Lila Blue

by Annie Katz

  Fred stuck his head in the open window and said, "Miss? Did my name get in there?"

  "Sorry, Mr. Wattles, no," I said. "Neither did mine." I think I was as disappointed as Fred was.

  "It's just as well," he said. "Vee would make me stay in the doghouse another month for that. I think I'll be in there the rest of my life as it is."

  "Not if you do the four tasks," I said.

  He walked through the empty window and came over to stand near me. "I don't remember a thing," he said, shaking his head. "I've had blackouts before, but never this bad."

  "How do you know they weren't worse?" I asked. "Maybe this is just the first time you got caught."

  Fred didn't have an answer for that. He looked at me like a guilty dog and I looked right back as if to say, You got that right. Then he turned around and slunk out of the shop, using the open door this time.

  Herbert was sitting in his chair, having finished with his donut customer. He swiveled the chair around and said to me in a quiet voice, "That was brave. You said exactly what I wanted to say."

  I smiled at him. "Thanks," I said. "I don't feel brave."

  "You are," he said. "Like your grandmother."

  I nodded, pleased that he had compared me to her. He probably knew her as well as anyone in town, working with her nearly every day.

  "May I keep this page?" I asked him, pointing to my picture.

  Herbert nodded, so I took it out of the paper and handed the rest back to him. I folded all around the photo and put it in my notebook in my backpack to keep it clean and flat. It was the first time I'd ever been in the paper.

  Magic & Miracles

  While Lila was at work Monday supervising repairs, I got a letter from Mark.

  Cassandra, we liked your letter. You did a good job of describing the sandpipers. Maybe you should be a reporter like Marta. Jamie says you can keep the cat drawing.

  My leg is healing. My arms are getting strong from hobbling around on crutches. I'm practicing going up and down stairs, because most of my classes will be upstairs at school. I need to be strong. Some of the guys in my school still have grudges from last football season, and they're probably aching to get a crack at me. I'm practicing karate moves with my crutches.

  Jamie is obsessed with flying. Rich bought him field binoculars and bird guides, and in between dog walking jobs, Jamie sits in the trees around the pool in our backyard studying the dynamics of flight. There's a big bird sanctuary off the highway between here and Seattle, and he's pestering Mom to take us there before school starts.

  Jamie dreams about flying every night. He says it's the best feeling in the world.

  I dreamed about our dad last night. He gave me a message for you. He said to tell you, "Janice is okay. Lots of us are shining light on her. Enjoy childhood."

  It was weird, because I usually don't have dreams. He made me wake up and write the words down exactly. Hope the message makes sense to you.

  We might come to the beach at Christmas. See you then. Namaste, Mark

  After a dinner of stir-fried chicken and vegetables that night, I showed Lila Mark's letter and my airplane dream in my journal.

  She read them both thoughtfully, compared the dates, and asked me what I thought about it all.

  "Excited? Nervous? How could I know about the flying? How could Mark get the message David had for me? How is it possible?"

  "I don't know," she said. "It seems to be real, so do you need to understand how?"

  "If I understood it, it would be easier to believe, to accept as real," I said. "Now my mind says it's just coincidence, chance, wishful thinking."

  "Would that be so terrible?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said. "It has to be real." I heard myself say the words, and I heard a petulant tone in my voice, like a little girl complaining something wasn't fair.

  I calmed myself down as much as I could and asked Lila, "What do you think is going on, Grandma? Really."

  "It's all wonderful," she said. "Your dream. Jamie's dreams. Mark's dream of David with a message for you. You are all finding each other in the dream world, which is just as real as this world."

  "Are you sure?" I asked, petulant voiced again.

  "I'm sure for me, but I can't prove it to you. We all get to make up our own rules, remember?"

  "So your rules make it seem wonderful?"

  "Yes. Wonderful, strange, weird, and beautiful. I'm sorry Mark is hurt, but this injury has forced him to be still long enough to grow emotionally, ethically, and spiritually. It’s beautiful that you have this soul connection with your brothers."

