Ms. Zephyr's Notebook

by kc dyer

  “I remember him! He’s in my computer game!”

  Logan shook his head. What’s wrong with kids these days? They spend so much time on this computer crap, you’d think they’d never heard of movies. “Geez kid — when I get back I’ve got a couple of shows you’ve gotta see, okay?”

  “Really? Okay, Logan. Good luck.” Kip was beaming, and Logan found himself smiling back. But time was up. It was past up.

  Logan tucked the notebook into the waistband of his scrubs and stuck his head out the door. A red light was flashing over the ICU wing and the three nurses were nowhere to be seen. Bonus! Time to hit the stairs running.

  Logan’s trip down the back staircase took place at a higher rate of speed than he had anticipated. His mind occupied by the conversation with Kip, he forgot his earlier meeting with the custodian. He never actually lost his footing, first sliding on the wet floor, then grabbing the handrail for support. And in a decision that took less than an instant, he thought that maybe riding the handrail down might prove to be the best course of action in any case. So he did.

  He made it safely to the basement, had another close call when the custodian stepped unexpectedly out of the morgue (who expects anyone to step out of a morgue in the middle of the night, anyway?), and shot out the door with his coat in one hand and Abbie’s notebook in the other. When he made it to the station there would be plenty of time to read through the notebook to find what he needed. He needed Cleo’s grandmother’s address. If it wasn’t in the notebook, Kip might be able to find it. And as soon as he’d delivered what he had in his pocket to Cleo, he’d bring the notebook back to Abbie. She’d understand. She had to.

  As he ran, he jammed his arms into the sleeves and took a moment to ensure the inner pocket was safely fastened before zipping the coat closed against the frigid night air. For cold it was — winter had well and truly come to Evergreen. In spite of his good intentions, Logan had to slow to a walk for a block or two when his insides twisted with pain from the unexpected running.

  In direct contrast to the fire in his belly, his fingers and toes soon numbed in the sub-zero temperatures. His breath came in frozen gasps, the moisture crystallizing on his eyelashes and trimming the ends of the hair with white.

  He jogged up to the bus station at 12:10 am. Ten minutes late. But in spite of all his anxiety, he found that he needn’t have hurried after all. The engine block on the bus had frozen solid when the driver had stopped for a coffee and neglected to keep the vehicle running. In the end, Logan helped the driver clip the cables onto the battery and earned himself a free bus ride when the engine roared to life.

  “Don’t mention it to the ticket seller,” the driver had muttered gruffly. “She’s out for my job.”

  “I won’t if you won’t,” said Logan, so grateful not to have missed his ride as to be feeling almost cheerful.

  A woman was collecting money in a kettle to one side of the station, having taken shelter from the storm. He had just watched the ticket seller sternly admonish her that there was to be no bell-ringing indoors. Logan ran over and stuffed his bus fare money into her collection kettle.

  The non-bell-ringing woman wished him a happy holiday and promptly packed up her kettle. Logan and the last of her potential donors rolled away from the station at 12:30 a.m.

  He settled back on the bus, one of only a handful of passengers to board on this late night journey. It was a milk run, scheduled to stop five or six times before the bus hit Clearwater. Logan leaned back into the musty seat to try to sleep. The seat smelled like old cigarettes and stale food and he couldn’t find a way to get comfortable. His hand went to his inner coat pocket and he traced the shape of the object inside. It was no use. His stomach had settled down but sleep was still distant. The plastic bag holding the notebook was on the seat beside him, slipping from side to side as the bus shivered its way along the slush-rutted highway.

  If he could somehow manage to find Cleo before everyone else, he wanted to tell her something that he’d finally figured out. Maybe it was just a question of listening to the right voices. Not the kind of voices that told a person to kick a hole in a wall or stuff your fingers down your throat. Other voices — other ideas. Maybe all heroes were not found on rugby pitches or prancing in front of the Hollywood paparazzi.

  Then there was the question of the meds. She took these pills every day, right? He racked his memory. The hospital must have put them in the bottle for when Cleo was given the weekend pass. But he couldn’t remember how often she took them or even what she needed them for. That she left them behind was the worst sign yet.

  Logan rubbed his tired eyes. Who knew what he was going to say or do? He wasn’t even sure himself. He just knew this journey might be worth something, if he could just find Cleo. He just needed to know she would be okay.

  He stretched up and flipped on the tiny light above his head only to discover it was burned out. But the light over the next seat flickered on when he touched it, so he slipped in beside the window and opened Abbie’s notebook. He could see the next notation was from Kip — something about happiness and chocolate cake. He remembered writing something for Abbie about happiness as well. What was it?

  In the hospital, it was easy to forget how to be happy. That’s the problem with happiness, isn’t it? Just when you think you have it in your hand, it’s gone and you’re left with a fistful of air and nothing else. Logan tilted the notebook toward the light and began to read.

  November 18

  Kip G.

  Did you see, Abbie? My mom brought in my laptop. Dr. Robbie said I could use it to do my school work so from now on I’m going to use it to type all my journal entries for you. My mom also brought me a printer cable, so at night when everyone in the office goes home, I can print off all my work.

