Serendipity and Me (9781101602805)

by Roth, Judith

  It’s like another artifact

  Mom left behind.

  An arrowhead from Cupid.

  How did Mom have the nerve

  to give her professor

  a book like this?

  He couldn’t help but get the message

  loud and clear.

  She put it all out there.

  I think of Garrett and wonder

  if I’ll ever be able to do that.

  Many of these are not happy poems.

  A lot are about death.

  I don’t know how Dad can bear

  to read this one:

  “I SHALL NOT CARE

  “When I am dead and over me bright April

  Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,

  Though you should lean above me broken-

  hearted,

  I shall not care.

  “I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful

  When rain bends down the bough,

  And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted

  Than you are now.”

  No wonder my dad

  has such a hard time

  smiling.

  I put the book down

  lift Serendipity off my legs

  and go to my closet.

  I want to see more family pictures

  so I can follow where this story went.

  How the two of them

  became the three of us.

  This time I upend the box

  and spread the pictures out

  like I’m playing with money.

  And a patch of orange

  catches my eye.

  A cat sitting like a little person

  on Mom’s lap.

  I never knew she had a cat.

  I look through other pictures in that area

  and find a bunch more

  of an orange cat

  with a tail like a flame.

  And pictures of the cat and me

  from baby to toddler.

  Orange cat touching its nose to mine.

  Orange cat leaping into my lap

  on the rocking chair.

  Orange cat cuddled against my stomach

  as we nap on the floor of the den.

  No wonder I love cats.

  In the last one I find, I’m a tiny baby.

  I’m lying on our blue couch

  with the cat on the back of it

  looking down at me.

  I wish I could remember looking up

  and seeing that furry face.

  I wish I knew why

  a cat was okay before

  and it’s not okay now.

  I think Serendipity

  slept on my head last night.

  I can feel puncture marks

  in my scalp

  where she kneaded herself

  to sleep.

  Stayed up way too late

  for a Wednesday night

  reading most of Love Songs

  and looking at pictures.

  Half-asleep

  I step on a piece of paper

  and almost fall over

  trying to unstick it from my foot.

  Oh.

  It’s the paper Dad gave me last night.

  I fell asleep and forgot about this.

  I should be getting ready for school

  but I have to stop and read it.

  SMALL DEMANDS

  For two days now

  the child has appeared

  when I’ve reached the best part of a novel.

  She places herself between me and the words

  her chubby hand planted on the page

  like a bagel with fingers. . . .

  The bagel will not be removed.

  I try lifting it gently, at first,

  then I grasp her wrist

  then I pry at her palm

  but she quickly frees herself

  and slaps her heavy hand back on the resolution.

  It will have to wait.

  She senses I have given in

  and settles sweetly into my lap

  pointing to numbers on the page

  and reciting them.

  She turns pages and asks for words

  eyes bright with my attention

  fingers light with learning.

  Every cat I’ve owned has refused to budge

  from a newspaper spread out on the floor

  in front of an anxious reader.

  But cats can be shut behind doors.

  I have a child.

  The story will wait.

  She loved me.

  I mean, I knew that

  and I felt that

  and I remembered that.

  But here is more evidence

  and at the same time

  I’m teary with love

  I’m angry with Dad.

  Why didn’t he give this to me sooner?

  Why is he so wrapped up

  in his stupid grief

  that he won’t let me

  have my own?

  I am storming out of my room

  with cat pictures

  and the poem

  when my foot kicks

  the Love Songs book.

  I honestly need to stop

  dropping things on the floor.

  I pick up the book

  and like black-light lit fingerprints

  I can see Dad’s tenderness

  all over it.

  The book

  melts me

  toward Dad.

  Less stormy now

  I take the pile of artifacts

  to the kitchen.

  Dad has toasted me a waffle

  and cut me a grapefruit

  and is heading out the door

  with his leather schoolbag

  and a backward wave.

  Wind out of my sails.

  Before I leave for school

  I go into Dad’s room

  with evidence.

  I want it to stand out

  so I make his bed.

  I wonder if I should put the lone pillow

  in the middle at the top

  even though he still sleeps

  only on his own side.

  Maybe this is why

  he never makes his bed.

  I place his pillow on his side

  and center a picture

  on the pillow.

  The picture is of me—

  baby on a blue couch

  with a furry guardian angel.

  He’ll wonder how I got the picture.

  I wonder if he’ll be mad.

  But he’ll know

  that I know

  cats were not always

  forbidden.

  It seems pointless

  to hide the pictures now.

  I leave the pile in the middle of my floor

  and close my door

  against Serendipity

  so she can’t ruin them.

  I have one picture

  in my sweatshirt pocket

  to have it near me.

  It’s of me and the orange cat

  looking out the front window

  along with a reflection of my mom

  taking the picture.

  I wave good-bye to Serendipity

  looking out the same window.

  Mrs. Whittier is i
n her front yard

  doing something with flowers.

  I jog over to her.

  Good morning, Sara!

  I know something I tell her.

  I pull out the picture

  and show it to her.

  But Dad’s still not talking.

  Mrs. Whittier nods gently.

  I turn and head for school.

  Miss Conglin tries to relate

  subject matter to our lives.

  So she brings back the thimble kiss.

  A metaphor, she says during writing time,

  uses one word to stand for another.

  She steps forward

  grabs the thimble off of Ana’s desk

  and holds it up.

  Just like Wendy, some of you in class

  have been using a thimble

  to represent a kiss.

  She holds up her hand

  against the outburst of silliness.

