While we work, Mrs. Picconi clears off the kitchen counter. She moves a few homemade decorations and sets Randi’s framed school photo on the table near us.
“Mom, please get rid of that picture. It’s not me anymore.”
In the photo, Randi wears a black velvet dress with a white lace collar. Her smile could make anyone smile. I remember when she first showed me her pretty picture on the bus ride home a couple of years ago. Compared to her photo, mine was pathetic. My hair was parted down the middle, a style unflattering to my round face, thanks to the photographer’s assistant who enjoyed making me look as ugly as possible. I told Randi, “That’s nice.” Then I stuffed my photos in my backpack until I could bury them in an old toy box. Mom thought I lost them on the bus.
“It’s still you,” I mumble, not so sure.
Randi shakes her head. “Thanks, but I know I’ll never look like that again. I hate it.”
I don’t say anything and would love to change the subject. Mrs. Picconi, who was silent during this conversation, wipes her eyes as she wipes the counter. Does she feel the way I do? I like seeing the picture when I walk through their kitchen. It helps me remember Randi the way she was before. Otherwise, I might forget how she looked when she was happy and we were best friends. It gives me hope.
I can hardly remember the girl in the photo, the healthy girl. What would she be like if she weren’t sick? Would she be the best in gymnastics class or the smartest girl in her grade? Would teachers…and boys pay attention to her because of her sweet smile and long eyelashes? Would I be jealous of her now instead of sorry for her?
A funny story might cheer her up.
“Remember that silly photo I took with my family on Thanksgiving? All my relatives lined up for the picture—aunts, uncles, cousins—and for some reason I decided to scrunch my face up to see if my top lip could reach my nose. It could! My dad was so angry when he saw it. Now that stupid picture is hanging framed in the hall, and I cringe every time I see my llama face. I should’ve smiled.”
Randi chuckles and turns her picture to face the wall. “I have an idea. Do you want to fly my kite in the backyard? I could sit outside for a little while if Mom says it’s okay.”
“If you feel up to it, you can go out—if you bundle up.” Mrs. Picconi’s arches her eyebrows and looks unsure.
“Great! That would be fun.” I’m grinning ear to ear.
Outside, the blustery wind makes it seem like a different day from this morning when I was raking with Dad. I run around in circles, lifting the dragon kite to the wind. It looks like the picture of one we saw in class when we learned about Chinese culture. They have a festival in China where kids fly kites and let them go soaring into the sky to take away any sadness, bad luck, and sickness. Do they believe cancer can fly away? How do they explain sickness coming back? Maybe they think the kite didn’t go high enough. Maybe it got stuck in a tree and fell back to the ground.
Randi reclines on the lounge chair, shading her eyes from the late afternoon sun. I stand next to her, holding the kite string as the dragon ascends high above the trees. I’m tempted to try the superstition and let the kite go.
As I glance at Randi staring into the sky, I see the other Randi, the one who enjoys life. Her cheeks are rosy, and her expression is light and carefree. Is she healthy? She looks better than when she was cooped up inside. She looks pretty, and I tell her so. Maybe she just needed sunlight to make her well again, like a touch of God’s power. Maybe her shine isn’t gone. I don’t think a kite can take her illness away, but I’m sure God can. She must be getting better!
“Hey!” Michael pops up from behind the bushes, and showers us with a handful of leaves. “Agh! You little stinker!” Randi waves a finger at him as she laughs.
“I’ll get him!” After handing Randi the kite handle, I scoop up some leaves and chase Michael all over the backyard until I trap him by where the fence meets the bushes. “Here you go!” Michael dives on the ground as if shot by a bullet when the leaves shower him. Randi giggles at the whole scene.
“Ahh, it feels so good to be outside.” Randi takes a deep breath of the cool air and sighs. “Look, there’s Mom, peeking out the window—probably checking on me. She must think I’m still four years old.”
I sit down next to Randi and relax with her while Michael circles the yard with the kite.
“Doesn’t Michael look cute? Like Piglet being carried by the wind in Winnie the Pooh.”
