I just wrote a letter to Lula, but I can’t mail it. Because the stamps are buried in an unpacked box somewhere. And Mom won’t help me find them. She’s too busy unwrapping glasses and plates from packing paper and setting them on shelves. She keeps saying, “The kitchen is my priority right now.”
Dad won’t stop trying to fix a funny smell coming from the dryer. I guess that’s his priority.
I need them to make stamps their priority. And also, our Internet and phone! They HAVE to get set up! I can’t get in touch with my friends! I feel like a cave person!
I need help hanging stuff, too. I’ve got stacks of pants and sweaters and long-sleeved shirts and sweatshirts to hang. They don’t fit in my new dresser, which is tiny. Because my room is tiny.
One good thing about this room, though—it’s ALL MINE! For the first time in my whole life I’m not sharing a room with Sloppy Jo!
In my very own room, I will never have to worry about Jo setting her wet towels on my bed or spilling nail polish on my desk or leaving bowls of half-eaten, moldy strawberries in my closet. That’s one hundred percent good news.
But it can get lonely in here without Jo. I didn’t like being all alone last night, when there were shadows and creakings inside this new place, plus sirens sometimes outside, getting closer and closer and louder and louder before fading away.
I’m going to find Jo now. Maybe she’ll help me hang my clothes.
I think Mom might be going bonkers. I just saw her sitting on the floor in the living room, unpacking a box full of photo albums. I asked if she could FINALLY find a stamp for me. It’s been HOURS since I asked her the first time.
She didn’t answer at first. Instead she looked around her at all the boxes and bubble wrap and half-filled garbage bags, plus the stacks of books and folders and games and binders that haven’t been put away yet.
“Why wouldn’t I be able to find a stamp?” she said, after she’d glanced at all of that.
Then she said, “How about a teeny, tiny button? Would you like a teeny, tiny button, too?”
Then she started laughing. And she DID NOT STOP. She leaned back and put her hand on her chest and laughed and laughed and wiped tears from her eyes and laughed some more.
I should’ve been annoyed. Because I really need a stamp, and she was making fun of me! But all that laughing was contagious. I had to laugh some, too.
I left her on the floor in there, shaking her head and grinning. And now I’m taping my entire letter to Lula in here. Since I’m obviously not getting a stamp any time soon.
Dear Lula,
I miss you so much already. I can’t believe I’m starting a new school tomorrow, without you and Violet. I don’t want to go! I’m not going to know a single person.
Mom and Dad keep saying, “You’ll make friends! You’ll see!” But they can’t know that, right? What if all the kids in my class have bad breath?
Or what if I mess up? What if I sneeze one of those wet sneezes in class, for example, and I don’t cover my face fast enough, and snot and slobber gets on everyone around me? They’ll call me “Sneezy” for the rest of my life. And no one will want to get anywhere near me. Not without protective raingear.
I know you’d still like me, even if I had a sneezing catastrophe. I wish I could come see you right now. I can’t believe I’d have to walk for FIVE HOURS to get there. Or take two different subway trains for more than an hour. We might as well be in Kentucky.
I feel mad at Mom and Dad for moving us so far. Even though I know their reasons. They’ve told me over and over: We needed a bigger place, since Granny’s staying with us and we have to hire a live-in nurse for her. And they couldn’t find a bigger apartment that we could afford in or near our old neighborhood. But they should’ve looked harder!
Jo let me borrow her phone earlier to call you, but no answer. I’ll try again later if she lets me. I wish I had a phone!
I miss you! Tell Violet hi!
Love,
Celie, who would
like to be doing this:
I woke up very worried a little while ago. The clock on my tiny dresser said 2:18 A.M.; I thought I could hear Dad’s cell phone ringing; and phones should not ring at 2:18 A.M.
Wrong number? I thought. Or emergency? And then I thought, GRANNY! Because Granny is staying with Cousin Carla until we get settled in our new place. And Cousin Carla could be calling with a Granny emergency.
I threw off my covers and jumped out of bed and ran into the dark hallway. Then BAM! I crashed right into Jo’s bike. I banged my side hard, and one of the pedals scraped a chunk of skin off my leg. She needs to move her bike to the basement!
