June 27 afternoon or tarde (Tar Day)
Dear Diary,
Cecily’s back, so she came over this morning and we had everything bagels with nothing on them. And I told her everything and left nothing out. I even said that one of the best things about Miguel’s visit ended up being that I got to know New York City better.
Not that I need Miguel to enjoy my hometown. I can do that alone. Or with my family. Or with my best friend, Cecily.
I asked Cecily about her week with her dad. She said they went to Sea World. Then her cell phone rang and it was Suze. Cecily asked, “Okay if she comes over?” I shrugged. Cecily told her to join us and after they hung up, Cecily said in a nice way, “Melanie, you have new friends and I don’t mind.”
“Who?”
“Justin!” She smiled, so I did too. Then Suze came over, and suddenly the three of us were on my sofa watching TV. At least Matt was upstairs at Lily’s!
Mom looked at us and must have done the math—one, two, three—because she said, “I have to run an errand midtown. Want to come?”
“Sure,” Cecily called out.
Suze whispered, “An errand??”
Cecily whispered back, “It won’t be boring.”
I appreciated Cecily’s defending my mom, and I thought someone should tell Suze that she’s a loud whisperer.
Well, Mom got what she needed at the gift shop of the American Folk Art Museum on West 53rd Street, then asked if we wanted to “whirl through.” Cecily was willing, Suze was reluctant, and I said I’d already seen the Statue of Liberty weather vane. Mom said, “How about MoMA?”
I said, “No Ma.”
She laughed. “Then, girls, let’s cross the street and I’ll show you what’s in the Donnell Library.”
“She wants us to look at books?” Suze whispered.
“I want you to look at Winnie-the-Pooh,” Mom said, not even covering up that she’d overheard.
“The movie?” Suze asked.
“The teddy. The real Winnie-the-Pooh,” Mom said.
“There is a real Winnie-the-Pooh?” Cecily asked.
“He lives right over there on the second floor,” Mom said, pointing. Suze sighed, but Cecily and I were excited, and we all followed Mom into the library and took the elevator to the second floor.
Remember when I told you I came face to face with the Statue of Liberty? Well, we all came face to face with Winnie-the-Pooh!! And Kanga, Eeyore, Tigger, and Piglet!! The real live actual childhood stuffed animals of A. A. Milne’s son, Christopher!!!
Cecily’s mouth flopped open. “Do people know they’re here? You’d think this place would be mobbed!”
“It’s not a secret,” Mom said, “but it’s not in all the guidebooks either. New York is such a smorgasbord.”
“Smorgaswhat?” Cecily asked.
“The city is like a big banquet, a feast. There are so many temptations you can’t sample them all.”
“No offense, Mrs. Martin,” Suze said, “but I don’t see what’s so great about a bunch of old stuffies behind glass. I mean, who cares?”
I looked at the animals again, and it was as if Suze had just poisoned them:
But then I thought that I shouldn’t keep giving Suze the power to ruin things for me. I had to make myself immune to her Poison Potion.
“Who cares?!” Cecily stared at Suze. “I care! Suze, this is the REAL Winnie-the-Pooh! Read this caption. It says Winnie was given to Christopher Robin for his first birthday. These aren’t Disney Store stuffies. This is The Original Winnie!!”
Mom smiled. “I care too. This little teddy and his friends are footnotes to literary history. Even Teddy Roosevelt liked teddy bears. And as presidents go, he was mucho macho.”
“Look at poor Winnie’s stitched-up paw,” I said. “Can’t you just see Christopher Robin holding it and dragging Winnie downstairs headfirst, bump bump bump?”
Suze leaned in more closely and, to her credit, said, “I guess I can kind of picture that.” I gave her a tiny smile.
We walked up Avenue of the Americas, and for a minute, it was Suze and Mom ahead, and Cecily and me behind.
“Does Suze know about Snow Bear?” I asked.
“Omigod. You kidding? No way! And don’t you tell her!”
“Never!! Your secrets are safe with me if mine are safe with you.”
“Deal,” she said. “Forever and for always.”
We quietly low-fived each other.
Dear Diary,
Matt just came in and said, “Knock, knock.”
“No.”
“No?!”
“You can’t say no. You have to say ‘Who’s there?’ ”
“I can say no if I want.”
“C’mon, say ‘Who’s there?’ ”
I sighed. “Fine. Who’s there?”
“Winnie.”
“Winnie who?”
“It’s NOT ‘Winnie who’! It’s Winnie-the-Pooh!!”
“Ha ha ha.”
