The Ostrich and Other Lost Things

by Beth Hautala

  My tears were dry. The butterflies were long gone.

  “Sweetie,” said Mom, “why don’t you take some time and think—”

  “If Jacob’s doing it, then I’m not.”

  Dad shook his head and scrubbed his face with his hands. “Olivia, you got the part of Peter Pan!”

  Mom cleared her throat and looked at Dad pointedly. He didn’t say anything else. We were all quiet for a moment. Then Jacob started howling again.

  Mom spoke first. “It’s up to you, Olivia,” she said. “But you’ll need to call Stephen back and let him know you’ve decided to turn down the role.”

  “What? I’m not calling! You can call! Tell them my amazing brother will take the part of Peter instead of me. Tell them I warned them when he screws the whole thing up! And don’t bother telling me I have to go to my room, because I’m already going!”

  And I went. Stomping and crying again, pounding my fist on the wall. I couldn’t even look at my brother, still sitting and wailing at the kitchen table, as I marched to my bedroom. His sounds followed me all the way down the hall until I slammed the door shut.

  14

  Being Peter

  I SAT ON my bedroom floor and cried.

  I was stuck. Trapped between the stuff I wanted and the stuff that worked for Jacob. It wasn’t fair.

  After an hour or so, I got up and went over to the window, wiping tears with the back of my hand. I needed some space. There was no Neverland for me to fly away to, but I could take a walk. Just to clear my head. I tore a piece of paper from the notebook on my desk and scribbled a note for Mom and Dad. “I went for a walk. Be back soon.” I left it on my bed in case they came in to check on me. Then I slipped out my bedroom window.

  * * *

  • • •

  Unfair. Unfair. Unfair. Unfair. I trudged down the minimal maintenance road, kicking every loose rock and blade of grass in my way. The word matched my steps and circled around in my brain until it started to sound like fair-run fair-run fair-run fair.

  I wanted to be Peter Pan, and I wanted Jacob to sit quietly in the audience. Everyone watching would say, “Hey! Isn’t that the girl with the weird brother? She’s different—she’s not like him. She’s great!”

  People watched us all the time. They watched Jacob melt down in the grocery store and at the library, at the park and in school. They watched as we arrived places and as we left. They listened to us using our calm, soothing voices. Now they would watch for a different reason. This was my chance to do something just for me. My chance to be amazing. All I wanted was for Mom and Dad to watch and listen and clap and notice me, too. If Jacob was in the play, he would fall apart and all everyone would notice was him. Just like usual.

  I kicked a little pebble as hard as I could and sent it flying down the road.

  “Oowwow!” The boy I’d just met the day before clutched himself in the chest like he’d been shot. I must have hit him with the rock! “What the heck, Olivia! Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

  Charlie’s face was red and his sunglasses were dangling from one ear. The long white stick he was holding dropped to the ground and broke up into smaller pieces. I could see he was blinking fast like he was trying not to cry.

  “I am so, so sorry! I didn’t see you there! Are you okay?” I asked again.

  He nodded, straightening up and rubbing his chest. “You didn’t see me? What, are you blind, too?”

  “No—” I laughed, but I could feel tears rising fast. “I was just upset and not thinking—”

  “And kicking rocks at your friends—”

  “It was an accident, I promise!”

  “I know.” He smiled a little ruefully and rubbed his chest again. “It’s okay. I could tell you were upset. I’m fine.” He readjusted his sunglasses and put them back on.

  “You could tell I was upset?”

  “Yeah. You were talking to yourself.”

  “Out loud?”

  “How else do you think I knew it was you?”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Are you okay?” Charlie asked.

  I took a breath. “Not really.” More deep breaths. Then I started crying again.

  Sometimes things just felt too hard. I knew they were hard for Charlie, too.

  We stood there and I tried to calm down. Charlie put his hands in his pockets and then pulled them out again awkwardly.

  “I know you’re crying,” he said. “But I can’t see it, so we can pretend you’re not, if you want.” I smiled a little bit, through my tears.

  Charlie wasn’t like anyone else I knew. He could sense things without me having to tell him, and he didn’t seem to mind when I got upset.

  We both sat down in the dust. The cicadas were rasping their singsong noise overhead from the dogwood trees and scrub oak. Tiny grasshoppers rattled around us in the dry grass, flying up like tiny birds whenever we moved.

  “Sorry,” I said after a few minutes. “I’m just having a bad day.”

  “It’s okay. Everybody has those sometimes,” Charlie said.

  “Yeah. It’s just—I was going to be Peter Pan.” The words came out a little shaky, and I sniffled again. “But now I can’t. Because of Jacob.”

  Charlie’s face was a mixture of wonder and confusion. “Well, I don’t know who Jacob is, but being Peter Pan sounds kinda awesome!”

  “Jacob is my brother. He’s autistic.”

  I stared at Charlie, waiting for the change in expression that usually came over people’s faces when they found out Jacob was autistic. It was something I had tried to explain to my friends after Jacob was diagnosed, but it still made them uncomfortable—being around him. Jacob never did or said the right kinds of things. So, making and keeping friends had always been a little difficult. But Charlie was different. He just nodded.