  Here is my journal entry for today:

  My Laptop by Kip Graeme

  My laptop is a great machine. I’m really happy because now I can play all my computer games instead of Xbox. Computer games are way better. My favourite is Battlescene Historia, because I get to replay all the great battles in history.

  I also really like watching anime and drawing my own anime with a program on my laptop. This is why my laptop is so great. I showed it to Jacqueline and she said she liked it, too, and even showed me how to type her name. Logan didn’t want to see my laptop, for some reason. Maybe tomorrow.

  Also, Jacqueline doesn’t have the tube thing hanging out of her nose anymore. They took it out today. That sentence wasn’t about my laptop, but I still thought it was interesting and you said journals should be interesting.

  From,

  Kip

  November 19

  Kip G.

  Hi Abbie,

  Logan got mad at me this morning and I feel pretty sick today. That’s all my news. But I know you like to read my journal, so I will write a little bit on what you asked.

  What Makes Me Happy

  by Kip, 6th Grade

  Three things make me happy. Playing baseball with my dad is one. Eating my mama’s chocolate cake is another. But the best is not being in the hospital. I don’t have to stay for so long this time, do I? Is a week up yet?

  From, Kip

  November 19

  Logan K.

  Too early.

  Okay Abs, today you want me to write about something that makes me truly happy. (Stupid assignment, by the way. The little weirdie is going to force you to read all about butterflies and moonbeams and crap like that, y’know. And what would she know about Carl Sagan, anyway? That chick is such a know-it-all.)

  So, what makes me happy?

  Beer.

  Logan

  November 19

  Jacquie H-M.

  1:00 p.m.

  Dear Ms. Zephyr,

  This was to be a journal of celebration, as Medusa and Dr. Valens have finally opened their eyes to the amazing progress I am making
in here and have withdrawn my feeding tube. However, the joy of that event has been quashed by something I have read in your notebook and I really feel I must protest.

  As you know, over the weekend I submitted a ten-page essay on the subject you assigned: happiness and fulfillment. Ten pages. With footnotes! And when I return to check my mark in your notebook, not only is my essay (which I sincerely believe deserves an A+) missing, but I see by Logan’s entry that he was allowed to submit nothing. Not even a single page! With the exception of the ridiculous paragraph he submitted earlier today, of course. I also notice that some time ago he was allowed (may I even say encouraged) to present some sort of comic strip as a substitute for a journal entry. I would not ever want to accuse you of favouritism, Ms. Zephyr (and certainly no teacher in their right mind would favour him over me) but I feel righteously indignant enough to share my concerns with you.

  Please feel free to inform Mr. Logan Kemp that I prefer to be addressed as Ms. Hornby-Moss or even as Jacqueline. NOT Little Weirdie. It is true that I have relinquished my birth name, however the whole subject is none of his business and on top of that, his substitute is entirely unacceptable.

  And while you are speaking to him, perhaps you might inform him that due to circumstances beyond my control, I have been forced to examine the night skies extensively in my life. As a result, I have developed a deep and profound interest in astronomy. I have read widely from the works of Carl Sagan and he was even friends with my Nona. And not once — NOT ONCE — did he ever say “I’m outta here.” (He would never use such a vile contraction, I am quite sure.)

  Back to my original point, Ms. Zephyr. I truly understand how little Kip is allowed such a brief entry. After all, he is only eleven years old and really is feeling poorly these days. But Logan is in tenth grade — a full year ahead of me. Justice has not been served here.

  Jacqueline H-M.

  November 19

  Logan K.

  Later.

  Abbie, be reasonable. Beer does make me happy. You should feel good that I’m not smoking dope. Half the team smokes, but those stupid idiots have no eye for the future. I want a scholarship to get me out of this puny town. Smoking dope makes a person too content to lie around in their own shi feces.

  So how’s that? Are you happy now?

  Logan

  November 19

  Logan K.

  Sometime after the overcooked spaghetti they tried to pass off as dinner.

  Sheesh, Abbie. This is not fair. You get to go home to your regular life and probably some kind of great dinner like pizza and I’m stuck here with the nurse from hell enforcing no TV until I make a third freakin’ stab at this homework. Give me a break, Abbie — I even asked the little weirdie how to spell feces. You are one hard dudette, Abs. (Hard Abs — good one!)

  But you hold all the power, so here goes:

  Happiness by Logan Kemp

  After giving this subject some deep thought, I have decided to write about rugby. Any fifteen-year-old guy in his right mind likes football, right? But the truth is that it takes a special type of guy to play rugby. Rugby is more physical than football. The players don’t wear all the pansy padding that football players wear. We’re only forced to wear helmets so the opposing team doesn’t tear off our ears in the scrum.

  It’s faster and you need a strong, clear ability to communicate. My favourite part of the game is the scrum. This is where the forwards all work together, shoulder to shoulder, to try to gain control of the ball from the other team. Sometimes it feels like you are trying to make it down the field with the entire opposing team on your back.

  You just don’t see that kind of action in football.