“I have another: What did Winnie-the-Pooh say when he was offered dessert?”
“What?”
“No, thanks, I’m stuffed!”
“Matt, are you done yet?”
“Yeah, but wanna play New York City Monopoly?”
I said sure, because sometimes I like to surprise us both and be a Perfect Big Sister.
Dear Diary,
Dad’s party was fun even though it was all grown-ups. Everyone yelled “Surprise” and sang “Happy Birthday,” and I could tell Dad loved having his friends over. I think he’d forgotten how many friends he has. He also loved that it was a surprise.
One of his childhood friends made a toast. He had a cleft chin, or as Matt whispered to me, a butt chin. The man said that when Dad and he were campers together, Dad always insisted on the bottom bunk, not the top bunk, because then he could run around and raise h-ll and, when the counselor returned, Dad could jump back in bed real quick.
Believe it or not, that was not hard to picture.
Matt and I made a toast too. We recited:
Then we gave Dad a cardboard heart that we’d spray painted gold and decorated. He pinned it on his shirt, and everyone clapped.
Anyway, after the party but before bed, Dad and I snuck back into the kitchen in our pajamas for milk and leftover cake.
“So what about you, Melanie? Did you have a nice time?”
“Tonight? Yes!”
“How about during Miguel’s trip?”
The question seemed out of the blue, but I said, “I think he enjoyed it.”
I stayed quiet, and Dad did too, and silence probably worked better than if Dad had started prying, because next thing you know, I was talking and talking.
“I liked seeing Miguel and doing all the New York stuff. But you know how you weren’t looking forward to your birthday and then it turned out fun? Well, I was looking so so so forward to Miguel’s trip that his visit couldn’t possibly live up to my expectations—is that the right word?”
“Yes.” Dad smiled.
“Things didn’t feel as perfect as they did in Spain. But I think I’ve seen too many movies, and I was being dumb because I imagined that a boy and a girl who like each other always just keep liking each other more and more.”
“Oh, Melleroo, nothing and no one is perfect, but don’t go giving up on love! You’re eleven. Boys will soon be lining up around the block, and I’ll be beating them back with a stick. Or maybe with”—Dad imitated a Spanish accent—“a béisbol bat.”
“That’s horrible, Dad! I wouldn’t want you to hit anybody. Especially somebody who liked me!”
“It is horrible. I don’t know why I said it. It’s one of those things fathers are programmed to say to their lovely daughters.”
“Am I a lovely daughter?”
“Honey Bun, some guy is going to be so lucky to have you that it’ll be hard for me not to be jealous. Is that horrible too? Fatherhood isn’t easy for us old men.”
“You’re not old. It’s true that you like old-fogey operas, but sometimes you and Matt are peas in a pod.”
“Really?” Dad looked happy.
“Dad, hate to break it to you, but that is not a compliment. Unless you like being immature.”
“Beats geezerhood.”
“Dad, don’t worry. You’re forty years young.”
“My, my, look who’s telling who not to worry.”
“Whom!”
Dad laughed. “Melanie, when I was a boy, back when dinosaurs prowled the earth, I liked girls like you. The smart, sweet, funny ones got me right here.” He poked himself in the heart.
I could have said, “The boys in our grade like popular girls with big chests,” but instead I said, “You’re still a boy. A big boy. A B.B.”
“I thought I was a Big Pig. A B.P.?” He took his fork and stole a bite of my cake since he’d already finished his.
“Hey!”
“I’m a B.B. and a B.P. And I’m forty! It is a shocker. I even have some gray hair.”
“Not much. And Mom likes it. She calls it silver.”
“Silver.” He nodded. “Your mother’s a keeper. She looked so pretty tonight.”
“Dad, I’m going to ask you something and don’t make a face, okay? Is Miguel the kind of guy I should carry a torch for? Do you think he’s a keeper?”
Dad smiled. “Keep him as a friend. Who knows, maybe you two will meet again when you’re older. But honey, he was the first of many. You’ve got lots of guys in your future. And I’ve got lots of sticks.”
“Dad!”
“Let me tell you something else, Kiddo.”
“What?”
“I’m always here for you. You know what unconditional love is?”
“It’s love no-matter-what. And that’s how Mom and I love you and Matt. We love you even when you ruin laundry or misplace mouse babies or spill milk or get bad grades or anything.”
“I don’t get bad grades.”
“What I mean is, boyfriends come and go, but Dad Love lasts forever. You’re stuck with me. So when you’re worrying about boys, I want you to know that I’m right here. I’m always here.”