But I ignored the blood and pain and started limping super-fast to Mom and Dad’s room. Dad was standing next to his side of the bed with his phone in his hand. Mom was sitting up, watching him.
“You’re right,” Dad was saying into the phone. “She needs constant, expert care. We’ll get everything resolved soon, I promise.”
Granny needs constant, expert care.
So I asked loudly, “What is it? What happened? Is Granny okay?”
“Shh,” Mom told me. “Let him finish.”
Dad kept talking into the phone. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this, Carla,” he said. “Thank you for all of the help you give us.” He listened to whatever she said. Then he hung up.
“Go through what?” I said. “Tell me.”
“Everything is fine,” Dad said. “Granny just got a little disoriented and wanted to go outside. So naturally Carla got concerned.”
I waited for him to say more. Since that was OBVIOUSLY not all that happened. But he was finished.
“It’s two eighteen in the morning!” I told him. “Cousin Carla wouldn’t wake us up to say that Granny’s disoriented! You’re not telling me the whole story.”
Dad didn’t say I was wrong. But he also wouldn’t tell me any more. Instead both he and Mom said things like, “It’s late; you have your first day of a new school tomorrow; you need to get some sleep.”
Then Dad walked me back to my room. I stopped arguing, since it was obviously not working. I just let him tuck me in. And I listened to him walk back down the hall. Then I grabbed my spy notebook from the drawer in my nightstand and hurried after him as quickly and quietly as I could.
I made it safely past Jo’s bike this time. And I stopped right outside Mom and Dad’s room. I stood there and listened and wrote this spy report:
Sometimes spies must move absolutely silently. If you are vigilant about all of your movements, you are less likely to make unnecessary noise while bumping into objects. Practice paying particular attention to the space-time continuum.
What does that even mean?
I’m paying particular attention to Mom and Dad’s voices. They’re saying:
Mom: “Why did the doorman stop her?”
Dad: “She was leaving the building in her nightgown. It didn’t seem right to him, so he asked her to wait. Then he called up and woke Carla.”
Mom: “Thank goodness he was paying attention.”
Silence now.
Why are they being so quiet? They need to say more!
Certain art forms enhance your awareness of, and control over, your own movements. Research dance classes in your area. Make a list of them below.
This is no time for dance! Mom and Dad are talking again now:
Dad: “Carla feels terrible that she was asleep. She kept saying she never heard Granny leave.”
Mom: “It’s not her fault.”
Dad: “None of this is anyone’s fault.”
Pay attention to the noise that your clothes might make. Sweaty socks can squelch in shoes, for example, and be overheard by your targets.
I don’t care about sweaty squelching socks.
Dad again: “Granny told Carla she wanted to see her mother’s fern. That’s why she left.”
More silence.
Mom: “We have to hire a nurse NOW, and we have to get Granny settled here.”
Dad: “Should we try a different agency? We need a better pool of candidates.”
Mom: “I’ll make calls first thing in the morning.”
I had to hurry back to my room then. Because Dad said, “Did you just hear something? In the hallway?”
I don’t think he followed me.
I feel heavy now, with worry. Granny can’t go find her mama’s fern. That fern is all the way back in Louisiana. Or maybe even dead. But she doesn’t understand. I want her to understand.
Plus what if the doorman hadn’t stopped her? Granny would’ve been so shivery and alone, in the middle of this cold night, in a strange neighborhood! She would’ve gotten lost. She could’ve gotten frostbite. Or stepped in front of traffic.
I can’t think about that for another second. I won’t.
I KNEW Granny should’ve moved here at the exact same time as us. Even if moving is chaotic, like Mom and Dad kept saying. It’s too hard for her mind to go from place to place!
I’ll stay up all night tomorrow getting Granny’s room ready if I have to. And the rest of this apartment, too. Jo will help. We can’t let Granny trip over boxes or bikes. Everything needs to be easy for her.
Also, Mom’s right—we have to find a good Stranger Nurse to live with us, and fast. I know she hasn’t liked the nurses she’s already interviewed, for good reasons. Like the one who asked if she could keep a bat in a cage in her room. Or the one who had the bubbly rash on her hands. It was very hard to look at. Plus what if it was contagious?
I didn’t want those people either. Still, we need somebody! Maybe we’re being too picky.
Maybe a pet bat wouldn’t be so bad?
