Be Special, Be Yourself for Teenagers

Table of Contents A Word from the Author............................................................ 9 Bojé’s Magic Powder................................................................ 11 Beauty Queen......................................................................... 31 Be Special, Be Yourself ........................................................... 41 Curly Line with Flowers .......................................................... 51 The Building of Life................................................................. 83 The Guidance Counselor....................................................... 101 Love Me, Love Me Not ........................................................... 109 Biography ............................................................................. 153

To my daughter Eden, my happy thought

And in loving memory of my nephew Gai Naziri who died in an accident at the age of 21

“I wish I'd had this book when I was a teenager and I also wish I'd had it when my children were younger. Be Special, Be Yourself is very wise and inspiring on a lot of everyday topics that aren't discussed much.” – Sandra Hogan, Public Affairs manager “I really love the book. We face peer pressure every day, so it’s cool to read a book that goes against everything people look for. Be happy with yourself, you are the only person you will answer to, in the end. If you have enough determination, you can do anything. Be Special, Be Yourself is on of my top 10 book list. I love it! There is really hope!” – Stephanie Cook, 16 years old “Be Special, Be Yourself says you might try something and fail, but trying it differently will give you different results. It beautifully shows that not everyone who looks perfect has a perfect life. Keep trying, no matter what. The greatest massage to parents and teenagers is ‘Never give up. There’s always a way through’. I loved it!” – Jennifer Masterton, 16 years old “I liked Curly Line with Flowers very much. Reading the dyslexic writing with intelligent thoughts was very graphic. The Building of Life was my favorite story. I like the ideas very much, and the way the thought processes developed to the very provocative conclusion. Biography so beautifully shows adults and teenagers that we need to appreciate who we are and what we have and feel free to show love to our loved ones.” – Annique Goldberg, mother, skipper and world traveler

“Be Special, Be Yourself has taught me that being different can be a good thing and we shouldn’t change our beliefs just because they’re not what most people think. People are special not because of how beautiful or popular they are, but because of what kind of person they are inside. The book encouraged me not to be afraid to ask for help. No matter what problem you have, there will always be someone there to help you and someone to listen to you and you should never give up. I learned that if I try my hardest, I will get what I want and that sometimes the things that I want most can be right under my nose…” – Penny Johnston, 14 years old “This enjoyable and original book is special on so many levels – from the imaginative story lines, to the way it creatively and sensitively deals with issues of relevance to both teenagers and adults. Be Special, Be Yourself is an absorbing read, which stimulates our thinking about human nature and how we deal with love, acceptance of self, finding personal strength and the understanding and acceptance of the differences which define us as individuals. The interest created by the inter-woven storylines, particularly in Love Me, Love Me Not, are especially enjoyable as we trace the invisible emotional connections the characters have with one another. Be Special, Be Yourself contains positive, inspiring life messages for young and old.” – Tamara Luski, Music teacher

“Be Special, Be Yourself helped me accept people the way they are. It taught me that it’s what’s inside that counts. It tells us teenagers to love our parent and be thankful for what we’ve got. It is a great way of saying to parents ‘be supportive and never give up on your kids’.” – Geneva Goldberg, 12 years old “Be Special, Be Yourself has a powerful message to ease the struggle between power/authority/conformity and the need to express. We’re entering the stage of life when we have to start taking other people into account. It helps teenagers see why they shouldn’t judge people before they get to know them. I feel it’s a real eye opener. As teenagers, we need this book.” – Clare Richmond, 16 years old “This collection of stories samples a wide range of significant social and emotional experiences in the lives of a range of young adults, their friends and families. Ronit has managed to convey deep wisdom and sage advice about values and behavior, self esteem and relationships, in a style which refrains from preaching, but rather allows characters, events and storylines to illuminate issues, struggles and resolutions, in a manner which is particularly engaging for young people. It strikes me as an ideal teaching resource for the study of society and personal development.” – Maria Delaney, teacher

To be yourself, in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else, is the greatest accomplishment. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

