Once Upon a Time a Sparrow

by Mary Avery Kabrich

  The car rolls to a stop. I see other parents walking toward the school and away from the school, but no kids. I guess Paulette’s right. This reminds me of the first time I went to see Mrs. Ellen and I was the only one to go, but it will be fun to see her with my parents; I know she’ll share how much I’ve learned.

  Father keeps looking at his watch, just like I do with the clock all day at school. When it’s exactly seven o’clock, he steps forward and opens the classroom door. Mrs. Zinc and Mrs. Ellen are standing next to Mrs. Zinc’s desk, talking. They both stop and turn toward us with big smiles on their faces, just like the day I was being introduced to Mrs. Ellen.

  “Mr. Meyers, Mrs. Meyers, and Madelyn, I’m so glad all three of you could make it.” It’s a serious meeting, but Mrs. Zinc is smiling like she won a prize. She points us to the back conference table where the Eagles read chapter books. I smell bitter tobacco left floating in the air from the last parents.

  “Madelyn, you sit here.” Mrs. Zinc pulls over a chair from a regular desk. She has already put three big-person chairs around, but Father’s knees still touch the table.

  “I’m so glad you can all be here.” It’s another smile time. I look over at Mrs. Ellen. She too is smiling a lot. If this is such a serious meeting, why is everyone grinning? “Madelyn has made a lot of progress since Mrs. Ellen began working with her.” I look over, and Mrs. Ellen is nodding her head. I look at Father and Mom, wondering if they heard because they have serious faces. I wish they hadn’t made me take my coat off. I want to wrap it around me and pull up the hood. I scoot my chair back a little. Father shoots his eyes at me, and I look at the chalkboard.

  “I’ve spoken on the phone with each of you, and you’re well aware that Madelyn is not anywhere near an ending third-grade level. She’s significantly behind.” Now her smile has flipped upside down into a frown. She doesn’t look at me; she keeps her eyes on Father. I squirm because I don’t want to sit and listen. Mom puts her hand firmly on my knee.

  “Madelyn did progress from a first-grade level to second . . .” Then I remember the test she gave. It had lots of little words that couldn’t be sounded out. I might have read a few backward. I do better with big words. Especially if I’m given enough time to sound out each part. I’m feeling dizzy, like I might faint.

  I’m squeezing my hands together waiting for Mrs. Zinc to say I read the word dedication and knew its meaning. Even Bobby said cool. I see the grown-ups nodding their heads up and down. It has turned into a very serious meeting, and the dizziness in my head is making it hard to listen.

  “She’s made a year’s worth of progress . . .”

  I feel my heart race. I look from Mom to Father and back; their faces, flat like a wall, tell me this makes no difference. Mrs. Zinc keeps talking, but she’s talking about someone else. It’s about Alice in my dreams, not me. This girl made progress but only went from first grade to second, and no one at the table thinks it’s a good idea for her to try to be a fourth grader because that’s two years behind.

  I broke the spell! I know I can do it. I read the words transformation, dedication. Mrs. Ellen taught me the secret to reading big words.

  They have stopped talking. They’re all looking at me with sad eyes.

  “Madelyn,” says Mrs. Zinc, “we’re all here because we care so much that you get the time you need to learn to read.” My head is swimming; I can’t look at them. Mrs. Zinc, Mom, Father. I hear their voices saying the word care, but I don’t feel it.

  “Another year in third grade will help her develop confidence.” Confidence. I said it wrong to Danny. It’s not con-fun-dance, it’s confidence, and I hate that word. Mrs. Zinc says she wants me to keep it, and she wants to keep me, but I want to lose confidence and Mrs. Zinc. I no longer like her. I pull my eyes from the table and look up at Mom, but she can’t hear the screaming in my head. I look over at Mrs. Ellen, and she’s still trying to look happy.

  Please, Saint Rita, I don’t want to be a Sparrow the rest of my life.

