Call Me Hope

by Gretchen Olson

  “I’ll make you one, Hope, even if you don’t get to go.”

  “I’m going.”

  “Your mom changed her mind?”

  “How do you know about my mom?”

  “Oh, we counselors have to know a lot about our campers.” Gabriela Feliciano. My counselor. Besides totally awesome and famous, she was super nice and friendly. Now I had to go to Outdoor School for sure.

  “Well, then,” said Gabriela, sounding relieved about Mom, “I’ll get working on those wood cookies and I’ll see you soon. Get lots of sleep — the coyotes keep us awake all night.”

  I could hear the smile in her voice. I couldn’t wait. “Thanks for calling.”

  I was still glowing from Gabriela’s call when Mom came home, glowing from too much champagne. She had two dresses draped over one arm and a Next to New bag in her hand. My mother went into Next to New? Couldn’t happen.

  “Your lady friends showed up here just as I got home. Anita and Ruby.”

  “Ruthie,” I said, completely confused.

  She spread the dresses out on the couch — one silky purple and flowery yellow (cool iron) and the other a red, white, and blue (cotton/steam). “For the Fourth of July.” Mom dumped the small sack and picked up American flag earrings.

  I smiled, longing to be back at the store, then I braced for Mom’s putdown.

  “Their clothes aren’t half bad.” She dropped the earrings and picked up the purple and yellow dress, holding it to her shoulders, spinning around.

  I swallowed in disbelief.

  “They agreed with me — you shouldn’t have taken in my dress without permission. They apologized over and over, saying they should have checked it out.” Mom turned in another small circle, the silky dress flowing like flowers in a breeze. “They said I could have fifty percent off anything in the store the days you work there. And they practically wet their pants praising your work and begging to have you back.”

  The doorbell rang. “My God, stop!” Mom dropped the dress on the couch. “It’d better not be about you.” Please don’t be about me.

  Mom looked through the peephole then opened the door.

  “Hi, I’m Mrs. Nelson, the school counselor at Eola Hills Grade School.”

  I didn’t know whether to cheer or cry.

  “I know who you are,” Mom said stiffly, “and my answer is still no. Hope is not going to Outdoor School.”

  “That’s fine,” said Mrs. Nelson.

  What? I wanted to shout. You’re the counselor. You’re supposed to make things work out. Your job is to help kids. Don’t give up now!

  Mom’s shoulders relaxed and she opened the screen door.

  “Happy Mother’s Day.” Mrs. Nelson handed Mom a small bouquet of flowers. “They’re from my yard.”

  Mom held the flowers to her face as if soaking up all their beauty. “Thank you. They smell wonderful.”

  “I picked them,” came a small voice, and a little girl walked right into the house. She grinned and held out a doll. “Samantha helped me.”

  “Maddie,” said Mrs. Nelson, “please say hello to Mrs. Elliot and to Hope, her daughter.”

  “Hello, and Samantha says hello.” Maddie waved her doll’s arm. “My real name is Madeline, but it’s Maddie for short and I like horses. Someday I’m going to have a horse. Or maybe a kitten.”

  Mrs. Nelson shrugged and smiled at me.

  We followed Mom into the living room. Mrs. Nelson’s shiny black hair swayed across her pink blouse and Maddie hopped along, the bow on her dress bouncing behind her.

  “I’m four,” said Maddie, snuggling next to Mrs. Nelson on the couch.

  “I’m ten times that old,” said Mom, sitting down with a sigh.

  “That’s old,” said Maddie, arranging Samantha on her lap.

  Mrs. Nelson rolled her eyes. “Now, sweetheart, I’d like to visit with Mrs. Elliot.”

  I leaned against the wall hoping to blend in, wondering where this was going.

  “We’re going to Grandma’s.” Maddie clapped her doll’s hands.

  Mrs. Nelson gently touched her daughter’s knee. “Maddie, you and Samantha can choose to sit quietly or” — she glanced at me, her face apologetic — “maybe you can visit Hope’s bedroom.”

  Maddie beamed. “I choose her bedroom.” She hopped off the couch, hurried to my side, and grasped my hand.

  “Well, we didn’t exactly give Hope a choice, did we?” Mrs. Nelson laughed.

