Dear Blue Sky

by Mary Sullivan

  By the time I made my way down, Van was making her way back up with a salad. I could hear Jack down in the kitchen singing, “E-I-E-I-O.”

  I started making a deal then. If Mom’s premonition was wrong and Sef was fine, then I’d be good. I really would. It wasn’t like I was bad, but I would have to stop being so mad at Mom, for one. I didn’t know exactly whom I was making a deal with as I looked up at the sky and said it. Swore it.

  On the table next to Mom was a bottle of wine. The weather lady was talking about a cold front coming down from Canada.

  “Do you want something to eat, Mom?” I asked.

  “Moo moo here, and moo moo there—” Jack sang.

  “Can we make pancakes?” I asked.

  Still she didn’t answer. In the kitchen, Jack was holding the refrigerator door open, staring in at the white light. “Moo moo and moo moo—”

  “Go ask her if we can make pancakes,” I told him. “She’ll say yes to you.”

  In a minute, Jack came back smiling.

  I already had the Bisquick in a bowl. “Get the chocolate chips,” I told him. We added the whole bag and started eating spoonfuls of the batter while the frying pan heated up.

  The phone rang once. I ran to the living room just in time to see Mom drop the receiver and then pick it up. It was Dad calling to say not to wait for him.

  When we were done eating, Jack and I went up to Sef’s room. Jack lay on top of Sef’s bed, his face and hands sticky with maple syrup, his clothes grass-stained and caked with dirt. Bits of leaves were stuck in his hair.

  “White Kitty,” he said.

  I brought his kitty, and he closed his eyes.

  On the back of Sef’s door was a dartboard of Osama bin Laden’s face. You got one hundred points if you hit him between the eyebrows, fifty for his face, and twenty-five for his beard. We had laughed at bin Laden before, but now when I looked into his black eyes, I was afraid.

  I pressed Play on Sef’s CD box. The song started in a soft guitar. A deep bass sounded next and then something ominous. A thumping, like out of a scary movie. Then the voice came in: Did did did did you see the frightened ones— I hit Stop and went over to Jack with his mouth open, snoring, and White Kitty tucked under his chin.

  I spread Sef’s blue comforter on Jack, rolled him over, and lay down beside him. Just below the headboard, the wallpaper was peeling off. The silver airplanes were curling up as if they were driving into each other. I tried to stick the paper back to the wall, but it was old and dry and kept coiling off. Jack’s stomach rose and fell. Outside the world was black.

  I pressed Play again. Did did did did you hear the falling bombs? Behind the music I could hear planes whooshing by and bombs exploding. Did you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter— I’d heard Sef playing this all summer and never really listened. Good-bye, blue sky, good-bye—

  CHAPTER 9

  THE COMMUNITY

  I RAN IN to homeroom the next day just as everyone was standing for the Pledge. I stood and automatically put my hand on my chest, and started to say the words. Kim was next to me, and I heard her say “and to the Republic for Richard Stands: one Nation under blah blah with discrimination and war for all.” She smiled at me, and I smiled back. Had she been saying this all this time, and I never heard it until now?

  She leaned toward me. “What happened to your sister?”

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “I saw her crying after school yesterday.”

  “Van? You did?”

  “Yes.” Kim’s dark eyes stared into mine, waiting.

  “Where was she?” Van seemed the same as always last night.

  “At the basketball court at Dana Park, watching Finn and some other guys shooting hoops. I was looking for my brother. I saw a bunch of them get in a car, a blue wagon, I’ve seen down there before. Van was in there for a couple minutes. Then she jumped out and ran up the hill, and she was crying.”

  Sef and I played at Dana court. Van never went there. “You sure?” I asked.

  The first bell rang.

  “I’m sure. I can try to find out something, but no one tells me anything. They think I have a big—” She pointed into her open, smiling mouth.

  • • •

  Mr. Barkan’s glasses hung from the corner of his mouth as he paced in between the aisles. “It’s been brought to my attention that we don’t do much with current news in our class.”