  ~CHAPTER 53~

  1967

  I TUMBLE onto the dirt ridge, letting the thick, knotted rope swing on its own. My hands are red and puffy. I’m breathing as if I had just raced up the hill from the lake, except it wasn’t running I was doing. I was flying. I’m feeling light without my coat. I’m looking out over the lake, and behind me, I hear the sound of someone coming.

  I see Danny making his way to me; The Three Stooges must be over. I pretend to not notice him. He sits down next to me anyway.

  “I miss listening to you tell about The Fairy Angel’s Gift. Do you have another story you can tell?”

  “Well, remember, I wasn’t sure if I had discovered the last hidden chapter or not?”

  “Yeah, I remember. You told me you would let me know if you discovered any more. Have you?”

  “I have. I can’t tell if it’s the last chapter or a new beginning—like a chapter to a new book or something.”

  “Will you tell me about it?”

  “Sure. Because they’re hidden, it’s a little confusing, but I’ll try.” I take a deep breath. Danny looks at me, waiting. “Remember Alice?”

  “Yeah. You said since Mary read the big word, she was able to help her learn to read, and the spell was broken.”

  “Actually what I said was that Mary was confused. She did break her spell and read the big word, but she didn’t teach Alice how to read.”

  “Oh. So now what happens?”

  “Alice is in trouble again. Mary thought since she figured out the big word—”

  “I remember, transformation!”

  “That’s right. But reading this wasn’t enough.” My eyes prickle and I squeeze them shut for one Mississippi. “Even though the spell was broken, there was one sneaky hope snatcher hiding under her bed.”

  “Oh no. That’s why I make Mom always take a look under my bed before she tucks me in.”

  “Danny, you don’t have to worry. This is in the land of Forever After.” I give him a quick smile, and he grabs a small stick and starts to crumble it. “When Alice was about to fall asleep, the sneaky hope snatcher sprinkled poison in her eyes. She thought it was the sandman.” Danny squirms and then sits on his knees. “When she woke up, she remembered that she could read well, but she thought she was remembering a dream, that it wasn’t real.”

  “Oh no.”

  “She told herself reading well was make-believe, and her real life is a big struggle with words.” My voice is coming out shaky; I talk slow so Danny won’t notice. “She’s not sure she even likes reading anymore.” I turn my head so Danny won’t see the tear dripping down my cheek.

  “That’s sad. I thought it was going to be a happy ending.”

  “Me too.” Through my watery eyes, I look out at the lake and see the bright green leaves of an oak tree in front of me. Then I remember: the acorn in my bed. “But it still could be a happy ending.”

  “But now she really can’t read?”

  “Only a few words. And her teacher is making her do third grade all over again.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “It is.” I look and notice my hands are no longer red and puffy. Danny would get upset if I sprang up now and started swinging, which is what I feel like doing. “But maybe not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her teacher told her she might get something that will make it worth it. If she works hard, she might win something called confidence.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Only grown-ups can see it, and when they do, they think it’s really good. So, if a kid has it, this means grown-ups will believe they can do most anything.”

  “Oh. Sort of like Rob? Is that why he gets to be in charge when Mom and Dad go out? And why he gets to stay up as late as he wants?”

  “Yes, Rob has it. You can also tell by the way Dad talks to him—not always but lots of times—as if he were also a grown-up. Alice knows she needs help, so when her teacher told her that she might get confidence
by repeating third grade, she decides to give it a try.”

  “What happens?”

  “Mary is very sad. She thought she had broken the spell and helped Alice.”

  “She did, right? It’s just that a hope snatcher was hiding.”

  “Yes, she did. Mary worries that it will take more than repeating third grade to help Alice. Alice needs someone to help break the new spell so she’ll never forget that she really can read.”

  “But you said she might get what Rob has.”

  “Even if she wins confidence, Mary knows she has to help. She told Ethan she would. She needs to be with Alice to make sure Alice doesn’t give up even if she stays a Sparrow.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mary needs to be right with Alice, and maybe Mary will also get confidence, but she doesn’t want it, because she would rather be in fourth grade. But since Alice is stuck doing third grade again, Mary decides to stay back and help her.”

