But she didn’t even get to go out and wait for the bus Monday morning before she knew something was wrong. She was standing in the doorway, still cradling Clark in her arms and scratching under his chin, when she heard the bus coming around the bend, five minutes earlier than usual. The gears were grinding and the bus was going much faster than usual and right away she knew Alvin was not driving it. Alvin was a slow and steady driver. A feeling of panic started coming up through her stomach.
A few seconds later, when the bus came roaring into view, Figgrotten could see through the windshield that she had been right. The bus pulled up, the door opened, and Figgrotten stood looking up at the driver. It was a tall, skinny woman with dyed-red hair.
“Where’s Alvin?” Figgrotten asked, her voice coming out super high and panicky sounding.
“Beats me. I just got the four a.m. call. Climb on, girly. Got to get this route over with so I don’t get canned from my regular job.”
Figgrotten climbed up the steps slowly but she was thinking that maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe she should run back inside and tell her mother that she needed to find out where Alvin was. But before she knew it, the door had shut and the bus was rolling and Figgrotten was thrown into her seat.
Only after they’d rounded the bend and were hurtling into town did she remember about Christinia, who hadn’t been lucky enough to hear the early arrival and had missed the bus. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered other than Alvin was not there. And she had a terrible sinking feeling about it.
When she got into her classroom, she didn’t know what to do. Somehow telling Mr. Stanley didn’t seem right. He didn’t know Alvin or know about their friendship. So she sat down and started staring at the clock, counting the minutes until she could get back on the bus. Alvin had to be there to drive her home. Then everything would be all right.
She barely heard a word of what Mr. Stanley was talking about all morning, nor was she able to answer any of the questions he asked her. She didn’t even care that James answered practically every question, sometimes without even raising his hand. Her eyes stayed on the clock.
But at the end of the day, as she was rushing to get ready to leave, Mr. Stanley said, “Frances, would you mind sticking around for a second?”
Figgrotten sat back in her chair and waited for the rest of the kids to leave the room, and she almost started crying. She wanted to race out to the bus.
Mr. Stanley was wearing a bright orange shirt and a blue bow tie, which was normal for him; he always looked super bright and sharp.
“Now, Frances,” he said, walking over to her desk. “I know something was really bothering you today.”
Figgrotten just sat looking down at the floor. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest. First she shrugged, then she took in a breath and said quietly, “Mr. Stanley, do you know Alvin Turkson, our bus driver?”
“Yes, of course. I know he was having heart trouble yesterday, and I believe he’s in the hospital.”
“He’s what?” Figgrotten’s voice barely came out as she gasped.
“Yes, this is what I’ve heard. I’m sorry you didn’t know, Frances. He’s a friend of yours?”
Figgrotten nodded and her eyes filled with tears. “People can die from their heart being bad,” she whispered.
Mr. Stanley came over to her desk. “Frances, honestly, I don’t know how Alvin is doing. He could be on his way home for all I know. So don’t jump to any conclusions. I’m very sorry. I didn’t know you were worried about him.”
“He’s my good friend—he’s actually like my best friend,” Figgrotten managed to say, though she had started to cry and her voice was breaking.
“Ah, well, that explains a great deal. Well…let me think for a second.” He still had his hand on her shoulder, and she could tell he was doing what he did when he was thinking. He was gazing upward.
“How about this,” he now said. “Let me go and call your mom and see if there’s any way we can go visit Alvin this afternoon. Or at least find out how he is. I do think it’s better to know the facts than to let yourself wonder. Let’s see what your mom thinks. I’ll be back in a bit.”
She heard his shoes click off down the hall. The bus was probably about to leave and she was going to miss it. But nothing mattered anymore. Alvin was in the hospital.
Several minutes later Mr. Stanley came back down the hall. “Your mom agrees. She thinks it’s a good idea. So instead of you getting on the bus today, I will drive you to Fairview Hospital and your mom will meet us there. Does that sound good?”
Figgrotten could only nod. But it didn’t sound good. The fact was, she was terrified to see Alvin sick in the hospital.
Mr. Stanley’s car was as neat and tidy as he was. There was his mint gum that fit perfectly in the little compartment by the gearshift. There was a filled bottle of water in the cup holder, and there seemed to be a steady stream of jazzy music playing at a low volume over the radio.
The car zipped along and Mr. Stanley shifted gears very quickly and smoothly.
Mr. Stanley seemed different once they pulled out onto the main road. He let out a big breath and looked over at her. “So, tell me a little about Alvin, Frances. I don’t know him well. He’s an unusual character, though, isn’t he?”
