Stars in the Grass

by Ann Marie Stewart

  “Try for ten on your tenth!” Barbara squealed. I rolled my eyes. That was pretty original. No, a strike would not improve my attitude.

  “Maybe you should try the green ball, Abby. I think it’s lucky!” Melody claimed.

  “You can try my pink one if you want. But only you,” offered Marci. I grabbed the green one shooting out and flung it quickly down the lane. It skimmed the padding and missed every pin. I did it twice. I didn’t think anybody was a bigger zero.

  Rita was next. Whenever she threw the ball, it took forever to reach the pins. The girls started counting the seconds. “One-two-three-four-five-six!” Linda and Kris began blowing as if they could huff and puff the ball down the lane. “Twelve-thirteen!” The ball slowed like a clock winding down. “Fifteen-sixteen-seventeen,” they continued. “I think it’s gonna STOP!” Marci squealed. “What would happen if it did?” Their eyes widened and they laughed, as if that would be the most hysterical thing they had ever heard of. In another time and place, and on another birthday, I would have thought this was great fun.

  At last the ball clipped a pin on the count of twenty-five. They were having such a good time. Mom had tried so hard.

  I left for the bathroom, knowing I had three girls before my next turn. No one ever knocked anything down with one ball. I had plenty of time.

  Pushing open the bathroom door, I took in the cracked tiles, peeling paint, and dingy odor reminiscent of Matt’s football uniform and I lost it. My birthday lunch went down the toilet.

  The stall doors held so much graffiti. Joyce loves Brian. Hearts and flowers. Peace symbols, smiley faces, Have a Happy Day. Lots of words I didn’t understand but pretty much figured out had to be bad. I wasn’t the only one who had hidden out here.

  I left the stall to rinse my hands and splash my face with water. My legs felt weak and I leaned against the bathroom wall, slowly sliding down until I landed on the floor. This was not how I thought I’d spend my tenth birthday back when I was little.

  When I was nine, I was safe. I could catch lightning bugs, run through the sprinkler, and share a bedroom with a little brother. But now I wasn’t a kid anymore, and I didn’t want to celebrate like one. Now I had to be careful because accidents happen. I checked for dangers like radiators and electrical cords and whether Mom turned off the oven. I felt cheated out of the kind of childhood everyone else had—except maybe Rita. And now that Joel wasn’t having any more birthdays, I didn’t think I deserved one either.

  “Abby, are you okay?” Rita asked, swinging the door open with a rush of cold air. I shivered.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Then you have to come back.”

  “Do I?”

  “You’ve been gone a long time. Everybody’s wondering where you are. I thought maybe you were sick, but you’re just sitting here.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s your birthday party,” she pointed out, sitting down next to me.

  “Duh!” I sounded so rude.

  “Why are you acting like that?”

  “It’s too hard to explain.”

  Rita frowned. I could tell I had insulted her.

  “It just doesn’t feel right somehow,” I said. “You know, without Joel.”

  “I’ve never had a birthday with my dad. But you have that. And you have a brother, too. That’s something.”

  I thought about that. She was right. She didn’t say very much, but when she did, she was almost always right. I hugged my knees to my chest and rested my head on one knee, studying the haphazard pattern of chipped and missing tiles.

  “Do you think you’ll ever know what happened to him?”

  “Mom hopes so. But I don’t think so,” she said, looking up at the ceiling. One panel was missing, exposing pipes and insulation. I timed the intervals between the drip from the leaky faucet accompanied by the buzz of the fluorescent lights. One. Two. Three. Drip.

  “Marci threw the ball down the wrong lane.”

  “Really?” I said. “Or are you just saying that to make me laugh?”

  “She almost hit these two guys in the next alley. Someone yelled, ‘Look out!’ Talk about clearing the place.” Rita laughed softly.

  I shook my head. Marci and her pink bowling ball.

  “Everybody thinks it’s kind of cool having ten pins and ten friends,” Rita said.

  “Yeah. I guess my mom had fun planning it.”

  “So maybe you should have some fun, too.”