  “Wow. Why would she do that?”

  “Mary promised Ethan. And she thinks she might want to be a nun.”

  “Like you?”

  “Yeah.” I look at him and then just plain tell him. “Danny, guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I also know a girl named Alice who needs help to get through third grade.” I cross my fingers and know I’ll need to pray for forgiveness. He stares wide-eyed. I nod and say, “Yep.” He continues to stare. “I’ve decided to stay back and help her because doing good deeds is good for me. I also want to be a nun and someday a saint—one that answers everyone’s prayers.” I hold my breath and partially close my eyes, hoping he won’t ask a single question.

  “Maddie, look!” His arm flings across my face as he points to a large purple dragonfly with lavender wings. I gasp. It’s flying toward us. We sit motionless. It lands within my reach. A lump forms in my throat. Slowly, I hold out my hand. The dragonfly circles around four or five times before flying off. Danny remains quiet.

  I turn to him and say, “That was a fairy in disguise.”

  ~CHAPTER 54~

  2005

  IT RAINED all night. When I pull into the Milton parking lot, I’m struck by the signs of spring greeting me. The damp black pavement, no longer a mottled canvas of puddles, glistens blindingly in rays from a sun that now shows up by the time I arrive. How could I have missed this even a week ago? The cherry blossoms have bloomed—pink, outrageous, and otherworldly. I step lightly out of my car, sling a bag of files over my shoulder, and pause. Even with the parking lot filling up, it seems impossibly quiet. For more than ten years, I’ve parked and entered this building poised for work, yet today seems startlingly new.

  I have just enough time to respond to all my time-sensitive e-mails before making my way to the main office. The morning bell rings as I approach, and I pace for a few minutes to make sure enough time has elapsed for teachers to take attendance before I ask Sandy to call Grace down to the office.

  “It’s our future poet laureate,” I say as she enters the door to the front office.

  “What’s that?”

  “A poet laureate is someone chosen to be a poet for the whole country, to inspire others to appreciate poems. Who knows, with your talents, you might be that person someday.”

  She smiles and shrugs her shoulders.

  “I decided it might be nice to visit for a little bit. Does this work for you?”

  “Yeah. I’ll miss boring language arts, where we hardly ever get to write poems.”

  Upon entering my office, she calls out, “I remember this place!” She’s all eyes, checking out the test kits, the posters, and the computer that sits on my desk. “Are all those yours?” she asks, referring to the briefcases full of assessments.

  “Well, actually, they’re not. They’re the tools the district buys for me so I can do my job. Do you remember,” I say as I pull out the cubes from the Wechsler, “when I had you use these to make a design?”

  “Oh yeah. I love those kinds of puzzles.”

  “I know. You’re really good at this. Did you know that it measures a special kind of intelligence?”

  “My mom’s always telling me I’m smart.” She eyes me, perhaps waiting for a response. “I’m pretty good at puzzles, but . . .” Her voice trails off; she looks away.

  “Reading and writing are hard.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey, reading and writing were hard for me too. Even so, I still was able to get a PhD from the University of Minnesota.” Grace gives me a blank stare. “PhD means lots of extra school after high school. But it’s school you want to go to. And like the highly capable program you’re in, you need to pass tests that show you’re smart enough. But I suspect you’re much more intelligent than I am. I don’t think I would have made the cut for a gifted program. When I was your age, I barely read at a first-grade level.”

  Her eyes bore into me, and I sense her mind chewing on this information that’s at odds with so much of her school experience.

  “I can’t read Harry Potter. I just pretend.”

  “Sweetie, that’s okay. I can barely read it myself.”

  She grins, and then we both laugh.

