Serendipity and Me (9781101602805)

by Roth, Judith

  You look like a pile of socks

  someone should put

  in the wash.

  I thought I only

  took my eyes off Serendipity

  for a second

  but when I look up from the page

  she’s gone.

  I scan the yard.

  I call her name.

  Does she know her name?

  I walk the edges in a quick-step

  looking behind bushes

  up into trees.

  How could she disappear

  so quickly?

  I think she’s too little

  to climb the fence

  but then I see something

  that makes my heart bang:

  a kitten-sized hole in the fence

  the side that leads

  to the front of the house

  and the street.

  She could be anywhere.

  It’s close to dinnertime.

  Somehow the light changed

  while I’ve been searching.

  No sun.

  The gray of dusk is closing in

  and a feeling of impending fog.

  I race out the gate

  for a quick look in the front yard

  but no one is there

  no little white shape

  to turn and greet

  or even startle and dash

  only silence and emptiness.

  Dad! I start to yell

  before I even get in the front door.

  I find him in the kitchen.

  He turns with the phone in his hand

  and a strained expression on his face.

  I can’t find Serendipity.

  He doesn’t seem to take this in.

  When were you going to tell me

  that Taylor wasn’t taking the cat?

  What?

  He hangs up/bangs up the phone.

  Taylor’s mom just called to say

  you left your sweater at their house.

  I asked her if she’d made her mind up

  about Serendipity

  and she thought I was kidding.

  He throws out his hands.

  She’s allergic, Sara.

  There was never any chance

  they were going to take the cat.

  I’m not sure which disaster is worse—

  Serendipity’s disappearance

  or the uncovering of the plot.

  Dad, she’s gone.

  Dad looks at me

  then shuts his eyes.

  I can’t abide lying

  he says.

  Maybe now

  things will get back

  to normal.

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  Normal? You want things back to normal?

  I can feel my voice rising

  like a crazy person’s.

  What was so great about normal, Dad?

  I don’t remember that

  making you happy.

  Dad’s face drops, but his eyes stay stern.

  She is not your cat.

  You knew that from the start.

  How could you sneak around

  behind my back?

  That is too much.

  You’re a great one for talking

  about sneaking around.

  I know about you and Mom.

  Dad closes his eyes like he has a headache.

  You’re a child.

  You don’t know anything.

  That’s because you won’t tell me anything!

  He shakes his head hard and turns

  the usual cowardly direction

  toward his room.

  It’s becoming clear—

  he’s not going to help me find her.

  He doesn’t care if she’s lost forever.

  He doesn’t care how scared I am.

  I reach for the doorknob.

  I will go outside

  and find her myself.

  He hasn’t done

  his standard disappearing act yet.

  Sara, he says, go to your room.

  My mouth drops open.

  No, I have to find her.

  Go to your room. Now.

  I think my heart has just become

  a dumping place

  for sharp and heavy rocks.

  How can he be so mean?

  She’s lost.

  What’s so wrong about wanting

  a cat in my life?

  I shouldn’t have to lie

  in order to get one.

  Serendipity is lost

  and I’m being sent to my room?

  I stand at my window and look out on the street

  hoping that I’ll see her.

  But even the trees are disappearing

  in the fog.

  Soon I won’t be able to see anything.

  It’s another stupid Tule fog.

  Well, I’m not going to stand here

  and let it kill Serendipity, too.

  I’m not going to stay here

  while she’s out there

  alone.

  My dad showed me

  how to remove the window screen

  in case there was a fire.

  Knowledge is as powerful as fairy dust.

  I’m gonna fly.

  I try not to think of the trouble

  I’m going to get into.

  I’m not sure what’s happened to me

  since Serendipity showed up.

  I used to do everything my dad told me to

  just to keep him from losing it.

  But things are different now.

  I feel like Joan of Arc.

  I know I’m on the side of right.

  I won’t give in

  even if I’m burned at the stake.

  Fortunately, that’s not going to happen.

  I’ll probably just be grounded

  for the first time in my life.

  But it will be worth it

  because I will know

  I’ve put someone else’s life

  before my own.

  Someone soft and sweet

  who needs my help.

  I will be a hero.

  I struggle a bit with the screen.

  I hope Dad can’t hear me.

  When the final clip is turned

  I pull the screen toward me

  and lean it against my bed

  leave my soft pink room

  for the spooky night.

  It’s easy to climb out of the window

  no prickly plants to scratch me

  no leap to the ground

  since it’s only one floor

  no shaky rainspouts to climb down.

  If I were my dad

  I might think about planting a rosebush

  right here

  so it wouldn’t be so easy

  for my daughter

  to escape.

  As I slip out the window

  I see the fog slipping in. . . .

  I start with a wide sweep

  around the fog-shrouded yard.

  No Serendipity.

  I look toward the street

  and hope-pray she’s still close by.

  I need to look deeper.

  I’m searching under the bushes

  at the side of the lawn

  chanting, Please, God<
br />
  please, God please, God

  when I hear Dad’s voice

  coming through my window.

  Sara? And then he must have noticed

  the open, screenless window frame

  because his voice sounds panicked

  as he calls my name out into the dark.

  And I realize he can’t see me

  through the blanket of fog—

  has no idea how far I’ve gone.

  Maybe he thinks I’ve run away from home.

  My gut tells me, Answer him

  but my brain says, No.