  “That’s okay,” I said.

  “Thank you,” said Mrs. Nelson, her words as warm as Maddie’s little hand.

  As we left the living room, Mrs. Nelson cleared her throat. “Mrs. Elliot, I did stop by to talk about Outdoor School.”

  My heart clenched and I put my finger to my lips for Maddie to be quiet.

  “I respect your decision,” Mrs. Nelson went on before Mom or Maddie interrupted. “I’m sure it was difficult.”

  “No, it wasn’t difficult,” came my mother’s abrupt words.

  “Ow, you’re squeezing too tight,” Maddie whispered loudly, pulling her hand from mine.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered back. “Would you like to meet my turtle?”

  “Yes!”

  I made several trips to the kitchen, getting drinks for Turtle and Samantha and cookies for Maddie, and for any other excuse to hear Mom and Mrs. Nelson.

  “She screws up all the time,” I heard Mom say. My knees went weak. “The dress was the last straw. She took something away from me; now I’m taking something away from her. Maybe it’ll finally make an impression.”

  I inched to the end of the hall, my heart on hold.

  “Why do you think she took it?” asked Mrs. Nelson.

  “Money, what else?”

  Pause.

  “Did she take anything else?”

  “No.”

  Silence.

  “Was there something significant about that particular dress?” Mrs. Nelson’s soft voice seemed older and more serious than at school.

  “I wore it when I brought Hope home from the hospital. There’s a picture of us on my dresser.”

  I prayed Maddie would stay in my room.

  “That must have been an amazing day,” said Mrs. Nelson.

  Right, I thought, amazingly horrible.

  “Yes,” Mom was saying, “a wonderful day.”

  I froze. Wonderful? Did I hear right?

  “Does Hope know how you felt?” asked Mrs. Nelson.

  “Do you have other children?” asked Mom.

  “No, Madeline is our first,” said Mrs. Nelson.

  “It’s a miracle to have a baby, an incredible miracle,” said Mom slowly, “but there are a lot of things you never plan on, a lot of things you give up.”

  My shoulders slumped and my throat tightened.

  “Did you have any help?” Now Mrs. Nelson’s voice sounded concerned.

  Mom laughed. “Are you kidding?”

  “I’m sure it’s hard being a single mom,” said Mrs. Nelson. “But it looks like you’ve done a great job. Hope is a real joy to have at our school.”

  “She’s got a mind of her own, that’s for sure.”

  “She’ll be a good leader,” said Mrs. Nelson. “I can see her as an Outdoor School counselor.”

  I cringed.

  “You think I should change my mind, don’t you?” Mom asked.

  “I think you’re in a very uncomfortable situation and I’m sorry you had to make such a difficult decision.” I could almost see Mrs. Nelson looking right into my mom’s eyes. “But I also wonder if there might be another choice out there, one you’d both feel was more appropriate. Something we’ve found that works well at school is selecting a discipline closely related to the problem. Is there a consequence for Hope that somehow connects with taking your dress?”

  “You mean like ironing my clothes?”

  “That’s a very appropriate consequence,” said Mrs. Nelson. “You catch on quickly.”

  “Thanks.” Mom pause
d like she was thinking, then she began talking slowly, feeling her way through the new idea. “It would sure get rid of a huge pile, except Hope will probably put the iron right through my clothes.”

  “No, I won’t.” The words burst from the hallway into the living room.

  “Hope.” Mom stood up. So did Mrs. Nelson.

  “I’m a good ironer.” I walked straight into the living room. “I promise I am. I can iron silk and rayon and cotton. I know how to do pleats and ruffles. I can even steam. And I’m sorry about your dress, Mom. But I didn’t think you wanted it anymore. You never wear it and I thought it reminded you of all my baby crying, and Dad — and, so” — I choked and felt a rush of tears to my eyes — “so I wanted to get it out of here.”

  Mrs. Nelson looked like she wanted to run right over and hug me. Mom’s hands went to her hips. Panic stabbed my chest. My words had made things worse. Mom was angry at my outburst and now she’d add another punishment. A worse one.