  I also like how after the game the whole team lies on the side of the field because we are too tired to move. We drink Gatorade and pretend it’s beer. (Just pretend. Of course, I know that no kids in high school ever drink beer. We just don’t like it. Right.)

  And so, to make a clear concluding paragraph just like you asked, what makes me happy is playing rugby followed by not drinking beer.

  I’m going to ask the nurse to call you and read this to you, so you can tell her to let me turn on the TV.

  Logan

  Evergreen Hospital

  Gift & Tuck Shoppe

  Attention: Ms. Abigail Zephyr,

  Hospital Educational Department Head

  Dr. Rob Valens, MD, DFM

  Children’s Ward Nursing Staff

  Please be advised that effective immediately, one of your patients, Logan Kemp, is not welcome in the Evergreen Hospital Gift & Tuck Shoppe until further notice. We have reason to believe that several incidents of shoplifting have occurred over the past two or three weeks. While we do not have security cameras, it is likely no coincidence that these stock losses have come during your patient’s stay in hospital.

  Though we have no actual proof that Mr. Kemp is involved, yesterday we set out a series of bait chocolate bars before his daily trip to “browse” through the store. The candy disappeared, but by the time our staff member had finished cleaning up an overturned fixture of rubber balls, Mr. Kemp had left the store and the bait candy was missing.

  The proceeds from the Evergreen Hospital Gift & Tuck Shoppe are distributed to the Evergreen Knitters Guild, who knit woollen socks for needy children in Africa. These thefts constitute a loss to all who feel moved by the spirit of Christian charity.

  Please inform Mr. Kemp that if he does try to return to the premises, he will be barred at the door.

  I have owned and operated the Evergreen Hospital & Tuck Shoppe for twenty-seven years and have never experienced interaction with a patient displaying such moral depravity.

  Thank you for your attention to this matter.

  Sincerely,

  Eusebes J. Pattison,

  Owner and Operator,

  Evergreen Hospital Gift & Tuck Shoppe

  November 20

  Logan K.

  Some crappy morning time

  Today I feel like crap. The whole world is crap. And writing this journal entry every day is the biggest crap deal of all. I don’t need English skills to be a rugby star. I just need someone around here to solve the problem of whatever is eating my gut out. Who was this Crohn guy, anyway? And why does he hate me so much?

  I’m not really up to this journal stuff today.

  By the way, I don’t care that I’ve been kicked out of that crappy little store. Who needs them, anyway?

  That little weirdie isn’t helping. Okay, I give you that I shouldn’t call the chick a weirdie. But there is no way I’m going to call her by some stupid, made-up name. And there’s no denying she is weird. I mean, even before she broke her wrist she was trying to starve herself to death. And here’s me who CAN’T eat because it kills my gut. It’s just not freakin’ fair. The truth is, that’s why I kicked your wall in that time, Abbie. I was so mad at that chick. She could have a perfect life and she just chooses not to.

  What kind of teacher keeps her notebook on the desk for anyone to read, anyway? I hate it when the weirdie looks at my stuff and then bugs me about it. Little Miss A Student is pretty quick to criticize other people. Maybe she should just keep her eyes on her own work and go eat a banana split or three. And have a look in the mirror while she’s at it. Baby, she’s got problems of her own.

  I know Carl Sagan was an astronomer dude. I know he used to look at the stars a lot. The man must’ve said “I’m outta here” at some point in his life. And who gives a shit about Carl Sagan or what he said, anyhow? You can’t see the stars from in here.

  Logan

  November 20

  Jacqueline H-M.

  9:06 a.m.

  Hello Abbie,

  Well, there you have it. You have broken through my natural reserve. I have never called a teacher by her first name before. I have to admit it feels a little strange, even in writing.

  But after our amazing disc
ussion yesterday I just feel free to do as you have asked. I had no idea you were so interested and informed on the subject of astronomy. What a thrill for me to chat with such a knowledgeable resource! Plus, today is a day of celebration. First full day since Medusa finally removed my gastric tube, not that I needed the thing anyway. I feel quite sure I have turned a corner and am on my way to recovery.

  Only nine days to my birthday — can you believe it? Abbie, I feel ready to become a whole new person. New name, new age, and new slim and attractive body. The NG tube removal means that I can start eating food again, and though I have some firm thoughts on the choices I must make, I am happy to get back to normal. You’ll see on the wall of my room I have put together a collage of the world’s most beautiful women, cut out of magazines from the waiting area. My art therapist suggested I make the collage to represent what I want in life and I am thrilled with the results.

  I know I can never be as beautiful or as willowy as these women but I hope that even when I am old and grey I will always retain a certain sense of style.

  Jaqueline H-M.

  November 20

  Kip G.

  Hi Abbie,

  Since I’m stuck in bed right now, Logan said it would be good if I asked you a favour. Is it okay for me to hook up to the internet from my room? Logan says he’ll show me a couple of really cool games if I let him try to send an e-mail to his friend Tom. He keeps trying to reach Tom from the computer station at the end of the hall but Tom hasn’t answered and Logan says that computer is screwed anyway. But Logan says teachers have special powers to get things done around here.