  The door swung open and my mom rushed in, looking puzzled to find the two of us on the floor.

  “What are you doing in here? Everybody’s wondering where you are!” The door began to swing shut and Rita scurried out before it closed.

  “I don’t like it out there.”

  “It’s your birthday. I thought this would be a fun event.”

  “I know you tried,” I said.

  “I did more than try. I wanted your tenth to be a great year. It’s something new, Abby. You’re not nine anymore; you’re double digits.”

  “Nine wasn’t a good year.”

  “Exactly. That’s why we’re trying to move on,” she said.

  “You’re getting pretty good at it,” I said under my breath.

  “What do you mean? Here I am, trying to celebrate that you’re a year older, but you’re acting all depressed and angry. Honestly, I don’t know what I did wrong.”

  She didn’t say it to make me feel guilty. I could tell she had just about had it, but I didn’t really care. I wished I could explain why I felt so weird, but that would mean I understood something I didn’t. She started to head out the door, but then spun back around with renewed purpose.

  “Just what kind of birthday party did you want, anyway? How did I let you down this time?”

  “I didn’t really want a birthday party,” I said.

  “So if you didn’t really want a birthday party, and I hadn’t given you one, wouldn’t I still be the bad mom who forgot you turned ten? Are you telling me you wouldn’t have been mad at me for that, too?” I tried to run that statement around in my head, but it turned out to be really confusing. “That’s a pretty big risk for me to take,” she added, before I could figure out what she had asked.

  “Maybe it’s not really a good year to celebrate.”

  “Maybe last year was not a year to celebrate. Okay, I agree. But when do we start celebrating? How about if this year is better?” she suggested. Then her voice softened. “Abby, how about we start to move forward this year?”

  How? The way she had already moved forward, leaving so many behind? I did want things to change, but I also didn’t want to leave things behind. I did want to celebrate and be happy and get out of lockdown or whatever anybody called it, but I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday. And that was that. Maybe I couldn’t explain it, but I just didn’t want to have a birthday this year, and I wanted somebody to hear me and understand me even if it didn’t make sense.

  “I didn’t want it!” I said, louder than I meant. “And I don’t want to move on. I want to move back home. I want to go home!” I yelled. “I want to go home!”

  My head throbbed as if my brain wanted out of my skull. I banged it on the tile wall as if that would help.

  “All right, let’s just pack up and go,” Mom threatened. “Tell your friends the party’s over.”

  “I’m not going back to Miss Patti’s. I want to go home. I want to go home.” When I banged my head on home, for a split second a new pain overpowered the old. So I just kept saying, “HOME HOME HOME,” pounding my head against the wall with increasing intensity.

  “Abby, stop that. You’ll hurt your head again!” Mom tried to grab my shoulders but I fought her. I think I heard her screaming, but maybe it was just me.

  The door swung open again but I just kept beating my head against the wall, screaming, “HOME HOME HOME!” Louder and louder and louder.

  “Abby, STOP it!” Dad shouted, kneeling down and pulling me into his arms. I couldn’t think of how
I had arrived on a bathroom floor yelling, “HOME,” but here I was. A small, tearless rag doll.

  “Abby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  I touched my forehead where there must have been a bruise. Everything was out of focus.

  “Your mom can’t come home, Abby.”

  That was it? The reason we weren’t going to be a family?

  “Your mom can’t come home unless I make some changes. Abby, I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

  The water dripped, 1-2-3. I could hear muted cheers outside, but inside only the buzz of the fluorescent lights. No one spoke.

  “Presbytery has a grief counselor. A retreat for pastors who’ve lost a loved one.” Dad took a deep breath and continued. “And I’ll talk to Uncle Troy about the church. I’ll work something out for all of us.” He held me at arm’s length and I could feel him looking at me and really seeing me. “Abby, you need to talk to someone, too. That’s not a request. I’m so very sorry we waited this long.” Dad took my hand and pulled me off the floor.

  I looked at Mom. Dad was making a step. Was this enough? I knew she couldn’t go back, but could we go forward?