  If I go in now, I won’t have Serendipity

  and I’ll still be in trouble.

  I keep searching.

  Fog water collects on the leaves and washes my hands

  as I rifle the bushes hoping for a glimpse

  of bright white.

  My sweatshirt sleeves and my tennis shoes

  are getting wet

  making me feel cold and squishy.

  I focus on finding Serendipity.

  Still I can’t help but hear him.

  I can’t help but hear him

  crashing out the front door

  his footsteps racing away from me

  toward Mrs. Whittier’s lit-up house.

  He knocks normally at first.

  I can imagine him

  trying to keep it together

  trying to be calm and rational.

  But Mrs. Whittier doesn’t answer

  and soon he is banging on her door

  and calling out to her.

  Still no answer.

  She must have left lights on

  when she went

  to pick up her stepdaughter.

  Dad stops banging and shouting

  but I can hear him breathing hard

  and I hear him gasp, Sara

  and I hear him pounding to the curb

  and calling my name out through the fog

  louder and louder

  in his terrible panicky voice.

  Sara, he cries over and over

  and something in my chest cracks

  but I stay stubbornly by the bushes

  and think of Serendipity

  and how much she needs me.

  Then I hear Dad moan

  Not you too

  and that is more than I can bear.

  I run to his voice.

  Daddy, I’m here.

  I’m sorry.

  He wraps me in his arms

  and breathes Thank you

  into the top of my head

  only he’s not talking to me.

  And he sobs like I haven’t heard

  since those hopeless nights

  the first few months after Mom died

  and that makes me cry.

  We’re an awful wet mess together

  sodden by the heavy fog

  and our tears.

  Don’t ever do that again, he gets out

  and I shake my head.

  Never, don’t ever do that again.

  I won’t.

  He pulls my face up in both hands.

  Why is that cat

  so important to you?

  It’s not just the fog

  that feels like it’s suffocating me.

  I tell him the hard truth.

  I get so lonely, Dad.

  I need someone to hold on to.

  Dad’s whole body seems to droop

  and I realize I’m finally telling him—

  he hasn’t been there for me.

  He sighs and reaches his arm

  around my shoulders.

  Then he walks me through the fog

  back into the house.

  There’s something

  I have to tell you.

  Dad sits me down on the couch.

  Your mother died

  driving in fog like this.

  I know, Dad.

  He puts up his hand like a stop sign.

  But you don’t know about before. . . .

  We had a special cat—that orange one.

  When MacLeish died—

  He closes his eyes.

  Mom cried for three days.

  I didn’t ever want to

  go through that again.

  So for years when she brought up

  getting another cat

  I just refused.

  Dad looks at me.

  Your mom finally convinced me.

  And she wanted to surprise you.

  She was on her way to get a kitten

  when the accident happened.

  That explains a lot.

  Now I miss her even more.

  But wait.

  Dad, she wanted us to have a cat.

  Dad nods.

  This is what I’m telling you.

  He’s quiet for a minute.

  I’m also telling you

  why I couldn’t have a cat here. . . .

  I thought it would remind me too much

  of what I lost.

  I thought having a cat without having her

  would be too hard.

  I don’t want to ask but I need to know.

  Is it?

  Dad’s voice cracks.

  It’s hard, Sara.

  This is a tragic story

  and the rocks in my heart get sharper

  but I can’t help but hear

  he didn’t say Too hard.

  Does it make me a bad person

  to hear hope

  while we’re talking about

  my mother dying?

  Dad, I start

  but I don’t know what to say.

  He gets up for a box of tissues.

  When we’re drier he says,

  She’s scared and hiding right now.

  I doubt we’d ever find her tonight.

  But tomorrow. . . .

  This is not a good time

  to argue.

  I wasn’t finding her outside

  anyway.

  I stare at Dad

  afraid to ask.

  He stares back.

  You were wrong

  to lie to me, Sara.

  And you were wrong

  to look through my things.

  And you were wrong

  to leave your room.

  But I was wrong, too,

  not talking about Mom

  not letting you have a cat.

  I wait

  hoping, hoping.

  Your punishment is

  you are grounded for two weeks.

  My punishment is

  you can have a cat.

  I jump into his arms.

  I love your punishment,

  I tell him.

  Thank you, Daddy.

  I can finally have a cat

  but the one I want

  is gone.

  Dad tells me not to worry

  but how can I not?

  She’s a baby

  out there alone.

  I finally drift off to sleep.

  Am I dreaming?

  She is calling at the back door

  and sharpening her claws

  on the doorjamb.

  She wants in so badly

  she flings herself

  like sticky tape

  at the screen door

  claws hook and hold

 
and she is stuck

  clinging

  hanging

  singing a sad song

  impossible to ignore.

  I wake up suddenly.

  Was I dreaming

  or did I really hear something?

  I go out to the kitchen

  and there in the morning light

  hanging on the screen door

  is Serendipity.

  Serendipity!

  I run to detach her.

  Her body swings out

  when I open the door

  but she is truly stuck.

  Dad comes to the rescue

  lifting each claw

  from the tiny steel squares.

  See? What did I tell you?

  She knows a good thing

  when she sees it.

  I cradle Serendipity in one arm

  and use the other

  to give Dad a hug.

  I know a good thing

  when I see it,

  too.

  How to hold a sleepy kitty . . .

  . . . in the nap of your arm