I hate the bus. The schedule is a confusing puzzle of numbers and tables and all the buses look identical. The only thing that differentiates one from another is the tiny numbers in the front window, which are informative as long as the numbers are updated, but what if someone forgets? I could accidently get on a bus headed in the wrong direction. Even if I do get on the correct one, I have to ring the bell at the right time so the driver knows when to stop. If not, I might end up miles from where I meant to go, maybe even as far away as another state. I also need a bus card or the exact fare, which has to be put in the automated collection box, and those machines are finicky. Anything too crinkled gets spit right back out.
I bite my bottom lip. Taking the bus alone feels as daunting as swimming across San Francisco Bay.
“Marvel? Are you there?”
“Yes,” I say as my mind grapples with my choices, which boil down to waiting for Mom or taking the bus. Being a coward or being brave.
“I’ll get home as soon as I can,” Mom says. I hear her start the car, but she won’t make it here fast enough. I imagine Butter’s sweet face, gaunt and haggard from not eating. She needs me immediately, not two or three hours from now.
I can’t let imaginary fears prevent me from helping Butter. I love her too much. “Mom, I don’t think I should wait. Butter needs me to go now …” I pause, wondering if I can actually do it.
“It’s your choice, honey.”
Trying to shift through my warring emotions, I say, “Dad gets scared sometimes.”
“I know, everyone does.”
“But he doesn’t let his fear make his decisions for him. He says a life lived in fear isn’t really living.”
“Your dad is very wise.”
Mom’s right. Dad is wise, and I know what I have to do. “I’m going to take the bus. Can you meet me at Gloria’s?”
“You know I will,” Mom says, and I think I understand something else about being brave. Courage comes from many sources, the most powerful of which is love.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime. Remember, you get off at Fort Cronkhite. Text me when you get there.”
I roll my eyes. Has Mom forgotten I don’t have a cell phone? “On what?”
“There’s a present for you in my closet. We were going to give it to you at the end of the year, but I think you better take it. It’s a cell phone. It should be charged. Reef set it up and insisted we plug it in. You know how obsessed he is with technology.”
I don’t even have time to be excited about finally getting a cell phone. I’m too worried about Butter and the bus.
I hang up with Mom and call Gloria to tell her I’m on my way. She promises to meet me at the bus stop near her barn.
I pull up the schedule online and print it out. I figure out what bus to take, dig around for exact change, grab my new cell phone from Mom’s closet, and leave for the bus stop.
The stop is across the street from the pet store and even though it’s close to my house, I run the whole way. The next bus out to the headlands is due soon and if I miss it, I have to wait thirty minutes for the next one.
I round the corner, see the stop up ahead and the back of a bus as it pulls away. I run faster, waving my arms over my head to make the driver stop, but it’s useless. It speeds away, leaving me behind.
Frustration makes me so angry, I kick a bench.
I immediately regret it. Now my toes throb on top of everything else. I plop down on the bench and check the schedule against the time. My mind unravels a string of what-ifs. What if that was the last one? What if they’ve suspended all service to the headlands? What if the bus I need broke down or has a flat tire? What if I never make it to Butter?
I know I’m catastrophizing (always assuming the worst), and while I can’t quite stop it, I think Mr. J would be proud of me for identifying one of my patterns and acknowledging it.
Despite my flash of insight, my stomach churns as I watch the road, willing a bus to come.
I’m so focused on looking out for the next one that I flinch when someone taps me on the shoulder and shouts, “MARVEL?”
I spin around and find Goth Girl smiling at me. She’s wearing a pair of purple combat boots and I think she’s added a face piercing.
“Hey,” I say, pleased to see her friendly face.
She sits down next to me. “Where are you going? Why isn’t Butter with you?”
At the mention of Butter, my eyes sting with tears. I tell her all about Gloria, Butter, and needing to take the bus because my mom is stuck in traffic.