All the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A Word from the Author When I was a teenager, I started to write. I struggled with the greatest questions all teenagers have. Who am I? Where am I going? What makes me special? Who loves me? Whom do I love? How much should I compromise my uniqueness in order to feel loved? Life was a long road of discovery with many attempts to find the answers. I guess I was very surprised to realize I still had the same questions long after my 18th birthday. Travelling with my family and teaching all over the world showed me that these questions still applied everywhere I went. Later, when my own daughter became a teenager, I discovered we were both facing the same conflicts. I think I know now that we all, teenagers and adults alike, strive to find the balance between our need for love and our need for uniqueness. This book is a journey that started over 24 years ago, when I was a teenager. It took me a while to realize that I had been given the gift of writing so I could share it with you. I would like to thank many people for helping me reach this point. My success is theirs, too. First, I thank my husband Gal and my daughter Eden for helping and supporting the decision to leave my job and dedicate my time to writing. I thank them for doing an amazing editing job on this book. I thank my husband for putting his heart into publishing this book and sharing the passion of spreading the word of love in the world. I thank all the Macgregor High students and all my adult friends who reviewed my book for their 9

encouragement and their valuable input. This editing process was an amazing learning experience for me and is a subject for a new book about how differently teenagers and adults perceive the same reality. I hope this book will give you answers for the big questions in your life. It isn’t easy to be yourself in a world that teaches to conform, but it is possible! In writing and publishing this book, I want to establish a new trend of teenagers taking control over their life, understanding their talents and power and accepting their uniqueness as a gift. I hope this book will help you treasure yourself and direct your energy towards living by your own values. Parents and educators, I hope this book will empower you to see the same in yourself and put a stop to the vicious cycle of conforming. Creativity, flexibility, tolerance and love are natural states of mind and our purpose is to nurture them to full blossom. I trust this reading will take you to a place of understanding, a place of love and hope. Enjoy your reading and remember that the answer is: Be special, be yourself. – Ronit www.behappyinlife.com/books

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Bojé’s Magic Powder

Bojé’s Magic Powder Sam wanted to disappear when Toni was handing out the invitations to her party. She felt different from everyone. During the previous year, she had been invited to some of the parties, but she was tired of trying to fit in. The girls would dance in slow motion, spend all their time talking about food and diets and continue to eat ‘ordered’ food like ice creams, sweets and cakes. At those parties, she found herself standing next to them, but never taking part. They were all jealous of her. The boys were always trying to get her attention and when they asked how she managed to stay in such great shape, she could never find the words to tell them that she really didn’t have a choice. If she explained, they wouldn’t understand what she meant when she said ‘healthy food’. Every day, in the cafeteria, the girls discussed her figure. When they were trying to find the solution to the problem of the 22nd century, she felt lonely. The girls hated her for looking so good. When they ate ‘ordered’ masterpieces, she ate fruit. When they drank beer, cocktails and colorful juices, she drank water. Toni approached her. Toni was skinny but popular. She saw Sam as a pretty and full girl amongst a bunch of ‘sticks’. No wonder Sean had a crush on her. She’d promised him she would invite Sam and she intended to keep her promise. She stood next to Sam and handed her the invitation. “Friday, the 8th of July 2112,” Sam read and smiled awkwardly, “Thank you.” “I hope you can come,” said Toni. She really wanted her to come, but she knew Sam wouldn’t think so. Sam smiled. It had been a while since she had last been invited to a party and she really wanted to go. She thought about her mom, who didn’t want her to feel different and her 11

