Dinner starts with Mom announcing to the table that I’m learning to fly.
It’s the first time my older brother, Tim, has joined in for a common topic in what feels like years, but is probably only a few weeks. He’s actually interested in how I will move around in the air.
His first question is, “Does it hurt your crotch to wear the harness?”
I shake my head, even though the truth is that the inside of my legs and my armpits are sort of sore from the straps.
I hate the word “crotch.”
There are a whole bunch of words I can’t stand, and I’m not sure if it’s the sound of the word or the meaning. An example of this is that I hate the word “puberty.” It’s just not a fun word in any way.
I also don’t like the word “mucus.”
I avoid saying these words, and what’s good is that there are many ways to get a point across, which I guess is why language is important. Maybe it’s why language was even invented.
I don’t have a favorite word or a favorite letter, but I have a least favorite, which is the letter A. It feels angry. I don’t get many A’s in school. So maybe that caused me to turn against the vowel. Examples of A words are “anthill” and “aloof.” People who are aloof aren’t being nice. Mrs. Vancil told Simone Busching to stop being so aloof to Poppy Ruff, who was the new kid last year.
At dinner I now ask for seconds on the spaghetti, which we are eating on our blue plates that have dividers. They once belonged to Grandma Mittens, but at a certain point she announced, “I’m not cooking for anyone but me anymore. Take the plates.”
I thought it was a joke, but she was serious, because we have seven of these things. There were eight in the set, so I guess she kept one.
Tim asks a lot of flying questions, but never again uses the word “crotch,” which is a good thing.
I’m wondering if he wishes he wasn’t regular-sized and could have tried out for the play, because he says, “Maybe I’ll come see you as a Munchkin-monkey.”
Mom looks at him like he’s from outer space. She says, “Of course you’re going to see your sister and your brother. It’s Summer Stock Theater!”
His eyes rise up in a blank way from his plate. It’s what Grandma Mittens calls “his patented stare,” and by that she means it’s something only he can do.
I don’t feel jealous, because I have no interest in making my face look like a piece of cardboard.
Dad then says, “Tim, you’re going to be supportive of your little brother and sister.”
I add, “You’re also going because it’s a great piece of entertainment directed by Shawn Barr.”
Tim chews spaghetti for a while, and he finally speaks. He says, “Julia, pass the garlic bread.”
There is no garlic bread. I think this is funny, so I lift an imaginary breadbasket and hold it out to Tim. I say, “Don’t take the burnt piece. I have my eye on that.”
This causes Tim to break his stare and laugh. He pretend-lifts the fake breadbasket and uses one hand to hold it, and another hand to pull back an imaginary cloth. He raises the invisible bread to his nose.
“Very garlicky. Just how I like it.”
And then we all laugh.
This goes on for a while until my mom gets to her feet and heads into the kitchen. She says, “You win. I’m taking bread out of the freezer for garlic toast. Consider it dessert.”
Tim looks over at me and in a low voice says, “Don’t worry. I’m coming to watch you fly, Jelly.”
That’s what he always used to call me, but doesn’t anymore: Jelly.
Of course, my name is Julia, but I guess when he was a little kid, “Jelly” was easier. I almost tell him that my stage name is now Baby, but I stop myself.
I don’t want to suddenly be known as Jelly Baby around the house. And that could happen. I’d be a donut for the rest of my life.
After dinner is cleaned up, Mom makes the call to Mrs. Chang and sets up a meeting. I don’t listen to what she says because I have a good show to watch on television. But she comes in with the news that Mrs. Chang is interested in getting together.
I then call Olive, and she says she will tell Gianni. Mom told Mrs. Chang that I was coming over to ask costume questions and that I was bringing other people “associated with the play.”
I’m a Munchkin and a flying monkey and the lead dancer. Also, right now you could say I’m sort of responsible for part of the costuming. Mrs. Chang is probably getting the idea that I’m kind of important to the whole production.
This is an example of how when you’re involved in projects, one thing leads to another.
I want to go over this with Mrs. Vancil, but it’s summer and also she’s not going to be my teacher anymore, so I have to stop thinking about new topics to share with her.
I could discuss it with Grandma Mittens, but she went on a salmon fishing trip for a week with her best friend, Lois. Besides baseball, Grandma Mittens really loves fishing, which to me is as boring as boring gets. And then when it’s finally not boring and you have a fish on the line it turns into a crime scene with a wooden club and a crazy amount of hitting.
Suddenly I remember something important: Stephen Boyd was a monkey last year for Halloween.
I’m not sure how I could have forgotten.
I guess it really is summer and there are many things to think about, not just missing Ramon, or a person named Stephen Boyd, who brings his lunch to school in a green canvas bag with white straps, which is better for the environment than using a different paper sack every day.
But now the fact that Stephen Boyd was once a monkey feels like a big deal. It also causes me to ask the question: In the movie of The Wizard of Oz were all of the flying monkeys boy monkeys?
And if they were, does that matter?
I decide when you look at a real monkey sitting (for example in a zoo), you can’t tell if it’s a girl or a boy. Or at least I can’t because there’s so much fur. I don’t spend a lot of time looking for animal private parts. Plus, our town doesn’t even have a zoo, unless you count the big fenced-in area up in Hendricks Park where three elk and a moose have a muddy life.
They don’t look very happy, even when I bring them carrots.
Remembering about Stephen Boyd leads me to go search for pictures of the flying monkeys.
What I find is a surprise.
In my mind these creatures were just scary, evil assistants to the Bad Witch. But now I’m able to see photographs on Mom’s computer, and the flying monkeys have on hats and brightly colored jackets. They have crazy long tails, no pants, and gray leggings that are sort of pajamas with feet. On their backs are big wings with lots of feathers.
The monkeys are dressed like the kind of old-fashioned toy monkey with cymbals that slap together if you turn a key. Grandma Mittens has one of those!
I’m going to take these pictures to the costume meeting. It might make Mrs. Chang more interested in working on the outfits. She told me that art is often about the unexpected. I had zero idea what she was talking about at the time, but now I’m thinking a clue might be in the way these flying monkeys are put together. They are sort of monkey-birds.
I go to my room and get the Munchkin shoes that Mrs. Chang made for me. I take them outside, and it’s still warm, so I sit on a chair—but first I lift the cushion because I know for a fact that there are earwigs living there.
An earwig has never bitten me, but the pincers look very mean. Now that I think about it, I’ve never heard of anyone being bitten by one of these insects. If we have to do a research paper on bugs next year I might pick earwigs. It’s possible they are getting blamed for stuff they didn’t do.
I slip on my Munchkin shoes. They fit perfectly.
I stare up at the stars and think about monkey-birds and other hybrids. I used to come out here with Ramon, especially if he had gas, which happened more often than it should have because I gave him people food under the table at dinner.
He’s gone and I don’t want to soak in those old memories. I won’t be able to get the sad thoughts out of my mind unless I block the feelings by concentrating on the idea of a new pet.
We aren’t getting a new dog because it’s not a good time right now.
At least that’s what my mom and dad say every time I ask.
I stopped asking because I’m trying a new strategy of silence. The old way wasn’t working. Since a new pet is now only going to be alive in my head, I may as well think big. I would love a hybrid animal.
A great one would be a raccoon that is also part camel.
Or maybe a bear that is half pony and doesn’t mind a saddle.
I curl up in the chair. I can still do that like a cat because of my size.
When I’m in this position, with my knees tucked up against my chest, I can see my beautiful shoes.
I’m a Munchkin who is also a flying monkey.
And with my eyes closed, Ramon is right at my side.