“You’re a little weird, Dad,” I said, because I was too embarrassed to say, “I unconditionally love you too.”
Here’s what I did do: I stuck a candle on what was left of my piece of cake and struck a match (something I’d just learned how to do) and lit the candle and pushed my plate toward Dad and sang, “Happy Birthnight to You, Happy Birthnight to You, Happy Birthnight Dear Daaaaaaaaaad, Happy Birthnight to You!”
Dad beamed. “I’ve been around four decades, and no one’s ever wished me a happy birthnight.”
“Then it’s about time!”
Dad mussed my hair. “Cupcake, you’re a keeper too.”
Since it was fun giving Miguel that surprise airport kiss, I got up, walked over to Dad, and gave him a peck on the cheek. Not a Spanish beso beso, just a daughter-father kiss.
He didn’t say anything. But he smiled like a little boy.
July 1
Dear Diary,
I went online, and justjustin IMed me.
He wrote: sup mialene
I wrote: nm jstuin
u ok
yes. u?
your amigo still there?
he left
oh. how many mice do u have now?
one.
raelly? ur kddiing?
I was thinking how fun it is to get and send IMs! It’s like passing notes. And I was about to explain about the mice when the phone rang. It was Justin! He said, “I figured I’d call instead of wearing out our fingers. So what happened to the millions of mice?”
I told him, and he laughed but listened too, then told me that he’d gone kayaking with his sister and they almost got stuck in a thunderstorm.
He’s really easy to talk to.
He said, “Hey, we have an extra ticket to go to a musical because my dad can’t come. Want to go? My mom and sister and I would have to pick you up in about forty-five minutes.”
“Let me find out.” I asked, and Mom said yes. I think she likes that Justin’s mom is also a teacher (of math, not art).
I said, “I can go! I’m free.”
“Good, because I barely saw you at Suze’s.”
“Did you have fun at her party?”
“It was okay, but Suze is Suze, you know what I mean?”
I laughed because I knew exactly exactly exactly what he meant. “Well, it was nice of you to call.”
“I’m a nice guy.”
I laughed again. “Listen, we better hang up so I can get ready.”
“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t hang up, so I didn’t either. And then we both did.
Some relationships happen fast, but I guess it’s good when they build slowly. After all, we’re not mice that become great-great-grandparents in two seconds! We’re people, and even though some say “Life is short,” I think it’s long if you’re eleven.
I am learning that nothing stays the same. And that that’s okay. But I want to be careful with my heart because I don’t want to get it all bruised up again. I mean, I just got my balance back!
From now on, I’m not going to 
about boys and stuff.
Then again, I don’t want to be toooooo careful either, because hearts are for sharing. And feeling. Plus it’s fun when a guy you like likes you back!
I wonder if today will feel like a date. A teenage date—but with chaperones. Mom walked in with folded pants, tops, and bras. I asked, “Do you think I’ll be impossible when I’m a teenager?”
“Impossible?” She laughed. “No, honey, I think you’ll always be possible.”
“Really?”
“Not all teens are terrors. I should know. I teach them.”
“But some are?”
“Well, sure. Just as some kids are.”
Matt the Brat burst in hopping on one foot. “What has three legs and barks?” I stared at him. “A three-legged dog!” He continued, “What has two legs and barks?”
“What?”
“A weird kid!!” He barked twice and hopped away.
“Mom, hate to tell you, but you have a very weird son.”
She didn’t disagree, just asked what musical we’re seeing.
“Wonderful Town.”
“That’s great! New York is a wonderful town!”
It’s true. Some people say, “New York is a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live there.” Well, I live here and I love it! In fact, it’s almost as if I’ve been writing a whole travel diary about it! Instead of a Melanie Abroad diary, this really was a Melanie At Home diary!
And even though my brother can be pretty dorky, I guess I’m realizing that deep down I love my whole family—and whole city.
I even love myself. Loving yourself is extra smart because you’re always there.
Of course, I still love traveling too! But even when we’re not going anywhere, we’re all traveling in our own lives.
We’re not stuck or trapped like the Statue of Liberty or that Goya boy or those puzzle people or even Winnie-the-Pooh. We’re alive!
I mean, think about it. The Statue of Liberty is cool, but no one ever gives her a necklace or invites her to a matinee!
Then again, she probably appreciates what’s right in front of her four-and-a-half-foot nose: all of New York City!
Well, I better stop writing and start changing. The world is waiting, and I have a date!!! (Sort of.)