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dad telling her: “Some opportunities come only once in a lifetime.” “Thank you,” she said again and left the classroom. Toni looked after her jealously. Some people, like Sam Reeve, didn’t need to do anything to look great, while others needed to be on a diet all their lives just to gain a few kilos. It was so unfair! At dinnertime, Toni talked about her party. “What did Sam say? Is she coming?” asked her brother Sean. “I told her I would be happy to see her, but she smiled as if she didn’t believe me. The girls hate her.” “Thanks for inviting her, sis,” said Sean. “Why do they hate her? She looks great.” “Because of you and boys like you,” said Toni. “They’re all jealous. At last, there is one normal girl in a class full of ‘sticks’,” Sean teased her. Toni was upset and looked at her mom for support. “Well, you know he’s right. You know they all hate her because she looks like a model,” said Toni’s mom. Toni’s mom was a tall, skinny woman. The ‘stick-people’ problem had bothered her since she was young. She had done her doctorate on the influence Pierre Bojé had on society in the last one hundred years. “Did you know that, a hundred years ago, girls like Sam were considered less attractive? Back then, all the women wanted to be skinny and did everything to lose one or two kilos,” she heard herself say for the millionth time. “You’ve told me this already, Mom, but I don’t think I understand! She does have the perfect body, and yes, I am jealous. Sean isn’t the only one who thinks she looks great. I don’t know how people a hundred years ago couldn’t see it.” 12

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“A hundred years ago, people who weighed a lot died earlier. They had many diseases that were associated with being overweight: heart attacks, depression and even breathing problems. It was a time when people got bigger and bigger. The average weight actually increased over the years. If at a certain age it was common for a girl to weigh 50 kilos, then years later it was OK to weigh 55 kilos at that age. Slowly, that number went up, until Bojé invented his Magic Powder.” Toni’s mom loved talking about Bojé. She had dedicated seven years of research to his work. “Why they thought he deserved the Nobel Prize for his outrageous invention I could never understand,” said Toni’s dad. He was licking his lips after eating a big and beautiful cake. Toni looked at him enjoying his cake. She wondered if he really meant it or if he was just joking. “Fifty years after he won the prize,” continued her mom, “There was a big petition to take it away from him. He was very old, sick and lonely. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. People say that after his granddaughter died from cardiac arrest because she was so underweight, he left his work and retreated to the mountains to be there all by himself. No one ever managed to interview him about his invention.” “I really don’t see the connection between Bojé’s invention and the astonishing beauty of Sam Reeve,” said Sean. He preferred talking about girls, especially the kind with boobs. Real ones, without implants. His mom ignored him. She saw the opportunity to teach them both a good lesson and she didn’t want to miss it. “Bojé invented his Magic Powder in 2005 after one of his sisters died from a heart attack. She was very young, only 25 years old, and weighed 180 kilos.” “180 kilos is like four people!” Sean said. 13

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“Not exactly,” his mom said. “A hundred years ago, it was like two and a half people. People were not as skinny as we are today. Bojé’s Magic Powder drastically changed all this.” “What is so special about his Magic Powder?” asked Toni. Her mom had already explained this many times before, but this time, it seemed they were ready to listen. “Bojé managed to mix powders that changed the chemical composition of food. He created a tasteless powder that neutralized the substances that caused weight gain. The brilliant part of his invention was that it had a cumulative effect. The more you use it, the more weight you lose.” Toni tried to imagine life a hundred years before. It was hard for her to imagine a time when people thought differently. It was sickening. Her society was encouraging people to gain weight because of the many problems caused by weight loss. But the more they ate, the more they lost weight. Toni thought it was a very sick invention. No doubt, life would have been different without it. “It’s terrible. If you are saying that, a hundred years ago, people suffered from being overweight, then Bojé probably thought he was doing a wonderful thing,” said Toni. She thought she understood why he went to the mountains. He was looking for a cure for the weight problem that had killed his sister, but with his invention, he killed his granddaughter. Sean was worried. He was skinny, but never thought about the health issues associated with being thin. “In what kinds of food do we have Bojé’s powder?” he asked, looking worried. His mom looked at him surprised. “Everything we order has Bojé’s powder in it. 80% of our food contains MP and it’s only 80% for us, because we are a healthy family.” Sean looked at the big Pattie with the cream he had on his plate. He had never asked himself about the contents of his 14