  As he walked by me, I stared at my desk. LEAH 2002 had been scratched into the top with pen.

  “So, in addition to what we’re studying, I want each of you to find a blog written by someone you’re interested in learning more about. It should be about someone from another country, and it might be fun if it’s someone your age. Read about them, find articles on their country in the paper.”

  Dave Swanson, the math genius of seventh grade, asked, “Is this a mandatory assignment?” He was tall and skinny with a crew cut and freckles. He hadn’t spoken to me since last year when I said I couldn’t go to the Spring Dance with him. Of course, I hadn’t given him much chance to talk to me either.

  “Yes. See how they live their lives. Take notes on their culture and traditions. Email them. Print pictures. We’ll present reports based on your correspondences and research. You have a week to find a site.

  “Now, back to where we left off yesterday. The War of 1812.” Mr. Barkan pulled down one of the maps rolled like a window shade over the chalkboard. It snapped back up into his face before it coiled tight again. A few people in the back laughed. He smiled and shook his head.

  • • •

  In the cafeteria, I passed Sonia’s table. She was wearing skintight jeans and a white shirt that said HOT in red letters under a gray hoodie. I knew she saw me. Her high-tops went tap tap tap, and her lips curved up. Once Sonia told me that she liked me because I wasn’t like everyone else. I hadn’t changed. She was the one who’d changed. She was just like everyone else now. She didn’t look up as I walked by with my tray. I felt a little ache in my stomach. I missed her—the old Sonia.

  Kim was reading The Giver at her table. She was almost finished. I sat down, said hi, and opened my book. She leaned across the table and whispered, “I had a dream about Mr. G last night.”

  “No way.”

  She nodded and cupped her hands on either side of her mouth. “Yes.”

  “Details, please.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I laughed. “I would never tell my dreams like Jonas does. Not in a million years.” In The Giver, Jonas told his family his dreams and his strongest feelings. They were analyzed and compartmentalized, put away or taken care of with a pill.

  “Me neither. My mom would probably schedule an appointment with a shrink or something.”

  The bell rang. We shut our books and walked to English class.

  Mr. Giraldi walked in and out of the desks, holding The Giver behind his back. “All right, so let’s talk about Stirrings today.”

  A few giggled. Someone groaned.

  “What do you think? When Jonas feels his first Stirrings in his dream about Fiona, do you think they should be controlled by a pill?”

  “Rob wants to talk about his Stirrings,” Jesse said.

  Rob smacked Jesse on the back. They had been best friends since the day Rob moved to Hillview a year ago. Both were tall and lanky and good-looking. While Jesse had blue eyes and light skin, Rob had dark eyes, and his skin was the color of Mom’s coffee after she poured in half-and-half. It was hard not to notice them as they moved down the hallway, joking and laughing, tossing a ball back and forth.

  When he came into our social studies class the first time, Rob had on his usual flannel shirt and black jeans. He looked around the class at everyone, and I swear his eyes stopped on me. It seemed like he actually saw m
e. I liked him, but so did all the other girls in our grade, so I didn’t think about it much. A few of them had asked him to go to the Spring Dance, but he said no. Last summer they had come to the Dana Park basketball court where Sef and I were shooting. We played HORSE. It was easy to be with them when Sef was there.

  “All right, take it easy, boys,” Mr. G said. “Let’s stick to the book.”

  Kim raised her hand, and Mr. Giraldi threw her the orange ball. “I think it’s creepy. I mean he has a dream about a girl, and he has to take a pill? They control everything. And only Birthmothers have babies and then they have to be Laborers for the rest of their lives? What’s that say about mothers?”

  “All right, good point, Kim. What do others think?”

  “Can I say one more thing?” Kim asked.

  “Go for it.”

  “It’s weird that everyone is the same. They do everything the same every year. I mean, no one is different.”