  "So I can stop worrying about Janice and concentrate on enjoying myself," I said, feeling relieved even though I couldn't understand how a message came to me from my dead father through my distant brother's dream world.

  "Yes. I think that's what the Dream Mother is telling you."

  "Good," I said. "I can use the time to perfect my calligraphy and read Emily Dickinson's poems."

  "Excellent pursuits," she said. "And I'll get out Walt Whitman and Pablo Neruda, and we can read poetry to one another in front of the fireplace this fall."

  "And knit afghans," I said.

  "And make apple pies," she said.

  "And pumpkin," I said.

  "Excellent pursuits," she said, and we both laughed.

  I felt irrationally comforted by Mark's letter, believing the Dream Mother was shining light on us all.

  The next morning, Tuesday, Lila and I had our beach walk and then went to meet Fred and Veronica at the barbershop. Fred said he had something he needed to show Lila. When we pulled up in front of the shop, Fred's truck was already there, and Fred and Vee got out to meet us. Fred seemed as bright and happy as a child, and I wondered if by some miracle he'd found a barber pole.

  "Come look," he said. He led us around to the back of his pickup where there was a big plastic storage tub sitting on the truck bed, along with bundles of yard trash and some broken beach chairs, probably destined for the dump. Fred pulled over the plastic tub to show us. It was full of crushed and broken metal pieces. It took me a while to recognize one of the pieces as part of a gun barrel, and then the other parts became recognizable.

  Fred reached in, pulled out a piece of wood, and showed it to Lila. "Here's the stock of that thirty ought six. My dad gave it to me when I turned eighteen and he kicked me out of the house."

  Lila nodded solemnly and didn't say a word. Her arms were relaxed at her sides, and she didn't receive the wood when he held it out to her. Vee was standing beside Fred like a school principal ready to scold him if he made a wrong move.

  Fred put the part back in and pulled out another, this time a small barrel part. "This was off the twenty-two I got for my fourteenth birthday. It was hard to say goodbye to that one." He tossed the part back in where it clanked loudly against the other scraps. "There're all there, three rifles, a shotgun, and two handguns. All pieces."

  Lila nodded again, but her facial expression was neutral, not approving or disapproving. Detached was how she looked. Almost as if she were watching ants crawl into a hole in the sidewalk.

  "Guns are tough," he said. "I had to use my anvil, heavy vise, and sledge hammer. Really worked up a sweat."

  Lila nodded, turned around, and walked toward the shop. Fred followed her, trying to tell her more about how hard it was to kill all his guns, trying to show her the blisters on his hands, but she ignored him.

  "Fred," Veronica said. "We don't need to hear about your oowies."

  The way she said it would have silenced me, but Fred changed tacks instead. "On the first point, paying for repairs," he said, "I talked to Hank last night."

  Lila stopped and turned toward us then, giving him her attention.

  By then the neighbors had gotten curious enough to come out for a look. Paul, Ronny, and Donny were examining the dead gun parts in the tub in Fred's pickup. Les trotted across the street, and when I smiled and waved to her, she grinned and said as an aside to me, "Just popp
ed over to borrow a cup of sugar." Then she went over and sorted through the gun parts with the bakery boys, and pretty soon they were chatting about other things and laughing.

  Fred told Lila, "Hank said I could work off the repair expenses as a gofer on one of his construction sites. Minimum wage. I start tomorrow."

  Lila spoke then for the first time. "Good," she said. "I'm pleased, Fred. How do you feel?"

  He looked at Vee and then back at Lila and said in a quiet voice everyone heard, "I'm grateful to you for giving me a chance to make it right. You're a good woman, Lila, and I'm sorry for what I did."

  Lila gave him her sad tired smile, nodded, turned, and walked into the shop, making it clear she was done with him. Fred stood there by the ruined barber pole a few seconds, then turned around and helped Vee into the passenger side of the truck before getting in and driving slowly away.

  That afternoon, Lila asked me if I wanted to go to the town meeting, and I said no thanks. I'd had enough of the gun business for one summer. She decided she'd already done her part, so we faced an evening free.