  But I had something to say. It was time to break my silence and release the agonizing, lonely hurt. I wasn’t sure what to say, though. I wanted my words, each one, to tell exactly how I felt. This was my chance, maybe my only chance. Please don’t interrupt me.

  “Mom.” I looked into her eyes and took a deep breath. “I feel sick to my stomach when you call me ‘stupid.’”

  “Well, I —” Mom started, but Mrs. Nelson put her hand on Mom’s shoulder.

  “And I feel really stupid when you tell me to ‘think about it’ and ‘repeat what I’ve just said.’”

  “But you stole my dress and tried to sell it.” Same old stony voice. She didn’t get it. She didn’t get it! Icovered my ears and closed my eyes. Please, God, please take me away. Anywhere. Just take me away from here.

  Someone touched my shoulders but I didn’t open my eyes. I took a shaky breath. “This… isn’t… about… the… dress.”

  I opened my eyes and looked at her. With another breath, I said, “I don’t think you love me… and… I’m not sure I love you.”

  Mom looked surprised — and sad.

  Mrs. Nelson squeezed my shoulder and I realized she’d been standing by my side. Her eyes were also sad, but somehow hopeful.

  A small hand patted my leg and I looked down to see Maddie holding up Turtle. “She’ll make you feel better.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking Turtle to my chest for comfort and clutching Maddie’s hand for strength.

  I looked at everyone and suddenly felt confidence in my words. “I’ve tried to be good,” I began again, wiping my eyes on the back of my hand, “but nothing I do ever works. I can’t say the right things or do the right things. I live in my bedroom trying to stay out of your way, Mom. I sneak around, trying not to disturb you. I don’t ask for anything or to go anywhere. But maybe that’s not enough. Maybe you want me out of here for good. Maybe I should go away.”

  “You can stay with me,” said Maddie. “Mommy, can we go to Grandma’s now and can Hope come, too, with her Turtle, and we’ll get ice cream to feel better?”

  Mrs. Nelson looked like she didn’t know what to do next. At school she’d probably lead us in “There’s Something We Can Do,” but I didn’t think she’d start singing in our living room.

  “I need Hope to stay here with me.” My mother blinked and a tear slipped out of her eye. She stepped closer and placed her hand on top of Maddie’s and mine. “I need her here to help me, to iron my clothes.”

  Great, I thought, more ironing for my poor arm.

  “And…” Mom paused. “Hope needs to pack for Outdoor School.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Hug a Tree

  I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t cold, not with my long underwear, sweats, socks, gloves, and a stocking hat. Someone was snoring and Jessica’s air mattress squeaked every time she rolled over. I inched quietly out of my sleeping bag, holding my breath so as not to wake Gabriela. I mean Feliz. That was her counselor name, meaning “happy” in Spanish, and she called us her Campistas (campers). Another counselor, Cricket, named her five kids Ants, and Fungus called his boys Spores.

  I crawled to the tent door and slowly unzipped the canvas flap. Cold air washed my face and tingled my throat as I breathed in pine trees and campfire smoke. I curled up next to the opening, forgetting the chill as I took in the perfectly still moonlit campground, tents scattered in a small meadow and along the river, the row of portable camp stoves lined up in front of the kitchen tent, and picnic tables ready for pancakes and pie-iron pizzas.

  A million stars danced in the forever black sky and a brilliant yellow star shouted, “Look at me!” If I stared long enough, it turned white, or was it red, or purple? With all the surrounding darkness and stillness, and the giant sky, it seemed I was the only person on the entire earth taking in this magic. It was mine, all mine. But then I had this weird feeling that someone or something was out there, up there in the deep, throbbing heavens, staring back at me, hypnotizing me, urging my body to float up and join the dance.

  I was so tired I should have slept like a rock. The past week had been crazy, trying to catch up and get ready. There was a rush of forms to fill out, schoolwork to finish, library books to find and return, and fundraising money to collect. Tyler checked my packed bag and loaned me a sweatshirt and baseball cap plus his flannel sleeping bag. Mom bought a white T-shirt for tie-dyeing and surprised me with a disposable camera. She even got me a packet of three bandanna scarves — red, white, and blue — without a word, a single word, about my chopped-off hair. Can you believe it?