Randi doesn’t answer. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open. She’s sound asleep, much more relaxed than I am. What should I do? Should I wake her up, or leave without saying anything, or go tell her mom she fell asleep? I wish this wouldn’t keep happening.
Mrs. Picconi opens the sliding door. “Is everything alright? Do you kids want a drink or snack?”
“No thanks,” I answer. “Randi fell asleep a little while ago. I should probably go home now.”
Mrs. Picconi nods. “By the way, thank you for raking the front lawn. And thank your father for me too. Usually Mr. Picconi …well, he hasn’t been himself lately. None of us have.” Mrs. Picconi adjusts the cushion next to Randi’s tilted head. “Sometimes it’s hard to ask for help. Anyway, that was thoughtful of you.”
I can feel my face turning red. Again.
“You’re welcome. We were out there anyway.” I hope that didn’t sound stupid.
“You know . . .” Mrs. Picconi is next to me now. She takes my hand and squeezes it gently. “Randi has been noticeably happier since you’ve been coming over. Even Miss Barbara has said so a number of times. You’re a good friend to her.”
“Thanks. I had fun here today.” Now I’m ripe strawberry red. Why does the color of my face change so easily? I wish my skin was darker so my emotions wouldn’t come bursting through my cheeks.
I walk home questioning myself. I had fun here today. Why did I put it that way? Maybe it sounds like I don’t usually have fun there. I could have said something about Randi being a good friend to me, or how much I like her, or something else.
The wind has deposited some new leaves to replace the ones we raked. Removing every leaf from where it doesn’t belong seems an impossible task. Is that what cancer is like to Randi? Just when it starts to look like the cancer is gone, more cancer blows in to take its place.
Isabelle’s Cadillac drives by. I’m so deep in thought I barely notice. I look at my watch. They’re probably returning from the roller rink. Even though it’s Saturday, skating day, the day I used to live for, I haven’t thought about Great Skates until right now. It’s not important anymore. How was I able to have fun skating before, knowing that Randi was in and out of the hospital?
I close my front door and look out the window. Strong winds blow the rain diagonally. I’m glad we raked earlier today. Tomorrow there will surely be lots of wiggly creatures hiding in the leaves. In spite of the rain, I feel happy. Maybe Randi’s getting better. Maybe my life is getting better too.
Chapter 33
“Hey, you’re back. Did you have a nice time? ” Mrs. Picconi holds the door open.
“Yes, I loved skiing.”
“Randi’s just waking up from a nap. I know she’ll be happy to see you.”
I smile and run up the steps to her bedroom as I have so many times before, but not so many since our second chance at friendship. Climbing up these steps feels like visiting my kindergarten classroom, familiar and foreign. I’m climbing into the past, a time that seems like so long ago, a happy time when the worst challenge Randi and I faced was coloring within the lines with our bright crayons.
Randi’s steps aren’t the same. The closer they lead me to past memories, the sadder I feel.
“Hey, how was your trip?” asks Randi.
“Great!” I try to ignore the memories of her room that flash in front of me as I rock in her rocking chair. Randi’s room doesn’t smell like baby powder anymore. It smells more like medicine, sterile plastic, and food trays. Her bedroom
has become a hospital room, not a—
Randi interrupts my thoughts. “Tell me what you did there.”
“We stayed at a family resort with lots of kids and went downhill skiing. Looking down the hills was scary the first time, but it was more fun than riding roller coasters.” Is Randi getting upset hearing about all the fun I had?
“I’d love to try skiing some day.”
“I wish you could have come with us. Maybe next year …” I let that idea drift off.
“Did Laurie and your parents ski?”
“Laurie did, kind of. She had some trouble getting up the mountain and down. The t-bar dragged her to the mountaintop on her belly, and she slid down the steep and bumpy slope on her butt. Good thing she wore puffy snow pants.”
Randi laughs when I act out the scene.
“Last night they had the best New Year’s Eve party and I—” Randi’s stops laughing, so I stop.
“I wish I went to a party. My dad stayed out all night and Mom was…” She shakes her head. “Oh, forget it. Let’s go watch TV or something.”
We head downstairs to sit by her fireplace. Randi pulls open the curtains and shouts, “Wow! Come and see this.”