“Well,” Figgrotten said, “he reads so many books every week and knows about everything. Not just about stuff, but he’s smart about people too. And the world, you know. Like, life.”
“Ah,” Mr. Stanley said. “He sounds rather remarkable.”
“Yes,” Figgrotten said quietly, but none of it was right. Alvin was impossible to describe. He was…just…Alvin. Unlike anyone else. “He goes to the library like every day and always has a new book that he reads during his free time. He’s just…he’s just such a nice person too.”
Her stomach began to ache. The knot was back. And it was worse than it had ever been. She was scared.
When they pulled up to the traffic light on the main street, Figgrotten looked out and scanned the trees until her eyes landed on two crows sitting up in the naked branches. Somehow she needed to see them right then. So she homed in on them, watched them looking down at the ground, and then saw one open its mouth and make several caws.
A few minutes later, Mr. Stanley put his blinker on and they turned in to the hospital parking lot. Figgrotten felt her stomach tighten further. After they found a space and Mr. Stanley turned off his car, she didn’t move. She was biting her fingernails and staring through the windshield.
“Hospitals are nerve-racking,” Mr. Stanley said.
“What if he doesn’t want to see me?”
“You can wait outside with your mom and I’ll go in to see if he’s taking visitors. Don’t worry. I think it’s good we’re here.”
Figgrotten’s mom pulled up in the spot next to them and waved at Figgrotten through the window. She looked worried and sad. Her glasses were up on her head, and her hair was a little messier than usual. She climbed out of her car and took Figgrotten’s hand and they walked into the building. Figgrotten had only been in the hospital once before, when she needed a blood test because her mom was worried she had been bitten by a tick. She’d been littler then but the smell of the place brought it back immediately. The smell was very strong and Figgrotten couldn’t quite make out what it was, but unfortunately it smelled a bit like pee.
Mr. Stanley asked at the front desk where Alvin Turkson’s room was, and the lady looked on her computer and told him, “Room five forty-three. Take the elevator to the fifth floor and then take a right and you’ll see the nurses’ station.” They turned and looked for the elevator, which was directly behind them.
Figgrotten kept holding her mom’s hand on the elevator ride up while Mr. Stanley and her mother chatted about the cold weather. But she was thinking about Alvin. When the doors opened onto the fifth floor, Figgrotten’s mother had to tug a little at her hand to get her to walk.
Mr. Stanley, as always, took the lead and walked briskly up to the nurses’ station. “We were wondering if Mr. Turkson, in room five forty-three, is taking visitors at the moment.”
The nurse sitting behind the desk was less friendly than the woman downstairs, and she looked up slowly at Mr. Stanley and then called over her shoulder, “Brenda, is room five forty-three awake?”
Brenda, who was very large and leaning on the counter chatting with a bunch of other nurses, leaned back and looked into one of the nearby rooms and said, “Uh, I think so.” Then she went back to chatting.
Mr. Stanley glanced at Figgrotten’s mom, then shrugged. “I suppose that’s a yes. Let me go in and see Alvin first and make sure he’s up for a visit.”
Figgrotten and her mom went and sat down in the dingy waiting room. There was a coffee table with tattered old magazines piled on it. The whole place was airless and just plain awful, as far as Figgrotten was concerned. It was about as opposite of the out-of-doors as you could get.
“I don’t like it here,” Figgrotten said to her mom.
Her mom sighed. “I know what you mean. But when you need the place…”
“Mommy, is Alvin going to die?” This finally burst out of her. She’d been too scared to ask before, but now she had to know before she went in to see him.
“Oh, Frances, Alvin is very old. I really don’t know when he’s going to die, but he is old and heart trouble isn’t good in an old person. But there’s plenty of heart trouble that can be treated. So I really just don’t know.”
A few minutes later Mr. Stanley came down the hall and said, “Well, he’s very, very pleased you’re here, Frances.”
“He is?”
“Very pleased. He wants you to go in and see him. Your mother and I can wait here or we can go with you. Either way.”
“I don’t want to go alone,” Figgrotten said.
“Fine, we’ll all go. You’ll see, it’ll be fine.”
Even though she now felt sweaty, she kept on her hat and brown wool coat and got up and followed her mother and Mr. Stanley to room 543. When they got there, the two grown-ups stood to the side and let Figgrotten go first. She stepped into the little room and the very first thing she saw was Alvin’s Greek fisherman’s hat sitting on the bureau across from the bed. And when she turned and looked at him, it was worse than she had imagined. For there he was, looking tinier then he’d ever looked before, propped on a pillow. If she could have turned and fled, she would have. But her feet were already there in front of his bed, like two blocks of concrete dumped onto the floor.