  "Let's go to The Pottery," she said. "They're open summer evenings. Molly might want to go. You can see more of Dante's work."

  When she said his name, my heart jumped in my chest, and I knew exactly what it felt like to have your heart skip a beat. I thought the expression was figurative, but now I knew it could actually happen to a person. I heard his name and my heart skipped a beat. I couldn't wait to tell Shakti.

  Molly wanted to go, and she even got Kitty Lynn and Juliet to go with us. When we picked them up, Marge said, "Not going to the meeting?"

  Lila shook her head. "We decided pottery would be much more fun. How about you?"

  "Curtis is staying home with Bradley, so I'm going for both of us. I guess my two cents are as good as anyone's."

  Lila laughed and said, "Your two cents are a lot better than most. Have fun."

  Molly, Juliet and Kitty Lynn rode in the back seat. Juliet had turned out to be the perfect dog, just as Molly had predicted. It already seemed as if Juliet had been with Kitty Lynn forever. Kitty had a quilted cloth dog carrier, and she'd knitted a special blanket for Juliet in soft pinks and purples. Molly and Kitty Lynn talked about how wonderful Juliet was while the cute little dog snoozed in her soft bed all the way to The Pottery.

  The Pottery was picturesque. The outside of the building, which was an old house fixed up like a pretty magazine cover, made you want to stop and admire it before you walked in. The parking lot on the east side of the shop was a cleared grassy area like a forest meadow, and when we got out we could hear the creek right beyond the trees bordering the meadow part. Juliet woke up and was excited to go sniffing down to the water while Kitty Lynn trailed along behind her holding the end of her pink leash.

  Lila, Molly, and I walked toward the big covered house porch, which was the entrance of the shop. All along the walkway beautiful pots were arranged in among the natural grasses growing there, pots of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Some were so flat they were platters and others were round like balls with small openings right at the top. Some looked more like seashells or fantasy creatures than pots.

  On the porch was a heavy wooden table set with pottery plates, bowls, cups, glasses, and serving platters, all different colors and styles. I tried to imagine the sort of family who might dine at such a table.

  The lighting inside was bright and warm, and everywhere you turned were displays of beautiful ceramics. I was drawn to Dante's wall right away. Each area had a sign with the artist's photo and a brief biography and statement about their work.

  Dante's picture showed him bent over the potting wheel, and the angle was over his right shoulder so you couldn't see much of his face, just short brown hair. His t-shirt was all stretched out and too big, and his right arm working the clay was sinewy and strong. He was wearing loose jeans, and his bare foot was working the pedal of the potting wheel. His bio said he was fourteen and that he drew inspiration from studying living things. The sign ended with this quote, "When I'm potting, the clay comes alive in my hands and guides me to give form to its essential spirit."

  I was contemplating that idea and studying his photo when I felt him standing beside me. The tiny hairs on my arms stood up and it seemed the world got brighter, as if someone turned up the voltage of the universe. He smelled delicious, like lemon blossom tea with honey.

  "Kind of corny," he said, pointing to the quote. "I'm not a word person."

  "I'm Cassandra," I said. "Cassandra Blue. I have one of your pots. A green one." I couldn't believe such embarrassing words were coming out of my mouth, so I tried to keep it shut.

  I looked at him then, and his face looked young. He reminded me of Jamie, pure and fun loving. His eyes were brown, the same medium brown of his hair, and he even had matching brown freckles that were charming all by themselves. He was my height, so we were looking straight into one another's eyes.

  "Like your eyes," he said, and I blinked, startled that he'd seemed to take the word right out of my mind. "Green," he added.

  I blushed and giggled then, which really exasperated me, and to cover my discomfort, I turned to admire his work. One piece was a dish that reminded me so much of the perfect mussel shells I collected on the beach, the ones where the two shells, still connected by dried tissue, were cupped like uplifted hands ready to receive water.

  I touched the smooth pearly glazed center on one half of the dish, and he touched the center of the other half.

