Beat the Turtle Drum
Page 8
“Well, then, they damn well should stop saying it,” I said.
“Be gentle, Kate. Don’t let losing Joss make you cold and hard,” my mother said.
“Why not?” I asked her.
She shook her head.
“I’m going up to lie down,” she said.
I don’t care if your mother did die when you were thirteen, Miss Pemberthy. That’s no excuse. No excuse at all.
August
Summer is almost over. School starts in a couple of weeks. I dread going back. People act strange, as if I were a different person from when school closed in June. I am the same. No, that’s not true. I’m not. I can never be the same.
My mother says we have to learn to bear it. I guess she’s right. We’ve got to get on with life without Joss. People say such dumb things when people die. They don’t realize how dumb they are. They say, “It was God’s will,” like Miss Pemberthy. That’s enough to turn anyone against God. I myself don’t know if I’ll ever feel the same about Him. Maybe He had a very good reason for making Joss die, but I doubt it. I read a poem which says, “Death loves a shining mark,” and I think Joss was the shining mark.
God could just as easily have made Miss Pemberthy die and let Joss alone. Who would miss her? He could even have made me die instead. But I think making Miss Pemberthy die would have made more sense.
Every morning when I go out Tootie is there, sitting somewhere in the yard, waiting for me. We’ve had a lot of long conversations. If I’ve done anything positive, I think maybe I’ve helped Tootie.
“I dreamed about Joss last night,” he says often. “We were riding along a big, long beach. I was sitting behind her. She took Prince into the water, then we came out on the sand and I found the rock.” Tootie carried the heart-shaped rock everywhere. I had given it back to him. “You’re sure you don’t want to keep it?” he had asked anxiously. I told him it was a memento of Joss, to keep it always and think of her.
“Do you think she knows we miss her?” he asked. “Do you think she’s having a good time where she is?”
I have to turn away and pretend I’m tying my shoe or something. I don’t want him to see how much he upsets me. Then, “Yes,” I tell him when I can speak in a normal voice. “I think she knows, and I think things are all right with her.”
That seems to make him feel better.
Life goes on, which is another dumb thing people say. If you coat a person with love, as my mother and father did Joss, it should have made her invulnerable. Love should act as a protection. My mother thought if she worried enough, if she covered every base, she could protect us from harm. From automobile accidents, drowning, fire, everything. She had never thought of falling out of a tree because a rotten branch snapped. Maybe one of us might break a leg or an arm skiing. But death. Never.
When school closed in June I told everyone I was going to do some writing over the summer. The only thing I’ve written is a poem. I haven’t shown it to anyone.
This is it:
When it is night
I dream that my sister is
Asleep in the other bed.
I wake up smiling
Until I see the bed
is empty, quite flat,
with no other there.
I cry out but
softly, softly
So they won’t hear me
over their tears.
I’ve read Mrs. Mahoney’s letter a thousand times. Now I’m glad I didn’t throw it away. It’s been a comfort to me. Especially the part where she says I’ll tell my own children about Joss and how much I loved her. If I ever have a daughter, I’ll name her Joss. Mrs. Mahoney was right when she said that right now it must seem as if there were no joy in the world. Maybe she’s right that later on I’ll get pleasure from my memories.
It’s the right now that hurts.
About the Author
Constance C. Greene is the author of over twenty highly successful young adult novels, including the ALA Notable Book A Girl Called Al, Al(exandra) the Great, Getting Nowhere, and Beat the Turtle Drum, which is an ALA Notable Book, an IRA-CBC Children’s Choice, and the basis for the Emmy Award–winning after-school special Very Good Friends. Greene lives in Milford, Connecticut.
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All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1976 by Constance C. Greene
Cover design by Connie Gabbert
ISBN: 978-1-5040-0089-5
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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