“It’s that bad?” Alvin said. His voice sounded gargly, like he needed to cough up some junk. “You look as scared as a cat just seen a coyote.”
Figgrotten took a shaky breath in. “Are you better, Alvin?”
“Oh, I surely am. Surely. But I’m old as the hills, don’t forget. Now, can you do me a favor, Miss Pauley? You see that book over there by the window? Could you bring that over to me? I’ve been thirsting for that ever since they took it away from me last night.”
Figgrotten picked up the book. It was a library book with a plastic cover. “Why’d they take it?” she asked.
“Well, they don’t know that that book is my lifeline. They just think it’s a book, and it was in their way when they were doing something to me, so they put it over there.”
Figgrotten handed him the book and he took it and sighed happily and held it against his chest. If he couldn’t cross the room to pick up the book, then he surely couldn’t drive the school bus, Figgrotten thought with a sinking heart.
“I’m very happy you came to see me. So, now tell me, my friend, how are those birds of yours? And how’s your sister? You see, I have lots of questions. Sit down right there and talk to me.” He pointed with his bony hand at the chair next to his bed. She knew his hands well from seeing them hold the steering wheel for years, and they looked different now. Smoother and thinner. He’d been in the hospital for only a day, but he looked so different. “I have a clogged-up throat, so you’ll need to do some of the talking.”
“Um…” Figgrotten still hadn’t moved and she was trying to unwrinkle her brow, which she could feel was all scrunched up with worry. Alvin needed to shave; his beard had come in in patches, which gave his whole face a grayish color. And the smell of pee was now worse.
“Sit,” he said again.
Figgrotten took a breath and sat down in the chair. She only wanted to talk about him. To ask him if he was going to get all better. But she knew that was not what he wanted.
“Well, um, the crows still don’t come when I whistle,” she said.
“Time,” Alvin said in his watery voice. “I bet they will learn.”
“And as for my sister, she’s okay, I guess. We don’t get along too well.” Figgrotten paused and took a breath. She could never have said this to him on the bus. But here she was, telling him this now. He wanted to hear more, as he was looking at her inquisitively. “Oh, and there was a substitute bus driver this morning. Alvin, she was terrible.”
Alvin was now looking up at the ceiling, thinking. His hands were folded together on his chest and he kept nodding.
“I think you should read some Barry Lopez books,” he suddenly said. “He writes about nature. I think you’d like him. And then when you get older, you can read a little Thoreau. Now, as for your sister, she’s experiencing the world in a different way than you. That is plain to the naked eye. But here’s what I say: Never forget that everyone needs plenty of understanding. Just as you do. And as I do. People are very different, but they are very, very similar too. Everyone has one of these.” Alvin used one of his hands to thump at his heart.
He stopped and coughed a little, then turned and gazed out the window. Figgrotten could see his eyes take on a distant look. “I like to think of you up in your rock world, Miss Pauley. Now, that is a thought that I have always enjoyed.”
Then he turned and looked at her, smiled, and gave his head a little nod. He reached out his hand to her and Figgrotten took it. It was so smooth and small but it wasn’t warm. It was nearly icy. “Oh, Miss Pauley,” he said.
Then he took his hand back and clasped it again over his book on his chest and closed his eyes. Figgrotten sat on the edge of her chair. She wasn’t sure what to do now. Finally she whispered, “Alvin?” but Alvin lay there with his mouth cracked open a little and his breath pulling in sharply and letting go in big tough-sounding gusts.
From behind her, Figgrotten’s mom whispered, “He must be tired, Frances. He needs to rest. I think we should probably go. We can come back again.”
Figgrotten stood looking down at Alvin. “Okay,” she said. Then she crossed the room, picked up his hat, and brought it back over to his bed. Very quietly she placed it next to him on the pillow. She knew he’d want that with him too.
She leaned and read the title on the spine of the book and whispered out loud to herself, “The Poems of William Shakespeare.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Alvin,” she said, and stood for a minute looking at him before she turned and followed her mom out of the room.
Mr. Stanley was out in the hall, leaning against the wall, when they came out, and the three of them walked down the hall together. This time no one said anything.
When she got home that afternoon, she could barely whistle as she dumped out the bread crumbs for the crows. She sat down shivering on her rock and stared into the woods. Mr. Stanley had been right, it was better to know than to let your mind wonder. She now knew that when the bus came to pick her up tomorrow, Alvin would not be there pulling open the door and smiling at her. But knowing wasn’t easy either. Knowing made her pull her hat down even lower than usual, almost over her eyes, so she couldn’t look out, she could only look down at her feet and her knapsack, which, today, she didn’t have the heart to open.