  You’ve been using a metaphor.

  Well I haven’t used this metaphor,

  because I am thimble-less.

  I glance at Garrett

  off to my left.

  He is doing some kind of magic trick

  where he can make his thimble

  disappear and reappear.

  No one’s listening to Miss Conglin

  who’s moved on to similes.

  Our minds are on metaphors.

  Taylor has a peasant assignment like me

  so we research together in class.

  I slide the picture out of my pocket

  and show it to Taylor.

  Notice anything off in this picture?

  She takes the close-up

  and says Ha look at that.

  A cat.

  I thought cats weren’t allowed.

  I thought so, too, I say.

  My dad’s got some explaining to do.

  Taylor hands me back the picture.

  New plan?

  I don’t know.

  I’m just winging it

  right now.

  She taps her pencil on her notebook

  ticking down the minutes.

  Time’s running out she says.

  Believe me—

  I don’t need reminding.

  Sitting too long is hard for Taylor.

  When Miss Conglin is busy,

  her back turned,

  Taylor stands up

  and holding the page

  she’s been working on

  in one hand

  she does a mini peasant

  dance and song.

  I have no soap

  My bed is hard

  My bread is smeared

  with greasy lard

  I have no bath

  I’m full of fleas

  Someone, won’t you

  help me, please

  Something nags at my mind

  as I’m laughing.

  Hey, Taylor, do you know

  any of the songs from Grease?

  Taylor shoves me.

  That’s not the kind of grease

  I was singing about.

  But yeah I know them all.

  I tell her why I want to know

  and she says

  Come over after school.

  I’ve got the DVD.

  Taylor’s house is the opposite of mine.

  There is honest-to-goodness life here.

  First we visit

  the chickens and ducks in the coop

  and the bunnies in their cages.

  Then Taylor lifts Mandy

  by an arm and an ankle

  and swings her around like an airplane.

  Then Taylor’s mom gives us cookies

  fresh from the oven.

  Then we dance like hooligans

  in the family room

  to the great songs from Grease.

  It’s awesome.

  Until we get to the end of the last song

  the one Mom and I sang for Dad.

  I can’t believe the lyrics.

  The happy crowd is singing

  We’ll always be together

  on and on and on.

  Taylor notices I’ve stopped dancing

  and I see the moment when she gets it

  in a ripple across her face.

  Um, you want to go outside

  and hug a bunny?

  Yes. I do.

  And then I want to go home

  to Serendipity.

  I’m at my front door

  when I hear Mrs. Whittier calling.

  Sara, wait.

  Serendipity has already seen me

  from her spot in the window.

  Her mouth opens in silent mews.

  I put my hand on the glass and tell her

  Just a minute, Dipity.

  Mrs. Whittier is holding a CD.

  My stepdaughter’s

  finally coming to visit.

  I found this while I was

  cleaning out the guest room.

  I probably look as clueless as I feel.

  When you were little

  and I sat for you at night

  I’d play this CD

  your mom made you for bedtime—

  it’s her voice telling you fairy tales.

  I feel a tickle of a memory.

  Mrs. Whittier twists her mouth around.

  I shouldn’t be the one telling you this

  but you know about the cat now

  and Matthew can’t seem

  to talk about it.

  I have no idea what that

  has to do with fairy tales.

  Then she tells me how the cat died

  because they didn’t notice an infection

  until it was too late

  and how guilty Mom felt about it

  and how she cried for three days.

  That was the cause for no more cats.

  And when I got old enough to start asking

  for a cat of my own

  that was the reason the cat pictures

  were hidden.

  That was the reason one fairy tale

  could not be played

  and why it was removed from the book.

  They didn’t want me to think

  cats were a possibility in this house.

  Wait I say What good would that do

  if I already knew about the cat?

  Mrs. Whittier shakes her head.

  You were two when that kitty died.

  You’d forgotten about him by the time

  you asked for a cat.

  She hands me the CD.

  The cat fairy tale is the first one.

  I can’t believe I’m holding

  Mom’s voice in my hand.

  Go on, now Mrs. Whittier says with a smile.

  You know you want to.

  I make a dash for my CD player

  grabbing up Serendipity on the way.

  Dad is still safely at school.

  I drop in the disk

  and settle us on my bed

  my kitty curled in the center

  of my crisscrossed legs.

  All I have to do

  is push the button

  to hear my mom’s voice.

  I’m almost afraid to do it.

  Listen, Serendipity.

  This is my mom.

  Mom’s voice tears my heart<
br />
  when she starts.

  Okay, honey bunny,

  snuggle down.

  Here’s your story.

  Once upon a time a princess lived in an ivy-covered tower. The tower walls were hard, cold stone. From her window she could see a meadow where furry creatures played in the sun, and she longed to cuddle their warm, soft bodies. But the rule-keepers had forbidden animals. No creatures were allowed inside to comfort her.

  The princess was lonely.

  One night, she heard a cry from below. She tiptoed down the stone staircase to find out who made the sound. She peeked outside the door into the dark. At first, she saw nothing. There was no one on the doorstep. The bushes held their secrets. The princess called out into the night, “Someone, someone who is scared, I am here. Come to me.”

  The bushes trembled and rustled and frightened the princess. But she remembered she was lonely and she became brave again.

  She called, “Someone, someone who is scared, I am here. Come to me.”

  And this time the bushes answered her with a quavering mew, and a furry creature tumbled out and poked a nose at her outstretched hand. He twined his tiny body around her ankles until she picked him up and held him in her arms.