  “You wouldn’t be there,” Brandon called out.

  “All right, Brandon, so tell us what kind of society this is,” Mr. Giraldi said. Kim threw him the ball hard.

  “It’s like this perfect place. But you don’t even pick what job you want to do.”

  “But it’s safe,” I interrupted, without raising my hand. “There’s no war. No confusion. Things are easy. Everyone’s normal and healthy.”

  Brandon held the ball up in his fist. “No freedom either!”

  “All right, there are a lot of good points here. Who’s making all the decisions in the community?”

  “The Committee of Elders,” I said.

  “Ball,” Mr. Giraldi said, pointing to me.

  Brandon threw it to me sidearm.

  “Cassie?”

  “At least in their community there aren’t people blown up and walking around without arms and legs or whatever. There isn’t even a reason to go to war there.” My voice was getting louder. I couldn’t stop it. “They probably don’t even have a word for war.”

  Everyone looked at me.

  “All right, everyone is normal and safe. What’s most important? Safety and sameness or freedom and individuality?”

  “Where do all the old people go when they’re released?” Sonia blurted out. “I mean, do they just, like, go away all of a sudden?”

  “It’s just a nice word for time to die,” Kim said. “As in execution.”

  “Disgusting,” Lisa said.

  My insides went cold. Of course that’s what it meant. When I read it the first time, it sounded so nice and easy—released. I found the stone inside my pocket. Usually I left it under my pillow. I held it in my fist. A folded-up piece of paper landed on my desk. In neat small letters, it said, What is your email? Kim.

  “All right, let’s make a list of pros and cons of the community. And then we’ll talk about being released.” Mr. Giraldi turned to the blackboard.

  I wrote my email on a tiny square of paper, folded it in half twice, and tossed it to Kim. It landed on her lap. Then I made my own list. Pros: No war, no pain, no confusion. Sef stays. Cons: Everyone is normal, or they are released. I realized then that there would be no Jack. He was special. He was slow. He’d be released.

  CHAPTER 10

  RETARD

  “SEF CALLED!” Mom sang out when I walked in the door. “He was in Kuwait, going to Iraq tomorrow. He’s fine—he sounded just like he always does!”

  “Guess he’s not dead.” I smiled.

  “He just got there.” She stirred a wooden spoon in a pot on the stove that smelled of basil, garlic, and tomato. “He said he’d be home before we knew it and wished I could send him some meatballs.” She laughed and wiped her eyes with the edge of her apron. “Let’s put together a care package tonight. Energy bars and chocolate should be fine. Cookies might make it.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “He asked if you went running.”

  “He did? What’d you say?”

  “I said yes.” She looked up at me. “Did you? You know I don’t want him to worry about us. He has enough to worry about over there.”

  “I didn’t go running. But I will. I’m going to do everything I can so Sef doesn’t have to worry about me over there. You should too, Mom.” I looked at her hard. “So he doesn’t worry about you.”

  The steam from the sauce rose up around her face. She stirred, tasting the sauce, not looking at me.

  “Where’s Jack?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Mom set down her wooden spoon. She pushed her lips into a smile. “Can you find him for me? I want to tell him about Sef. That he’s okay.”

  • • •

  The air was cold, and Jack wasn’t anywhere. I walked around the chestnut tree in the back and then checked the garage. He sometimes liked to rock in his old car seat. I listened for his singing, but all I heard was the gentle flap slap flap of the giant flag at the end of the road. I decided to try the Adamses’ yard.

  Jack was sitting on the grass at the edge of the woods with their cat, Tigger, on his lap. Tigger looked too terrified to do anything. As quietly as I could, I walked up behind Jack. I would hold his hands and arms, pry them slowly away from Tigger, and then lift Jack up in a bear hug, with my chest pressed close to his back, and move him toward our yard. I knew that someday he’d be stronger than I was and I wouldn’t be able to do this, but I could do it now.