  "It took a long time to get the color just right," he said, turning to me and smiling.

  "It's perfect," I said, smiling back at him. I pulled my hand away and tucked both my hands in the pockets of my blue jeans.

  Molly came then and stood between us. I was relieved and disappointed at the same time. "You found each other," she said. She linked arms with both of us and tugged us playfully over to the other side of the showroom where Lila was talking to a man who turned out to be Dante's father. He seemed Lila's age. "So this is your lovely granddaughter," he said to Lila, turning to greet us.

  To me, he bowed and said, "It's an honor to meet you, my dear."

  I bowed and said in a pretend formal voice, "The pleasure is mine, kind sir." He smiled a beautiful smile then, and I saw Dante's smile in his.

  "Come," Molly said. "Reba just got home from music camp. You have to meet her." She pulled me away from the others and out through the back rooms of the house. "They live in the big house behind this one," she explained.

  By the back door, where the hallway was well lit, there was a big bulletin board with business cards, snapshots, and news clippings about their artwork. Right in the center, tacked over some older articles, was the picture of me from the Portland paper. My image there was so unexpected I stood stunned. My head filled up with the five Ws: who, what, when, where, and why?

  Molly laughed at me. "I bet Dante put that there," she said, offering an answer for the first W.

  "But why?" I asked.

  "Because he likes you, too, silly. Come on." She pulled me away from the picture of me sweeping glass and swept me out of the studio, across a lawn, into the big family house, and up the stairs to Reba's room, where she was unpacking.

  Reba looked like a smaller version of her brother, including the brown freckles and short brown hair. She seemed more serious than her brother at first glance, but she was probably tired from her trip. Her violin case was in the middle of her bed surrounded by piles of jeans and sweaters and underclothes.

  "Was it cold there?" I asked, wondering about all the sweaters.

  "Hot," she said, "but the practice rooms and concert halls were freezing."

  "She was in Denver," Molly said, as if that made everything clear. I'd never been east of California.

  Molly and Reba talked about their adventures since they had been apart and what they planned to wear the first day of school. Only part of my mind was in the room with them. Another part was with Dante and his father and the rest was
stuck on that picture of me on their bulletin board. Could the world actually be so mysterious and magical?

  When Molly, Reba, and I returned to the shop, Lila was helping Kitty Lynn decide which dishes to buy. Kitty was buying new food and water dishes for Juliet, because she thought it was insulting to feed her new best friend from plastic bowls.

  "Juliet loves purple," Kitty Lynn said. "I think these two would be perfect." Juliet was sitting patiently by her side, looking up at everyone with syrupy eyes. Kitty put the two flat bowls on the floor side by side and Juliet sniffed each one and looked up expectantly.

  "I think she approves," Dante said, smiling at me over Kitty's shoulder.

  "She's the boss," Kitty Lynn said, and she laughed, picked up the dog, and hugged her like a baby while Dante wrapped the dishes carefully in newspapers and fitted them in a brown paper bag with handles.

  The Pottery used a carved wooden box with a hinged lid to hold their money. There was no cash register in sight. They did take credit cards though, and Kitty paid with one.

  Juliet was an all American success story. She went from being an abused dog in a homeless shelter to a princess who ate from expensive original artwork dishes in the blink of an eye, all because someone saw her picture in the newspaper.

  When we were leaving, Molly hugged Dante and Reba, and the rest of us all smiled and bowed our goodbyes and headed out. I wanted to say something more to Dante, but no words came, so I smiled at him and received his smile in return.

  Dante's smile was more eloquent than any words could have been, and I closed my eyes in the car on the trip home and saw him smiling at me again and again. If his smile felt this good, what might his kisses feel like? Something told me I would find out one day, and I shivered with anticipation.

  We had to drive past the community hall to get home from The Pottery. The council meeting was still going on, and the parking lot overflowed with cars and trucks. A chartered bus was parked nearby on the highway, and people spilled out of the open doors of the meeting hall. I'd never seen so many vehicles all in one place since I'd been in Oregon.