  “Let’s go home, Abby,” she said as she took my other hand.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I slept in my own bed that night. Though I had gotten used to sharing with Mom, I liked having my own room again. It was strange and yet familiar to wake up in our house, bumping into one another on the staircase. I smiled at the thought. We all had so many adjustments. It wasn’t perfect, but somehow it was going to get better.

  We moved back just in time for Grandpa and GramAnna’s visit. We all went to the airport to pick them up. None of us had ever flown, not even Grandpa and GramAnna, so this was huge. Dad pointed out the airplane as it landed and taxied to our gate. One of the stewardesses at the desk pinned some Delta wings on us and said after the plane landed we could go in the cockpit and meet the captain. Matt was pretty interested, but I just wanted to see Grandpa and GramAnna.

  “You know they’ll want to have a birthday dinner,” Mom reminded me as we stood at the entrance. I nodded. Unavoidable. Inevitable. She had taught me those words long ago.

  “No cake and no singing,” I said, without looking at her.

  “No cake and no singing,” she agreed.

  I counted forty-three people and then came Grandpa and GramAnna. I ran to give them both a hug. It was a strange hello after such a sad good-bye. As if a dotted line had been drawn from Washington State all the way to Ohio, a line from the day after Joel died to the present. What would we talk about? Did it have to be about Joel? Please no.

  On the ride home, Matt and I squished in the back of the station wagon and listened to Grandpa and GramAnna talk about what it felt like taking off and landing, what it looked like above the clouds, and the airplane food.

  “I hope you’re not too full, because we’re having a nice birthday dinner tonight,” Mom warned. I knew no matter what they served thousands of feet in the air, it wouldn’t compare with Mom’s beef stroganoff, homemade rolls, green beans with almonds, and Waldorf salad. Actually, I hated Waldorf salad; mayonnaise and apples don’t go together, but it was Grandpa’s favorite.

  “You feeding that kid?” Grandpa asked Mom as he studied me in the back of the wagon.

  “Trying to,” Mom said softly.

  “How does it feel to be a decade?” GramAnna turned back to ask.

  “A few days older than nine,” I answered honestly.

  “Smart kid.” Grandpa laughed. “I’m just a whole lot of days older than nine.”

  GramAnna brought two packages to the table at dinner, Mom had two hidden in the corner of the dining room, and Matt had a small package under his chair. The invisible birthday wasn’t quite invisible.

  “John, would you pray?” Mom asked. When Dad hesitated, I was afraid he’d say no, but then he bowed his head and we followed. I glanced out of the corner of my eye and as far as I could see, no one else was peeking except for Matt, who shook his head at me, and so I shook my head right back.

  “Lord, we thank You for this day and for the little girl You gave us ten years ago. And for family near and far, all together today. Bless this food. Amen.” The food began a round of clockwise motion and we filled our plates with stroganoff, green beans, and rolls. Grandpa took plenty of salad.

  “Do you remember the time John said grace and Matt bowed his head and covered his ears?” GramAnna began. “Matt never heard John say ‘Amen,’ so we let him stay that way until we had all loaded our plates!”

  Matt looked a little surprised. Obviously, I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard that story. “How old was I?” he asked.

  “That was after Abby was born,” GramAnna said. “I guess you were about five. Just going into kindergarten. We were here for August.”

  I didn’t look over to Mom. That was probably a time she didn’t want to remember.

  “Did we have fun?” Matt asked.

  “I guess you were too young to remember much,” Dad said. “Grandpa would take you to the playground almost every day, and GramAnna would put Abby in the stroller and push her around Bethel Springs.”

  “It’s hard to believe that was ten years ago,” Mom said softly.

  “Abby, when you were born, you didn’t cry much,” Dad said to me. “So the doctor had to spank you. After that, we couldn’t get you to stop!” Thanks, Dad, for bringing that up. Maybe that had something to do with Mom’s sadness and the reason Grandpa and GramAnna came out for a whole month.