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beautiful food, how it was made or whether it was healthy. Mom had always taken care of the orders. He had never bothered to think about it. “Why does all our food contain the Magic Powder if everyone knows it’s dangerous?” asked Sean. “When the powder first came out on the market, people were thrilled. For ten years, there was a huge progress in the global state of health. At that stage, some organizations already started protesting against it. They had big protests and many health organizations predicted this was what would happen, but the ‘little man on the street’ was stronger. Products that contained the powder sold much better than ‘No MP’ products. Those slowly disappeared from the market.” “Couldn’t anyone prohibit its use? You know, organizations like the ones that prohibit plastic in food,” asked Sean. “Even today, there are organizations performing this role, but they disagree that it isn’t healthy. The powder itself is harmless. Some say that everything you over-consume is unhealthy. They say that nothing is harmful if you use it in the right amount. I have to say I agree with them. Did you know that many years ago, health organizations claimed that MSG and food colors were hazardous to our health, but still they were never banned, and people still bought them for years? MP today is just like MSG was a hundred years ago.” “Then how do you explain people like Sam? Doesn’t it affect her, too?” Toni wondered what Sam’s secret was. In her school cafeteria, they were fortunate to have beautiful works of art for food. Most of all, Toni loved the ‘Blue Car’. It came in three sweetness levels, and she always ordered the highest. Sam usually sat in the corner and ate strangely shaped food. She called it fruit and had to peel it before she ate it. 15

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“Our genetic code determines whether we have a tendency to be skinny or not. But the more MP you eat, the tastier it is and the more you want to eat it. Your body is actually burning fat, so you don’t have enough fat in your body,” her mom explained. “Did you know that boobs are made of fat? I think Sam Reeve has some great-looking fat,” marveled Sean. “He’s right. At a certain period in history, girls had breast reductions,” his mom pointed out. “What a waste, to destroy the prettiest thing a girl has,” said Sean. “I don’t see a way out of this,” said Toni. For years, she’d dieted. Every few months, she would try a new diet, checking the computer every day to see if she’d gained a few hundred grams. “You can always lower the MP level in your food,” suggested Toni’s dad. “How can we do that if we don’t even know what we have in the food we eat?” asked Sean. “First, we can find out. A long time ago, everything people ate had the contents written on the package. It’s hard to believe today, but people actually went to special storage places and picked the products from shelves, one by one. They could look at the back of the product to see the contents. Today, we don’t even know what our food is made of, unless we specifically ask for it. By the way, people stopped asking for the ingredient list because the ordering center charged them for it,” said Toni’s dad. “A long time ago, people made their own food, too,” added Toni’s mom. Toni didn’t quite understand what she meant by “made their own food.” Ever since she could remember, they had always ordered food. It always came nicely packed and when she opened it, it was just the right temperature. 16

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“And how did people know how to make food?” she asked. “How do you think people from the ordering center make our food? They take the ingredients, mix them somehow and sculpt them to make them attractive,” said Toni’s mom. “The people, who make the food in the ordering center, are they healthier?” asked Toni. “No, they are not healthy at all. Part of their salary is the food they can take home after a hard day’s work. So, all their food is ordered. They don’t make anything at home. I wouldn’t want to be working in the ordering center. It’s very hard work, and the salary is very low.” “I still don’t see a way out of this vicious circle,” said Toni. She was very confused. Every which way she turned got her back to the same point. How could people eat something that was so bad for them? “You could ask the same question about being in bad company, smoking, drugs or alcohol,” said her mom. “There is a group of people called ‘Healthyists’. They never order food. They grow their own food and make it all by themselves. It looks very different from what we eat now. Dad and I once tried to be ‘Healthyists’ but it didn’t work.” “It was terrible!” continued Toni’s dad. “There were only three stores in the whole city that sold food for ‘Healthyists’. We went to a remote place on the other side of the city. It was a small place. Everyone there looked great. It was so expensive! They had big areas where they grew all kinds of leaves and fruits and vegetables. It was all new for us. It was so expensive. We bought one sample from each product, just to taste. There were so many things there. It was terrible. No taste. Some of them we had to put in special containers filled with water and heat. Some, they said, we needed to cut into pieces. Some had a seed you could eat. It was such hard work. We had to work so hard for everything we put in our mouth, not to mention how long 17