  I was almost behind Jack when Ben Adams ran around the side of their house yelling, “Hey, what do you think you’re doing to my cat, retard?”

  Jack didn’t move.

  “I said let her go, retard!”

  Jack stared back at him.

  I’d seen Ben tie sneakers to Tigger’s tail when his friends were over and stick peanut butter in her mouth.

  “Nice outfit. Are you in the army too?” Ben laughed.

  “Marines,” Jack said.

  “Don’t laugh at him and don’t call him retard, or I’ll kill you,” I said, stepping in front of Jack.

  “Oh, I’m scared.” He was two years younger than I was, but he was big for his age.

  “Let go of the stupid cat, Jack,” I said.

  “No, and she’s not stupid.”

  “Let her go.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll get you White Kitty,” I whispered in his ear. I knelt down and put my hands on his, but he only pressed harder into Tigger. The fur rose on her back.

  “I’m watching out for her,” Jack said.

  “What, you’re the big cat protector?” Ben laughed.

  “I’m the one.”

  Ben suddenly pushed Jack in the chest with his open palms, sending Jack back into me so both of us went sprawling onto the grass. Tigger rocketed into the woods.

  “Listen, don’t go touching my cat again,” Ben said.

  Jack jumped up and shouted, “Wait until Sef gets back. He’s going to blow you away. He has guns and bombs and everything. And I’m in charge while he’s gone.”

  “Okay, whatever you say. And don’t you mean if he comes back?” He laughed harder.

  I sprang up and jumped on him. My arms went around him in a second, knocking him off balance. I rolled him over onto his belly, pinning his arms behind his back. I had lots of practice holding Jack when he lost control, and I was stronger than I looked.

  “Just shut up, okay, do you hear me? Shut up,” I said.

  He nodded just a little.

  “Yes or no?”

  “Yes,” he whined.

  “And don’t call Jack a retard again either.” I pushed Ben once and then let him go. I turned to Jack. “Let’s go. Mom has something to tell you.”

  “I was doing my job,” he said as we started back. “Tigger likes me. Am I going to get in trouble?”


  “No. I probably will.” Goose bumps suddenly blossomed on my arms and legs. Someone was watching me. I turned back to their house and saw Kristen Adams smirking at us from the upstairs window. I waved at her—a dismissive wave, as if I didn’t care that she’d seen us. But my head became instantly heavy thinking about what she was going to say about us in school tomorrow.

  “Why’d he call me retard?” Jack asked.

  “Because he’s an idiot. He doesn’t know anything about anything.” As we walked into our yard, a blue space opened like a hole in the clouds, and the sun shone on us.

  “He doesn’t know anything about anything,” Jack repeated.

  “That’s right. Now let’s go see Mom.”

  I knew one thing. I wouldn’t have done what I did if Sef were home. I would have let him take care of it. That’s what I used to do. Like the time we were at Swallow River and some boys we didn’t know were swimming.

  Sonia, Jack, Sef, and I were there that day. It was late afternoon, and the air was hot and heavy. Sef was with his friends on the other side of the river. I heard some boys laughing and turned to see Jack with his bathing suit pulled down around his ankles. There were four of them egging him on. They looked about fifteen. Jack smiled at them, like he got the joke, too.

  “Jack,” I yelled, “pull up your shorts!”

  By this time, Sef was charging across the water. He jumped on the boy closest to Jack and started pounding him.

  “What the hell? He didn’t do anything!” a skinny one yelled, while the other two guys took off.

  Sef stopped. “I’ll kill you both, I swear. Get out of here before I do.”

  The kid that Sef hit staggered back. “I’ll call the police if you touch me again.”

  “Not if you’re dead, you won’t.” Sef turned to Jack. “Pull ’em up, Jack.”

  “Come on, let’s go,” the skinny kid said to his friend.

  Jack tried to pull up his bathing suit, but the wet made it stick to his legs. I wanted to turn away, but I couldn’t. Jack was crying now.