Goth Girl listens to it all. To her credit, she’s kind enough not to mention she warned me that Butter might have a caring owner who wanted her back.
“Is it your first time taking the bus alone?” she asks, louder than necessary, but I don’t care. It’s comforting to talk to her. She knows what it’s like to love an animal with your whole heart.
I nod and twist the schedule, mangling it.
She glances at my frantic hands. “I take the bus all the time. Want me to take a look? It can be confusing.”
I hand her the schedule and she goes over it with me. She even helps me download an app with all the routes and traffic updates on my new cell phone.
“It should be here in … well, now.” Goth Girl points to a bus coming toward us.
It stops and I check its number against the schedule to make sure it’s the right bus. I confirm that it’s the correct one and then verify it again for good measure.
The driver opens the doors.
“Good luck, Marvel. Give Butter a hug for me,” Goth Girl says.
“I will,” I say, and step on the bus.
I carefully feed a dollar into the automated collection box near the driver and then thread a second one through the machine. While I wait to make sure the contraption swallows it, I take the opportunity to confirm the route one more time. “You stop at Fort Cronkhite in the headlands, right?”
The driver gives me a nod, but I want verbal confirmation.
“So, that’s a yes?” I smile at him to let him know I’m not trying to be difficult.
“Yup,” he says, and pulls the lever to close the doors. They shut behind me with a swish and I survey the long rows of seats, trying to strategize the best place to sit. There aren’t many other people on the bus, giving me a lot of options.
I finally decide on the very first row, so I can look out the front window to watch for my stop, but not the seat right behind the driver. His seat will block my view. I pick the one on the other side.
I plop into it and the bus starts to move. I wonder if I’m allowed to ask the driver questions since I’m sitting close to him. Probably not.
The bus pulls onto the highway. I lean back, sighing, relieved to finally be on my way to Butter.
We speed along in the carpool lane, flying past bumper-to-bumper traffic. Mom was right. This will be fast.
We drive through the Robin Williams Tunnel. I suck in a deep breath and hold it until we’re out for good luck. All the kids I know do it.
On the other side of the tunnel, we hit the fog. A heavy, white blanket envelops us and makes San Francisco look like it’s floating in the clouds. Up ahead, I see the Golden Gate Bridge and the exit that will take us into the headlands instead of the city.
My heart beats faster with impatience. The closer we get, the more anxious I am to see Butter. I’m also nervous about pressing the button. I don’t want to make a mistake and not do it in enough time to alert the driver. If I push it too late, he’ll cruise right past my stop.
The driver takes the exit for the headlands. Views of San Francisco dissolve as rolling hills replace cityscape.
It’s almost time for me to hit the button. I examine it warily. I hope it works properly and wonder if I should test it.
Tentatively, I stretch out my hand and lightly press it as an experiment.
A bell chimes and the bus driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. He slows the bus and pulls o
ver at a deserted stop just off the highway exit.
It’s not mine and I wonder what I should do. I twist around and look at the other passengers. Maybe one of them needs to get off. No one moves.
He pulls open the door and looks at me, raising his eyebrows. “Did you want to exit?”
I lean forward in my seat and ask a question I already know the answer to in an effort to camouflage my anxiety-driven action. “Is this Fort Cronkhite?”
“Nope. Next stop.”
I smile at him apologetically. “Sorry, that one, then.”
He pulls the doors closed and merges back onto the road.
Grimacing, I immediately reach up and press the button again, making another bell sound.
The driver glances at me in his rearview mirror. I smile self-consciously and wave.
At the next stop, he pulls over and opens the door. This location is deep in the headlands, but there’s a crop of white buildings with red roofs and an older lady waiting by the side of the road. Gloria Fizzle.
Gloria bustles over and hands me a thermos of hot chocolate and wraps a thick barn coat around my shoulders. “It gets cold out here after dark.”
I snuggle into the coat and clutch the thermos. “Thank you.”