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it took them to grow everything until it reached the right size. There were weird things there, all kinds of colors and shapes. Everything had a different size.” “There were things there we had to peel and eat only the inside. In others, we had to eat only the outside. It was a whole project, just to learn what do with each thing,” continued Toni’s mom. “Did they have any MP in them?” asked Sean. “They didn’t have any MP or any flavor. We were hungry for two weeks,” said Toni’s dad as he opened a packet of ‘Salty Sticks Number 6’. He felt he needed to compensate himself for those two weeks. Toni thought it was cute to hear her parents talking about their adventures. “And then what happened?” she asked curiously. “Nothing. Your grandmother heard we’d turned into ‘Healthyists’ and went ballistic. We suffered for two weeks and were hungry all the time. On top of that, we had to stand her calling every day to say we were going to starve to death if we didn’t eat ‘normal’ food,” said Toni’s mom and went to the drinking machine. Her favorite was ‘Pink Drink Number 9’. “And did grandma win?” asked Sean. His grandmother was a very special creature. When she decided something, she never gave up. He smiled thinking that his parents went through the same things young people go through with their parents. “Grandma knew she would win the minute she started with it. It was so hard, we just gave up.” “If it is so tasteless, then how can the ‘Healthyists’ eat it for such a long time?” asked Toni. “If you talk to them, they’ll tell you it tastes good. They say our taste buds are all damaged. They say that our food contains so much of the artificial substances that we can’t feel the taste like they do. We sort the food into major 18

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tastes: sour, salty and sweet, but there are many other tastes. For them, there are many kinds of ‘sweet’,” answered Toni’s mom. “I thought taste was something absolute. Like when I order my ‘Blue Car’. I order number three and everyone understands what I mean,” said Toni. “That’s exactly what they say. Level of sweetness is not one, two or three. We distinguish between them with numbers, they can tell between them in more detail,” said Toni’s dad. Toni didn’t really understand it. She always preferred the sweet tastes and always ordered the highest number. She didn’t understand what ‘different kinds of sweetness’ meant. “I cannot understand how people live in the 22nd century and still make their own food. How do they know how to eat it?” she thought aloud. “Think about it, Toni, it is like our big computer. It does everything for us. Without it, we couldn’t order, we couldn’t contact each other, we wouldn’t be able to control the temperature and use all the other equipment. It is so important in our lives and yet only a small group of people know how it works, a smaller group can fix it and an even smaller group can build it,” said Toni’s dad. For years, he’d been working on a single computer program for controlling the temperature. The fact he didn’t know anything about other areas really bothered him. Toni tried to think about all the things that she did every day. She didn’t know how things worked or what they were made of: their car, their TV, electricity. She didn’t even know how the top drawer in her bedroom slid down when she opened it. She never bothered to think about these things, as long as they worked. If something went wrong, they could always order help. 19

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“We can get along without the computer, but we can’t without food,” said Sean. “Let’s see you getting along for a few days without water, when the water pump stops working,” said his dad. Sean thought about it for a while. He knew that many things in life were very important, but he didn’t understand how important they were unless he had a problem with them. Only then he understood he didn’t have many alternatives. Soon afterwards, Toni’s mom said she had a meeting and left to go to her workroom. Her dad opened a pack of stars and went to watch his favorite show. Sean and Toni stayed in the dining room. “Do you think she’ll come?” asked Sean. “I don’t know. I hope she will. I didn’t think about it before, but I won’t have any food for her.” “I hope you don’t mind me hanging around here during the party.” Sean used to look at Sam during breaks, sitting all by herself on a side bench, eating strange things she brought from home. She was always reading a book. He wanted so badly to go and talk to her, but he was afraid she wouldn’t want to talk to him. Toni looked at Sean. The few friends she had, who had brothers, hated them. Sean was a wonderful brother. Sam Reeve was indeed a beautiful girl. Otherwise, Toni wouldn’t be so jealous of her. She smiled at him. “Of course I don’t mind. Just bear in mind, all my friends have a crush on you.” The next day during a break, Toni looked for Sam. Just as Sean said, she found her on a side bench, reading a book. “Hi Sam, what are you reading?” 20

