, I wasn’t just trying to scare it; I was trying to hurt it. And I had a hard time imagining forgiving somebody who had done the same thing.
I stepped closer, talked quieter. “This is hard,” I whispered.
My heart was banging in my chest so I could hear it in my ears and feel it in my fingers. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and filled myself up with the breeze from the valley. Then I let it out slow so it could get back to its travels, with a little bit of me added to it.
“I am sorry I kicked you. I am sorry I was mean. I am just so sorry,” I said, right into the old tree’s trunk.
And then I didn’t know what else to say, so I just stood there for a very long time. Not listening for the tree to tell me something, but just to be there with it. Because it felt right.
The wind was blowing a bit on the top of the mountain, but everything else was quiet. And after a while, all of me got quiet and calm, too.
I felt alone again, but not in a bad way. I felt like I could grow roots and stand right there on the mountaintop for all of time and never be lonely again. Even if the old tree went away.
Then I heard a hum. It was coming from the tree. Just like when you hum and you can feel a quiver in your lips. Well, the hum from the tree made my whole body quiver that little bit.
And the tree told me something that my heart understood, but it wasn’t in words. It was a knowing. But if I had to give it words, if I had to tell you what that tree said to me, it would just be this:
“Always.”
That humming and quivering broke away the last little pieces of my rock-hard heart that I didn’t even know were still there, and tears came out of my eyes, but I wasn’t crying. I put the fingertips of my left hand on that old tree’s trunk and felt the smooth, worn, warm whiteness.
“Me too,” I said.
Chapter 31
I suppose it would seem real nice if Claire and I got together on Monday and started chatting and playing dodgeball and decided we were twins separated at birth and would be best friends for the rest of our lives, living right down the road from each other. But we didn’t.
I guess she looked at me more, or she didn’t avoid looking at me so much, and I wasn’t watching her out of the corners of my eyeballs anymore. We’d even say, “Hi,” but no names, if we ended up face-to-face with each other.
The good thing was, I didn’t feel bad when I saw her. I was still sorry for what I’d done, but I didn’t think I was due any torment and torture for it. If Claire wanted to, that was her business, but I wasn’t looking for it.
At recess on Monday, Ms. W. stopped by my spot on the steps like always.
“Anything you want to talk about, Ida?” she asked, just like always.
“No, ma’am,” I said. But this time I looked straight at her and I smiled.
She looked into my eyes, like she was checking to make sure that smile had its roots deep down inside of me. “All right then.” She smiled back and moved on.
“Do you want to play dodgeball, Ida?” Ronnie asked me for the one hundred fourteenth time on the Thursday after Ida B’s Weekend of Apologies.
Now I don’t know why people like Ronnie keep on trying, especially with people like me who are so good at saying “No.” And it almost makes me wonder if the part of his brain that had a hard time learning the times tables had a hard time learning when to take “No” for an answer. Mama would say he is persistent, and many days I found that quality of his burdensome. On that particular day, however, I found his perseverance to be something I was almost grateful for, if I let myself admit it. But I couldn’t be too agreeable too quickly.
“Who’s playing?” I asked.
“Just about everybody. See them all over there?”
“Whose team would I be on?”
“You can be on mine if you want.”
“Is whipping the ball allowed?” I knew it wasn’t, becaus
e I’d been watching those kids play for weeks, but I was pretending to be weighing my options carefully.
“No.”
“If I don’t like it, can I quit after one game?”
“Sure.”
“What if the ball hits my shoe and the ground at the same time—am I out?”
“I don’t know.”
Now here’s another thing about Ronnie and that quality of his. By that time, most people would have had enough of me and my questions and just moved on. But Ronnie hung on and he wore me out. I ran out of questions.
“Okay,” I said, not letting my voice sound too excited.
And Ronnie’s so smart in some ways, he didn’t act surprised or happy. He just walked over to the game with me, but not too close.
And she got me out right away, Tina Poleetie did, because I’d never played dodgeball before, I guess. Something happened to me when I got out there, so I just stood there watching the ball come right at me and did nothing. It hit me in the belly and dropped down to the ground, and Tina yelled, “You’re out!” and I went and sat at the side of the lot until that game was over.
But I did better in the second game. And by the end of recess I believed I could grow to become a dodgeball player of great skill and fame.
Chapter 32
Friday night after dinner, Daddy was working in the barn, and Mama and I were doing dishes.
Mama was washing slow, and I was drying slower, like we were giving the dishes some room to tell us something if they needed to.
Mama set a plate in the rack to be dried, and then she just stood there. I dried that plate and then I dried it again, keeping busy till another came along.
“Ida B,” Mama finally said.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said back, still polishing the plate that was between us.
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