  “But that didn’t last long,” GramAnna defended. “And her big brother could always get her to stop.” I looked over at Matt, as if he could remember, but Matt was quiet. “Never saw a boy who could hold a baby as long as you could hold your little sister.”

  “But you probably wanted a brother, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head and frowning. “I wanted a sister. I remember that. I didn’t want to share a room or my toys, like the Moretti brothers. I prayed for a sister and that’s what I got. And I think I got one of the best I could ask for.”

  I took one of those sudden short gasps. He didn’t need to give me the small box under his chair. This was gift enough.

  After a dinner of successfully avoiding anything Joel, GramAnna followed Mom to the kitchen. As we cleared the plates, Mom leaned over to GramAnna.

  “I need to know. Why did you come?”

  I was surprised. Mom’s question seemed sort of sudden. Unwelcome.

  GramAnna’s face didn’t change. She looked hard at Mom. Somehow I knew the answer wasn’t as simple as “We love to see you!” or as special as “For Abby’s birthday!” Finally, she answered, “Lots of reasons. We wondered about you two. Something seemed wrong. Something still seems wrong. I’m not sure how you’re doing.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “I can see that. I wasn’t blaming you. I think you’re doing better than he is,” GramAnna admitted quietly, and then continued. “And we just needed some sort of closure, I guess.” Resolution. I knew what that meant. Mom nodded and GramAnna plunged her hands in the soapy water as Mom took her place beside her. Then GramAnna rinsed a pan and handed it to Mom to dry. “And maybe I felt guilty. I felt bad for pressuring John to come to the wedding. The timing of it all. If only…” Mom set the pan down heavily and frowned.

  “Why is everybody living if only? You all try to put a bunch of puzzle pieces together to see if you can figure out how this happened!” she exclaimed. “It happened! Why is everything about blame? Why does everybody have to think they’re at fault?”

  GramAnna didn’t have an answer, but I did. It has to be somebody’s fault, because if nobody is to blame, then the world seems terribly out of control. If nobody is to blame, then maybe God is. Right now, we probably didn’t need answers; we just needed to keep going.

  “I see some presents that need to be opened,” Grandpa called from the dining room. Mom looked down at the plates in the sink. GramAn
na dried her hands and I set the last of the plates on the kitchen table. As soon as I opened the presents, my tenth birthday would be over. At last.

  I opened GramAnna’s first. “Your mom said you liked pink and purple,” she said as I unfolded a long afghan she had knitted in my favorite colors. I thought about my bedroom, baby blue like a nursery, but I smiled anyway. This was soft and warm and it didn’t matter that it didn’t match anything.

  Matt’s present was a charm bracelet with one charm on it, a tiny emerald stone.

  “It’s your birthstone. Every birthday I can get you another charm,” he explained. “It’ll be a great bracelet—when you’re about twenty,” he added almost apologetically.

  “Thanks, Matt,” I said. “I think it’s a great bracelet right now.”

  And finally, Mom handed me two boxes. I went for the big package first and it was a purple and pink quilt. Now I had two things that didn’t match my room.

  “Now open the little box. Then you won’t be so confused,” Mom explained.

  The box held a note.

  Abby,

  It’s time to make your bedroom special. We’d like to paint your room and take you shopping for a few new things to make it pretty.

  Love, Mom and Dad

  There are two things I thought I knew: I didn’t want a birthday party, and I didn’t want birthday presents. But there was one thing I didn’t know: I really wanted a new bedroom. If someone would have asked me before, I would have been afraid I was somehow painting Joel out. But the reality was that he was gone and now it was my room and only my room. If Mom and Dad were actually letting me change it, even giving me permission to paint over it, then I wanted it. And this was something they knew I needed before I did, and that made me feel very good somehow. Like I was really home and that it might stay ours at least for a while.

  “Do you think you’d like that?” Mom asked, putting her hand on Dad’s.

  “Thanks, Mom. Dad,” I said, and I couldn’t say anything else because there was a huge lump somewhere in my throat, and I didn’t want to cry. They already said I cried too much when I was born.