  “Because of that, things are hard sometimes,” I said.

  Charlie nodded again.

  So, I continued. “I tried out for this play—Peter Pan—and I was excited because I really wanted to be Wendy. But then Mom and Dad decided Jacob should try out, too, even though they both know Jacob could melt down onstage and ruin everything. Anyway, we both tried out, and I just found out I got the part of Peter Pan—not Wendy—which was a little surprising because I’m not a boy . . . obviously . . . but still, I was super excited, until Mom told me Jacob got a part, too. And now I can’t be in the play at all, because of Jacob.”

  Charlie looked confused again. “But why not? Why can’t you be Peter Pan?”

  “Because Jacob will melt down onstage and ruin everything!”

  “Why? What part did he get?”

  “He’s a Lost Boy.”

  “That sounds like a pretty small part.”

  “Not really, but that’s not the point.” It didn’t matter what part he had. Jacob could still ruin everything even if he was only a tree. “He will ruin the whole thing, I know it!”

  “But what if he doesn’t?”

  “He will.”

  “So, what happens, exactly? What does he do?”

  “He cries and screams and sometimes falls down on the floor and has a kind of temper tantrum. Sometimes he hits people, or hurts himself, and he throws stuff.”

  “Oh.” Neither one of us said anything for a minute. “Has he always been like that?” Charlie asked.

  “As long as I can remember, yeah. But you don’t have to worry. Autism isn’t contagious, like a cold. It’s something you’re born with. It’s written inside of you. Kind of like a secret code.”

  “Oh,” Charlie said again.

  “Yeah. It usually starts giving away clues when you’re a baby trying to walk and talk and stuff. Jacob was diagnosed when he was little. But he hasn’t always been this bad.”

  “So, like, it can get wors
e over time or something?”

  “I think so. I mean, Jacob’s always been autistic, but I can remember when he was different. He wasn’t always so easily upset by everything. And his meltdowns used to be smaller. Less crazy and way less frequent and stuff.”

  “Did something happen that made it worse?”

  This I knew for certain. “Yes. He lost his ostrich.”

  “His ostrich?” Charlie almost laughed but caught himself. “What do you mean?”

  “It was this little plastic toy Jacob had, and he loved it. But it went missing seven months ago, and since then things have just been getting worse. I looked for it a lot at first; I’m really good at finding things that are lost. Usually. I’ve been looking more and more recently, and I know if I can find it and give it back to Jacob, it will help. But I can’t find it. No matter how hard I look.”

  “You’re good at finding things?”

  “Yeah. My dad calls it my superpower.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “It is. Except when you can’t find stuff.”

  Charlie nodded like he understood. “So, what kind of stuff can you find?”

  I ran through the list of stuff in my head. “I don’t know, I guess I’ve probably found almost anything you can think of.”

  “Dogs and cats?”

  “Yes.”

  “Comic books?”

  “Sure.”

  “Allowance and mittens and homework?”

  I laughed. “No one’s ever asked me to find missing homework before, but I’ve definitely found lost allowance and a missing glove.”

  “Hmm.” Charlie kept up his guessing game. “Have you ever found a goldfish?”

  “A goldfish? Who loses a goldfish?”

  “Okay, fine. What about eyesight?”

  “Eyesight?” I stared at him for a minute. Was he serious? “Oh, um . . .”

  “I’m kidding,” Charlie said. He ran his hands through his hair and looked off into the distance, seeing nothing.

  “Oh,” I said again. I tried to laugh a little, but it wasn’t funny.

  “I lost it a while ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. Me, too. I was really little. It was a car accident.”

  “That must have been scary,” I said.

  Charlie nodded.

  “Do you remember what it was like? To see? Do you miss it?”

  Charlie didn’t say anything. Instantly, I knew I shouldn’t have asked him that. It wasn’t something you asked blind people. “I’m sorry—I didn’t—”

  “No. It’s okay,” Charlie said. “People never ask. And then I never get to talk about it.”

  “Okay. Good.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I remember what it was like to see, but it’s hard to explain. I was so young, and I didn’t have the words then that I have now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s like trying to tell someone what the color gold is when they’ve never seen the color gold before. So I can tell you how things felt, but it’s hard to explain what I really remember seeing.”

  I nodded.

  “I see colors in my head different from you. I mean, I think I do,” Charlie said. “Red feels warm and deep. Green is sharp like grass and the taste of peppermint and the smell of sage.”

  I closed my eyes and thought about colors, trying to see them with everything except my eyes. It was hard. Seeing, and all the memories of things I could see, were stuck inside me. I couldn’t just not see them.

  “What about pink?” I asked.

  “Pink is fruity and soft and sweet, like Starburst.”

  I smiled. Charlie was so easy to talk to.

  “So, you really think finding Jacob’s toy ostrich will help?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I do.”

  Charlie nodded. “Okay. Then let’s do it.”

  “Let’s do what?” I asked.