  “But look, I know you can read these.” I whip out a list from an achievement test. It starts with the word I. We share a smile, and then she gets down to business, reading word after word. When she gets to island, which she pronounces is-land, I say, “Congratulations, you made it to beginning second grade. Now, I know that’s disappointing, but Grace, I only made it to mid-first at your age.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. And look.” I pull out her file and show her that she knew no more than three words two years ago. “You’re flying high, girl.”

  She glows.

  “I know it’s tough hanging with kids who can read most anything and write pages upon pages, but you’re going to get there. I did. You can. Did your mom share that your overall thinking skills are more advanced than ninety percent of children your age?”

  “Not like that.”

  “Grace, you’re very smart. Your reading skills will continue to develop, believe me. You and I are different from most. We need more time and a special approach when it comes to reading. I also had a teacher like Ms. Stanton.”

  I pause and try to recall her name, but in the moment, I can’t find it. What I do remember is something called a Read It book, and . . . the excitement when she taught me to read really big words.

  “Huh,” I say aloud to myself, and Grace gives me a questioning look. “I was just remembering something really special from when I was your age and getting help with reading. My teacher taught me to read a word that I had never heard before. It made me feel smart at the time.”

  “Do you remember the word?”

  I hadn’t until this moment; remembering it felt as eerie as discovering my coat. “Now I do. Transformation.”

  Grace jerks back slightly as if caught off guard. “That’s a huge word,” she says. “Is it like the movie Transformers, and the toys?”

  “Yeah. It basically means to change form, and that’s what transformers do, right?” I capture Grace’s eyes and say, “This special teacher of mine really helped.”

  Grace slowly nods her head up and down.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Are you really telling me the truth?” She’s only nine, but her large brown eyes drill into me as if she were a prosecuting attorney ferreting out evidence. I blink, and for a brief moment, I come face-to-face with Maddie.

  Returning Grace’s gaze with the same intensity, I say, “Absolutely. I would never lie about this.” And I feel a sharp stab in my chest.

  I take in her face. I am in confession with none other than Maddie.

  “At first,” I say, “I remember feeling embarrassed about leaving class to have to see a special teacher. Who wants to be singled out?” I see her nodding. Of course. Even decades later, Grace must be experiencing the same. We all want to be like each other,
but not really.

  “What I discovered,” I say, “is that she truly helped.”

  Grace nods her head up and down. I do like Irene and remain quiet.

  “Ms. Stanton is a good teacher. She’s helped me with reading.”

  “So did . . .” And it comes to me. “Mrs. Ellen. I felt ridiculous at having to leave class to see her—but then, look at me.” I wink. “I can read all the words on the list.”

  I’d had no idea where this encounter would take us, but now the next step is clear. I go to my briefcase and pull out The Fairy Angel’s Gift.

  “Grace, this is a very special book. My third-grade teacher gave it to me. And it was given to her by her mother. It’s about having a dream and not letting go. It took me many years before I could read it, and it’s a lot simpler than Harry Potter.”

  I pause and experience a warm swelling in my chest. Grace sits motionless across from me.

  “I want you to have it,” I say. “But promise me you’ll take good care of it. And if there comes a time in your life when you meet someone who is struggling to believe in their dreams, you’ll pass it on to that person.”

  Her lower jaw drops, her eyes widen, she reaches out, and I place the book in her hands. She whispers, “I promise.” A smile explodes across her face. “It has a fairy on the cover.”

  “That fairy’s name is Yram. It’s short for Dottyrambleon. She wants to be an angel, but first she has to do some good deeds.”

  Grace holds the hardcover more reverently than I had thought possible. She gently looks inside and then back up to me.

  “It’s very old, isn’t it?”

  I nod.

  “Is it an antique?”

  I nod again.

  “Wow. I promise I’ll take good care of it. I’m going to start reading it as soon as I get home.”

  “Wonderful. And remember, don’t be too disappointed if you have trouble at first. It took me more than a few years before I could read every word. And in the meantime, I discovered all kinds of hidden chapters.”

  “Hidden chapters?”