“I’m so grateful you made the trip,” Gloria says, and leads me toward her barn.
“I appreciate you calling me. I would do anything for Butter.”
“I know.” She pats my arm with her hand. “The day I came to claim Butter, I felt terrible separating the two of you. I shouldn’t have done it. That little goat is lovesick.”
“I understand why you did,” I say. “If I had lost her, I’d want her back too.”
When we get to the barn, the vet, Dr. Harman, waits for us outside Butter’s stable.
Dr. Harman appears to be about Mom’s age and skips formalities, launching right into an explanation about Butter’s condition. “Goats are social animals. They form deep connections with members of their herd and can die of loneliness. However, I’ve never seen anything quite like this. Goats don’t typically form this type of connection with a human. They usually prefer to live with other goats.”
Dr. Harman pulls back the stable door. Inside, Butter lies on her side. She doesn’t look right. She looks smaller than I remember, and she pants. An IV to keep her hydrated is taped to one of her legs, but instead of being reassuring, it makes her seem even more tiny and frail.
I bite back tears. I can’t reconcile the delicate creature before me with my memories of bouncy, energetic Butter. I want to drop to my knees and cradle her in my arms, but I fight the urge because the vet is still filling me in on her condition.
“The IV is not a permanent solution. Butter needs to eat on her own. I should have removed it already, but Gloria asked me to keep it in until you got here. This is one lucky little goat. A lot of people love her,” Dr. Harman says.
I sit down next to Butter, but I’m not sure she knows it’s me at first. I glance up at Dr. Harman, wondering what I should do.
“Try talking to her,” Dr. Harman says. “She’s not quite herself.”
“Butter. It’s Marvel. I’m here. I’m—” I choke on my tears and lay my face on top of hers.
She finally seems to realize it’s me. She bleats weakly and wags her tail.
I kiss her pink nose and stroke her ears. “Silly girl. Why aren’t you eating?”
Dr. Harman removes the IV. “It’s up to Butter now.”
Butter snuggles her head into my lap and I stroke her side, doing my best to soothe her.
I don’t know how long Gloria and Dr. Harman stand outside the stall watching over us. I only have eyes for Butter.
I caress her head and tell her some of the things I’m slowly starting to learn. “You know, life doesn’t have to be scary.”
Butter bleats softly.
“It’s true. Before I met you, everything frightened me—global warming, earthquakes, school, tests, other kids. You remember, I told you all about it. Then you came into my life, and everything got easier.”
Butter sighs and tilts her head toward me, exposing the underside of her chin. I gently scratch it.
“When you left, I went back to being afraid. But Dad told me I could be scared and brave at the same time. I didn’t believe him at first, but I think I do now. I also started working with Mr. J and he’s been teaching me skills for dealing with my anxiety. I think it’s helping or will help if I keep practicing.”
She leans her head against my chest, and my whole being explodes with love for her.
I continue to pet Butter and tell her everything I’ve learned from Dad, Mom, Reef, Mr. J, the kids at school, and especially her.
I hand-feed her some grain. She takes little bites but doesn’t really eat. She seems too weak to even try. “Butter, you need to eat. You have to get better. I love you.”
Butter tips her face toward mine and nibbles on a little bit of my hair, and I know she feels exactly the same about me.
When it’s so dark Gloria has to turn on barn lights, Mom shows up.
She wraps me in a huge hug. She smells like potting soil and mulch. She’s always there when I need her, and I realize how much I love her.
Mom stopped at the deli on the way out and bought me dinner—a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tomato soup. My favorite meal. She sits with us while I eat. We don’t say too much to each other, but having Mom there and feeling the warmth of her next to me make me feel better. I hope Butter feels the same way about me.
When I finish my dinner, Mom says, “Gloria offered to put us up for the evening. I don’t suppose I’m going to be able to talk you into coming inside to sleep?”
I look down at Butter. Her ragged breathing makes her side move up and down unnaturally labored. “I can’t leave her.”
