Sometimes they are a grandfather.
I guess sometimes they are a bearded dragon.
Sometimes they are a teacher, a next-door neighbor, a friend.
The world is full of someones to lose.
But the world is also full of someones to win.
Someone who talks and also listens.
Someone on your level.
Someone in your corner.
Someone to connect with.
Someone quietly looking out for you.
Maybe even loudly too.
EPILOGUE
JOURNAL ENTRY NO. 1, DECEMBER 13
Dear Journal,
You know that feeling at the beginning of the school year, when you’re nervous, but also excited?
That’s the feeling I had when we arrived at the lake.
I thought I’d be sad because Mama had now been gone a year. But I knew that this day wasn’t just about me or Birdie. It wasn’t a Wolf Day. It was something more.
Birdie was there and so were Patrick and Duke, both wearing bow ties custom made by Birdie, and Uncle Carl and Rosie were holding hands. And when we walked over to the dock, Krysten’s mom pulled up with Krysten and Janet. They kind of hung back a little and didn’t say anything the whole time, but I liked knowing they were there.
We didn’t have a plan. Instead, we stood on the edge of the dock and listened to the water move with the wind. Birdie wore his ice cream backpack (which Patrick fixed and gave back to him, right after talking to Mrs. Cross-Hams.) He also wore his favorite purple jacket, his milk-and-cookies charm necklace, his cupcake ring, and a new pair of jeans with rhinestones along the pockets.
Uncle Carl was the first to say something. He held out a cup of coffee from the Stop-and-Go. “This one’s for you, Sis. Special from Juan.” Then he poured the whole cup into the lake.
Uncle Carl told me that him and Juan fought together in the war and that Juan had stayed behind to protect Uncle Carl, and then got injured. So Uncle Carl carried Juan three miles through the jungle to camp and that because of that, Juan said when they got back home, he’d take over his parents’ store like they wanted, and Uncle Carl could have free coffee for the rest of his life. Uncle Carl said that Juan was the only person on earth who truly knew the real him—pre-war, at war, and after. Uncle Carl keeps a bunch of pictures on his fridge now, including one of him and Juan in Vietnam, with big goofy smiles on their sweaty faces. Uncle Carl put the junk-drawer picture of Mama into a frame he got from Rosie. He keeps it on the coffee table where Marlboro used to be.
At the lake, Birdie spoke next. “It’s hard without you, Mama.”
To be honest, I didn’t hear everything Birdie said because so many memories flooded in and it was hard to concentrate with so much sadness at once. Birdie’s purple nail polish flashed as he sprinkled a pinch of gold glitter into the wind. Then, on the end of the dock, he placed a collage he’d made, using a painted rock to keep it from blowing away. He ended by saying that she shouldn’t worry because Rosie was continuing his sewing machine lessons.
Patrick cleared his throat right after that and said, “Beth, as you can see, you have a couple of good kids.” He took his hat off and rubbed his neck and kind of laughed. “I’ll do the best I can, even if I’m not as fun—or sparkly—as you. But send me some help, okay? I’ll need it. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say that.” He paused. “Jack and Birdie will be okay with me. They’ll be fine. Actually, I think we’ll be more than fine.”
I waited before saying anything to make sure Patrick was done. Then I said: “Mama, you are a dragon! And so is your brother Patrick! That’s something I’ve learned here. I miss you and your games, and so many things from our life, but I am also ready for this new one.” I took the Skittles bag out of my pocket and let the pinch of ashes go without a second thought. “Like Patrick said, we’ll be more than fine. There will probably be some really hard days, but Birdie and me have so many people around us here. There are lots of people looking out, not just me. And guess what? We’re even going to plant a fig tree in the front yard. So we’ll have the figs you always loved. And I guess Grandma loved them too, Patrick said. Yeah, we’ll be okay.”
The best part of the day was that Mama was still there. She sent us a Wolf Day to let us know. It happened when we were at the Sweet Potato Shop after the lake and two couples drove up in a shiny black car. They were talking loudly and one of them was on their cell phone. They were lost, trying to make their way to the balloons. Uncle Carl and Patrick took turns trying to tell them how to get there. And then it turned out that there were two other couples who were supposed to go up in the hot-air balloon with them. But they got food poisoning from some bad stir fry at the mall, which meant they had four extra tickets and did we want them?