  “Find Jacob’s ostrich. Look, I know it might be tough,” Charlie said, “but I’m actually pretty good at solving mysteries, and with your finding-lost-things superpower, I think we could do it, if we tried together.”

  “Charlie, I’ve looked everywhere for Jacob’s ostrich. I can’t find it. I don’t have any actual superpowers—I’m just good at following clues, but there’s nothing for me to follow here.”

  “Or maybe you’ve just been doing it wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s still missing, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I listen to this radio program on Saturday mornings, Locksher and Son. It’s a mystery case–cracking adventure program where this kid and his dad solve mysteries together. They always start by making a map. I know. It sounds dumb. Who even listens to radio programs, right? But try explaining your favorite cartoon to me and see if I don’t make a funny face or something.” That made me laugh.

  Charlie turned to me and smiled. I caught sight of my reflection in his sunglasses.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Why do you wear sunglasses all the time? Is it so people can’t see your eyes because they look a little different?” The words were out of my mouth before I could take them back or think about them. I was full of the wrong kinds of questions. But Charlie didn’t seem to mind. He just nodded.

  “If someone can see, the muscles in their eyes are working all the time,” he explained. “Helping them focus on stuff and adjusting to light. Keeping them straight and, like, awake. Mine don’t do any of that. That’s why they look different. They’re kind of still. It makes people uncomfortable. Probably the way people get around you when Jacob has a meltdown.”

  Charlie was right. But I didn’t say anything.

  “Anyway, I can hear it in their voices. People turn their heads away when they’re talking to me. So, it’s just better if I wear sunglasses most of the time.”

  “Well, your eyes don’t make me uncomfortable,” I said.

  “I know.” Charlie smiled. “I can tell—you don’t turn your head away when you talk to me. Even when my glasses are dangling off my face.”

  I laughed, but my face suddenly felt a little hot.

  “So, what do you think?” Charlie asked. “Should we try making a map and search for your brother’s ostrich together, or is that dumb?”

  “No!” I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s dumb at all. I think it’s kinda brilliant, actually.”

  “Awesome!” He grinned.

  I smiled back. “And thanks for sitting here. With me. Even though I almost killed you with a rock.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. You’re a good shot! It’s lucky I work out.” He flexed and puffed out his chest before deflating like an inner tube. And then I knew for sure that even if I didn’t have a superpower, Charlie did. He was an expert at making other people feel things. Better things. About themselves. He could have just sat around feeling bad about being blind, but he didn’t. Charlie was trying his hardest to be himself, no matter what anyone else thought. He made me want to try, too.

  I stood up and brushed the dust from my jeans.

  “Do you want me to walk you back to the zoo?” I asked. He thought about it and nodded once. He and Vera were renting a trailer parked on the zoo grounds. I hadn’t noticed it before because it sat back behind the largest of the three buildings.

  “Probably wouldn’t be good to get lost out here and eaten by some wild animal,” Charlie said. Then he started feeling around on the ground for something next to him. When he found what he was looking for, like magic, he shook it out until each piece snapped together. The same way the tent poles snap together on our camping tent. He held it out so I could see. And I realized it had been a cane—not a stick—he was using when I first saw him on the road e
arlier.

  “Whoa. Cool. You always keep that with you?” I asked.

  “Yeah. It’s like eyes for my ears and feet. Helps me feel the world around me.” He gently tapped the cane on the ground. “I can hear and feel what’s in front of me so I don’t bump into anything or fall off a cliff.”

  “Right,” I nodded. “Good thing you avoided those on your way here. So many cliffs in Prue.”

  He laughed.

  “Why were you coming down the road all by yourself anyway?” I asked.

  “You live around here,” he said. “First house at the end of this road, right? Mom told me. So, I figured I’d just come find you and see what you were up to.”

  “Really? You were looking for me?”

  “Yeah. Come on.” Charlie had already started down the road, tapping his cane in front of him, throwing up little puffs of dust and scattering grasshoppers as he went. He walked pretty quickly for someone who couldn’t see where he was going. He didn’t need me, and there weren’t any cliffs in Prue, Oklahoma. But I wanted to walk with him anyway. I hurried to match my steps to his.

  “So, tomorrow works then, right?” I said. “After I finish at the zoo? We can start looking for Jacob’s ostrich. The sooner we find it, the better.”

  “Sure, that sounds great!” Charlie said.

  “Okay, good. We can come back to my house after I’m done working.”

  “Perfect.” Charlie smiled and his cane tap-tap-tapped and swish-swished back and forth in front of us. “So, you’re really gonna turn down Peter Pan?”

  We were almost back to the zoo. Charlie broke apart his cane and stuffed it into his back pocket.

  “Well . . .” I dug my toe into the dust. “I really want to be in the play. And I really, really want to be Peter Pan.” I sighed and stuffed my hands in my pockets. “Plus, I doubt Jacob will even make it through rehearsals and stuff before everyone sees how he is and decides it’s not a good idea.”

  Charlie was kind of frowning, but he nodded.

  “And if he does make it all the way through rehearsals and gets to performances and then melts down onstage and ruins everything, well . . .”