I press my nose against the glass like Randi. “Wow! It’s beautiful.” A foot of snow blankets her backyard. The snow hushes even the slightest movement of the trees and clouds the view of neighboring houses. Gentle flurries persist, painting the picnic table a brilliant white.
“Imagine this is the castle tower, high in a white cloud.” Randi slides open the door to reach her hand out and catch some of the melting flakes. “And these are magical flakes to grant wishes.” I join her and yank my hand in to see what I caught. For a second, I see the crystal shapes before they melt into a shapeless water droplet. We taste our wet fingers, close our eyes, and wish.
When I open my eyes, Randi pulls out a game from her coffee table. “Do you want to play Boggle? I play against Miss Barbara every day, and she hasn’t beaten me yet. I’m training to be the first Boggle Champion in the next Olympics.” Randi chuckles.
I smile, but my mind gets tangled on her words. The next Olympics is four years away. Will she be here then?
We sink into the couch and turn the hourglass-shaped timer to begin. A few sounds disturb the silence: embers crackle in the fireplace, pencils scratch paper, and dice clink with dice in a cup and clatter onto the table. I’m sure the sand piles at the bottom faster than a minute. I have the urge to flip it over, just to give myself more time. Too late. The snowstorm within the hourglass reaches its peak. I’d like to smash this rotten piece of plastic that has the power to end the game.
“Remember when we made that huge snowman on my front lawn?” Randi asks as we add up our points.
“Yeah. Your mom found an old hat and scarf, and your dad put a pair of goofy glasses on the snowman’s bumpy head—glasses with a plastic nose attached. It was so cold that the snowman didn’t melt for weeks!”
“It could have lasted until spring if Justin and his friends didn’t karate chop it to death.”
“Remember—we got so mad at them, and had a mean snowball fight, boys against girls.”
“They threw icy snowballs that felt like baseballs.”
“The boys were definitely showing off.”
Randi flattens her cheek against the frosty glass. “Look! It’s coming down harder now.”
“Too bad the snow didn’t fall last week, in time for Christmas.” In my silly mood, I sing, “I was dreaming of a white Christmas, the hmm…hmm…I used to know.” I always forget the words to Christmas carols.
“I never could understand that song. We don’t have any Chanukah songs about having a white Chanukah. And I don’t know why we sing a song about dreidels.”
“Yeah, I don’t know why we sing about flying reindeers and a fat man in a red suit sliding down chimneys. I used to wonder why he didn’t fly his sleigh over to your house. Why wouldn’t he fill stockings in Jewish homes?”
“I wondered that too.”
Mom and Dad explained that Santa could only land on homes with Christmas lights outside to guide his sleigh. Even a four-year-old wouldn’t believe that reason!”
“I used to feel bad that you had only one day to open presents and that was it,” admits Randi. “And I liked being able to celebrate both holidays. My dad taught us Christmas is when Jesus was born, and my mom taught us the meaning of Chanukah and lighting the candles. She wanted us to grow up following the Jewish traditions.”
Randi wins the first game.
“I guess you are a champion.” I’m not surprised she won. My mind was doing mental gymnastics, since she got me thinking of heaven.
Just as we turn the hourglass over for another game, Michael comes inside, stomping his boots. He leaps in the room and places his cold, red hands on Randi’s cheeks. “Ah! You’re freezing!” screams Randi.
Michael gives her a bear hug. “I know. Want to feel how cold again?”
“No!”
As he sits down to play with us, I stare at him, thinking how cute he looks with rosy cheeks, puppy dog eyes, and pin-straight, dark hair like his father’s. Randi used to be more like her mom with her lighter, wavy hair, but now it is more like Michael’s. Michael looks taller and thinner today, especially standing next to Randi, whose face reminds me of a pudgy baby’s.
What is his life like right now? He has so much more to worry about than most kids his age. I’m not sure if it is because he is a couple years older now or that he grew up quicker dealing with Randi’s sickness, but he doesn’t seem like a little brother anymore.