There were a lot of questions and then Patrick said, fine, let the kids go! But the balloon people said there had to be a guardian.
Birdie and me begged and begged Patrick. He said Uncle Carl and Rosie should take us, but Rosie shook her head and said she’d have her own balloon ride someday soon.
And so, after a lot of sighing and rubbing his neck, Patrick said, “Oh, all right. You knuckleheads win.”
And Birdie danced around chanting, “Knuckleheads win! Knuckleheads win!”
The view from the balloon was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. And when I looked around at Uncle Carl, Patrick, and Birdie, I saw that we were all experiencing our own feelings as we stood together in the basket.
Writing this now, I realize maybe that’s what Wolf Day is really about—not some spontaneous adventure, but something else entirely.
Turning islands to archipelagos.
– Jack
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a book is like climbing a mountain. It’s hard work, yet enjoyable, and you come out the other side exhausted, but feeling accomplished and maybe a hair wiser too. Writing this book was a lot like hiking to the top of Half Dome in Yosemite National Park in California. On the way, I kept thinking I was nearing the peak and every time I arrived at a crest, there was another peak to climb.
As this is my first book, there are a lot of people to publicly thank.
The first has to be my editor, Kathy Dawson. Like all great editors she has a talented eye, a nose for details, an instinct for story. What you don’t know is how great of a writing companion she is. How patient she is when I drift off the trail into the bush. She knows how to wait for me, how best to help direct my wanderings. Thanks just doesn’t cut it so I’m not gonna try.
Along with her, I have to thank all the incredible people at Kathy Dawson Books/Penguin Young Readers—especially Rosie Ahmed and Regina Castillo—who have poured hours and hours of love and work into this book. I’m so thankful to be a part of this publishing family.
And before there was Penguin, there was Susan Hawk!—my agent, my unwavering cheerleader and the voice of kindness, wisdom, and practicality. Thank you for taking a chance on me and this book. Her early enthusiasm provided the steam to truly put myself out there and her professional savvy made this book into an actual career.
I owe a great debt to early readers of my writing, including Laura Irmer, Paula Turk, Theresa Alvarado, Cate Nuanez, James Nuanez, and Marieke Nijkamp. Additionally, I must thank my incredible and weird family. The ridiculous amount of support that I have received from them—siblings, parents, grandparents, in-laws, aunts, uncles, close friends—and especially those who help wrangle my toddler—is lovely, overwhelming, and something I will value forever.
I have huge appreciation for my dear grammy, for the love, shelter, electricity, water, and internet she’s given me and my family. These are the real-life things that make novel-writing possible.
As you may have seen, this book is dedicated to my parents—Mom, Brad, Dad, and Theresa. They show me what a loving, unconventional family can look like. Their unw
avering support for all the wacky things I’ve wanted to accomplish has helped turn my dreams into reality.
Super thanks to my cats, Linux and Computer, premium lap and back warmers, loud meowers, and the best reasons to get up from the desk to stretch my wrists and rest my eyes after a long writing session.
I absolutely must recognize my young son. This book was written and sold before he came along, but the editing that brought it alive happened after he made me a mom. Though it became harder to write after he arrived, he gave me a reason to continue and continue well. He gave me a deeper understanding of Mama, a kinder eye toward her. The book would not be as good without him.
For my husband there aren’t words that fully convey my appreciation for all the support, companionship, leadership, love, wisdom, and comfort he has given me since we were just kids in high school. He read all the troublesome early drafts. He lent his keen eye and ear for voice and character authenticity. He hustled hard, worked full-time, commuted long hours, then took care of our son, all so I could meet deadlines. He was with me at the top of Half Dome and I’m so glad to have him here with me at the top of this mountain.
Lastly, I want to recognize all the amazing and courageous gender non-conforming kids and adults who have shown, posted, recorded, written, told, and lived their stories. Although Birdie was not inspired by anyone specific, his voice grew clearer in my head the more I opened my mind to all the awesome people who are like him. I’ve watched, read, and listened to countless stories, but wanted to specifically recognize C. J. and Lori Duron and Jacob Tobia—their public vulnerability and authenticity has truly shaped how I see the world.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. M. M. Nuanez was born and raised in California, but has lived in other places like Texas and Korea. When not reading or writing, you can usually find her outside with her husband and son. In her limited spare time, she likes to play with her cats, make Korean food, and build miniature things.
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Birdie and Me Page 18