“I didn’t think so. Gloria gave me some blankets for you.” Mom wraps a couple of stable blankets around my arms. “I’m going to let you have some time alone with Butter. I’ll check on you both periodically. Dr. Harman will be back to examine Butter in the morning.” Mom kisses the top of my head and leaves.
After Mom goes, I offer Butter sips of water from my hand and keep trying until she laps up a little bit. Encouraged by my success with the water, I stay up late feeding Butter grain, one piece at a time.
Then I wrap the blanket around me and snuggle up to her. She lifts her head and looks at me, but she doesn’t have any of her old spark left. We lie there for a long time. I listen to the sounds of the barn—other goats bleating and an owl hooting. I also concentrate on the sound of Butter’s breathing. It’s a slow in-and-out that makes me drowsy. I do my best to stay awake, but at some point, I slip into sleep like going down a slide.
* * *
It takes a minute to remember where I am. The sun is shining down on me, and hay is stuck to my face. Then it all comes slamming back.
As soon as I think about Butter, I sit bolt upright. She’s not next to me. My heart starts pounding as fear surges through my body, and then I see her.
Butter’s nibbling on hay and drinking water on her own.
I scramble up and throw my arms around her. “Butter, you’re okay!”
Mom comes into the enclosure. “Good morning, sleepyhead. We thought you might never wake up. Apparently, stable life agrees with you.”
“Mom! Butter’s eating!” I grin so wide it makes my cheeks hurt.
“I know! She started to perk up around six this morning. Dr. Harman checked her out and gave her a good prognosis.”
“I slept through it all?” I’m horrified at myself. I’m going to make a terrible parent.
“You stayed awake for the tough part, and you pulled her through. I’m really proud of you. You saved Butter’s life.”
“It’s only fair. She saved mine,” I say.
Mom hugs me.
I look at Butter. “You know, I might not ever get over my anxiety completely.”
“You might not,” Mom agrees.
“It might always be a part of me, but I think now I understand it doesn’t have to be the biggest part.” As soon as I say it, I know it’s true.
After Butter finishes her breakfast and I eat something, Gloria takes Mom and me on a tour of her property.
Her barn and the surrounding land look more like an idyllic movie set than a real-life place. The barn sits on top of a hill overlooking San Francisco Bay, with views expanding outward onto sky, sea, and city. Gloria points out trails leading down to the beach and tells me about the saltwater pools that form at high tide.
As we walk, fog clings to the ground, creating a dreamy mist around my feet, and all around me, wide, rolling fields of fresh grass extend for miles. There are also goats.
Tons and tons of goats.
Once Butter started eating and drinking on her own again, she perked up and now bounces beside me as we follow Gloria around her property. Butter sniffs at a wildflower, disturbing a bee, and jumps back. Mom, Gloria, and I laugh at her.
My heart blooms with happiness watching Butter behave like her normal, bouncy self, and I know for certain that even if I could spend a thousand years observing her, I would never grow tired of it.
I slip my hand in Mom’s and lean my head on her arm as we walk. I’m mostly happy, but a little sad too because soon I’ll have to leave Butter again. Mom squeezes my hand like she understands the mixture of happiness and heartbreak tugging at me, and I suppose she does. Mom and Dad have had a lot of reunions and a lot of goodbyes. All of us have.
I let go of her hand and run through the field with Butter, letting myself enjoy our time together while it lasts.
About halfway through our tour, we lose Mom. She gets enthralled by the variety of plants that grow around the barn and wanders away for a self-guided tour of the flora and fauna.
“Your mom really likes plants,” Gloria says with the same dismay I feel at Mom’s obsession.
I tuck my hands into my back pockets and watch her go. “She does. As much as I like goats.”
Gloria smiles at me like she understands and approves of my fascination with the bouncy creatures. “Would you like to help me feed them?”
Better With Butter Page 19