  Every time I got a glimpse of Mrs. Nelson at school, I relived her Sunday afternoon visit. I heard every soft word she spoke to my mother and again felt the quiver in my stomach and clutch to my heart as I gathered courage to break my long silence. I wished I could remember all I’d said, but I’ll never forget the lightness that came with my final words, “Maybe I should go away.” I smiled, thinking of Maddie’s confidence and choices and carefree invitation to stay with them. And I clung to the watery shine in my mother’s eyes.

  “That’s quite a brother you have,” Mrs. Nelson had said Friday as she tagged my bags in the gym.

  “Huh?” Tyler hadn’t been home Sunday afternoon.

  “Didn’t you know?” She looked at me, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

  “Know what?”

  Mrs. Nelson lowered her clipboard. “Your brother was worried about you. He came to see me last week, concerned about your mother and her decision and how quiet you’d become.”

  “So you got everyone to call my mom?” I asked.

  She shook her head, her ponytail bobbing. “No, Hope, Tyler was the spark. The fire spread by itself. People heard about your situation and wanted to do something. I don’t even know who came to your aid.”

  Mr. Hudson had warned us to leave knives, hatchets, radios, and hair dryers at home. We were to bring everything Friday so the truck would be ready for our seven o’clock departure Monday morning. “Just bring a sack lunch,” he said. “Tofu surprise and liver sandwiches are excellent.” No comment.

  After a long bus ride singing loud songs and waving at passing cars, we’d hiked into camp, unloaded the U-haul and two pickups, pitched our tents, and were assigned camp duties. I helped clean the girls’ bathroom — a small brick building with damp concrete floors and cold running water. There were funny mirrors above the sinks, some sort of smooth metal with faint, wavy reflections. I guess we wouldn’t want to see ourselves, anyway, in a few days.

  Something rustled now in the brush and I strained through the tent opening, the moonlight and shadows, to see a deer move cautiously to the stoves and worktables, sniffing the ground and flicking her ears. When she finished her inspection, she glanced around, then wandered slowly between the tents and across the river.

  The next morning before breakfast, Jessica leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Squid and Cougar are too cute.” I followed her gaze to the high school counselors revving their campers to sing loudest for breakf
ast.

  “Okay, gang,” shouted Eagle Eye (Mr. Hudson), “let’s see who’s going to line up first.” He started singing, “There was a desperado —”

  “From the wild and woolly west,” we all chimed in, shouting our early morning best.

  “Gumdrop’s group goes first,” Eagle Eye announced after voting with the other sixth-grade teachers, Miss Lindquist and Mr. Richmond. The rest of us protested, claiming horrid hunger pains.

  Gabriela, uh, Feliz, corralled us in line. “Next time, we’re first,” she said, her arm draped around my shoulder.

  “Yeah! All right!” we shouted.

  “Who’s number one?” she called out.

  “Campistas!” we answered.

  “Rattlers!” came a chorus from Snake’s kids.

  Settled at our table, we dived into sausage, scrambled eggs, and cinnamon rolls. I shook my milk carton, but it was frozen. “Do this,” said Feliz, banging it on the wooden table. We all drummed away, then slurped out milky crystals.

  After breakfast and camp cleanup, we split into study sessions. Some headed to the fire pit to learn five kinds of fire making, then cooked Hunter’s Stew in the coals. Others did water testing from the Deschutes River, or learned about the plants and animals of Central Oregon. My tent group was in Frog’s survival-skills class.

  Jessica was the only one from Mr. Hudson’s class in my group. Shawna Gilson had been in my fourth grade class, but I’d never been around the other two, Jenny Nyberg and Ellie Hoyt. They were best friends and didn’t talk that much to the rest of us.

  We sat around a picnic table with Frog standing at the end. “Ribbet,” he said. “That means ‘Hi, how are you doin’?’ in frog talk.” We giggled and Shawna answered, “Ribbet.” We giggled again.

  He ran his hand through his black hair. “Okay,” he announced, his thick eyebrows bobbing up and down. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He unzipped a back-pack, then looked at us, getting all serious. “Anytime you head out on a hike, remind yourself that you could get lost and you could spend the night outdoors. Do you know the first rule if you get lost?”