Randi has also changed in the last couple of months as our friendship is returning to what it was. Would Randi call me her friend now? I hope so. I thought she couldn’t forgive me and would stay distant, but most of the time, she is as she was—sweet, cheerful, and friendly. Sometimes I forget how sick she is. Other times I can’t get the word cancer out of my head, and have to pretend something blew in my eyes. Sometimes I wonder how Randi feels. I’m mad and sad at that one word that has the power to end her life—cancer—the sand in the hourglass. But God could flip it over.
Michael looks up at the clock on the wall. “Let’s watch the Muppets. It’s on now.”
“Okay, put it on.” Randi looks over to me, “Can you stay long enough to watch it?”
“Sure, I’m supposed to get home by six for dinner. That’s enough time.”
The Muppet Show is another one of those kid’s programs I just don’t get, but everyone else seems to think is hilarious. I laugh along anyway.
“Kuh-rum-bah!” screams Miss Piggy as she karate chops Kermit the Frog.
“Kuh-rum-bah!” Michael imitates her in a squeaky voice and karate chops the air.
I laugh because they do, but I can’t stand Miss Piggy. Her high-pitched voice is almost as bad as the broken jack-in-the-box that Laurie still has in her room. Jack screams in pain when he jumps out. My ears ring when I hear either one of them.
The door that leads from the den to the garage screeches open. The screech echoes Miss Piggy’s voice. Mr. Picconi trudges in, stomping his boots on the mat.
“Hey, my fav’rit show is on. Howz Kermit doin’?” He gives Michael a high five, stumbles around the reclining chair, and gives me a high-ten. Then he kisses Randi’s forehead tenderly.
“Hi, Dad.” Randi smiles a concerned smile. “Where were you?”
“Oh, jus’ buildin’ a rocket in the garage, nothin’ too interestin’.”
Did Randi and Michael think their dad sounded different? I would never ask, but I think he’s drunk. Maybe Randi did notice. She bites her lip and stares directly at the screen. I pretend I don’t notice anything unusual and listen to annoying Miss Piggy.
Is Randi angry? She doesn’t have eyebrows, making it hard to read her facial expressions.
I relax when she asks, “Do they have to show a summer episode in January? They dance around in Hawaiian shirts and hula skirts while we’re trapped inside.
”
“I was thinking the same thing!” My mind wanders. Could we also feel the same feelings at the same time? Could we have an itch in the same spot? Will we have to sneeze at the same time? What would it be like if we could trade feelings, and I could feel what it is like to have cancer? Randi could feel what it’s like to be healthy again.
The clock chimes six and interrupts my daydream. It’s time to go home.
The walk home through the falling snow reminds me that vacation is over, unless the snow gets heavy enough to cancel classes. I hope so. I’m not ready to deal with more miserable days at school—and there’s still over half a year of them left.
Chapter 34
After slamming down on the snooze button for the third time, I leap out of bed and rush over to the window. All I see is white—much more than yesterday—and snow is still falling! Mom peaks her head into my room.
“You can go back to bed. School is closed.”
My wish is granted! I jump back into bed, pull the comforter over my head to trap my warm breath and dreams.
I can’t sleep. Every time a snowplow roars by, I wake in a panic, thinking I just missed the bus. It takes a few minutes for my heart to stop racing. Oh no, I’m late, I’m late. I’m the rabbit racing through Wonderland to catch the bus ... slam the snooze button. Beep, beep. Oh no, I’m ... slam the snooze button. Enough of this stupid routine. Time to get up and enjoy the snow and one more day of vacation.
Looking out at the driveway, I remember the downside to snowstorms—shoveling. This time, however, Laurie and I get out early and clear the driveway. We shovel around the parked squash-mobile and smile at each other. Dad’s home today. That means sledding.
“Wow! I’m in shock.” Dad holds his face, in disbelief, mouth open. “You girls woke up and shoveled without being told?”
“Yep.”
“Well, how would you like to go sledding at the golf course when you finish?”
Laurie bursts out in excitement, “Yes! Look how much we shoveled already. We’re almost done. Can I ask Justin if he wants to come with us?”
“Sure. We have some extra sleds.” Dad turns to me. “Do you want to invite a friend too?”
“I would, but Randi can’t, and I don’t want to ask anyone else.”
Randi's Steps Page 13