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“Just a research book about the brain,” she answered and closed the book. Toni sat down next to her. “Sounds interesting. I download all my books. I haven’t seen a real book for a long time.” Sam smiled. “I came to ask you if you were coming to my party,” said Toni. Sam was embarrassed. She hoped to think about it a bit longer before making a decision. She didn’t really know if she wanted to go. She wanted to spend time with her classmates, but didn’t like their company. “I’m going with my mom this week to buy some things from a ‘Healthyist’ shop on the other side of the city. I thought maybe I could buy you things you could eat at my party,” said Toni. Toni hadn’t really planned that. Her mom wasn’t going with her to any ‘Healthyist’ shop, but she felt she had to make up something so that Sam would come, and it was the only story that came to her mind. Sam opened her eyes in surprise. She didn’t think Toni knew anything about ‘Healthyists’. It was so considerate of her. Toni was a skinny girl that ate ordered food all day. Sam always wanted to try the chocolate wafer that Toni ate as a snack every break. She didn’t think Toni knew anything about shops for ‘Healthyists’. She was so surprised. She only managed to say “Thanks.” Toni smiled, hoping that it was encouraging. “Is there anything special you like?” she asked. “There are a lot of things I like, but I can’t tell you. It wouldn’t be nice of me to expect you to buy things from a ‘Healthyist’ shop,” Sam answered, staring at her feet. “Why not?”

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“Because they are very expensive. Just buy anything you like. On most days, they have sales, so you can just buy whatever’s cheapest on the day that you’re there.” Toni wanted to argue, but thought better of it. “What do you drink?” she asked. “Water. Mineral water. You can order it from the order center. It’s more expensive than juice,” she said and felt bad. “Why is it more expensive? Isn’t the juice based on water?” asked Toni. “Yes, it is. But when they make juice, they mix it with water that is not so clean. If you add sugar, color and MP, no one can feel the water isn’t pure. Pure mineral water goes through many filtering systems. They work harder to prepare it,” explained Sam. “I love ‘Blue Ice Cream Car Number 3’. What about you?” tried Toni. Sam smiled. She understood that Toni was still asking her what to buy for the party. “I told you I don’t feel comfortable asking you to buy me anything.” Toni felt transparent. Sam could read her mind. She decided to be honest. “My parents tried to be ‘Healthyists’ once, but it didn’t work for them. I think they needed help from people who know what to do. I wanted to try some things and I thought you might recommend something especially tasty so I could have a positive experience,” she said and turned to go. Sam looked at her. “Toni is actually very nice to me,” she thought to herself. “I especially love Thai Mango. It’s really nice. You peel it and eat the inside without the seed. If you buy some for the party, I’ll show you how to eat it.” 22

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Toni picked up her stuff and got up to go, then smiled at Sam and said, “See you on Friday at 9:00.” On Friday, Sam hurried home. She hadn’t been to a party for a long time. She tied her hair with spirals to make it wavy, just for one night. She tried different clothes on. One set looked too dark and the other too flashy. She looked for something that wasn’t so noticeable. “What are you going to eat there?” her mom asked. “It doesn’t matter, mom. I’ll eat nothing. I have raisins in my bag. If I’m hungry, I’ll eat my raisins.” “I think if you eat ordered food from time to time, it won’t be so bad,” her mom tried to encourage her. “No mom, I don’t think I want to eat ordered food. Look at them. They all look like they are going to die. I told you. Whenever I touch the MP, I feel the pressure in my ears and I wheeze like I have Asthma.” Sam had tried it before. Every time her mom said, “Let’s try again, maybe your body is stronger, maybe it found a way to deal with ordered food,” they’d try again and the wheezing would start immediately. Food wasn’t that important anyway. Sam preferred putting all her energy into finding the right clothes. The red was too pretty. She hadn’t attended a party for a long time, so she didn’t even know how the other girls dressed. Her mom looked at her sadly. A long, long time before, they had eaten ordered food, too. It had been so good, so easy. She was sad that her daughter was so different. She’d never thought she would become a ‘Healthyist’, until Sam had come into their lives and the doctor had said she had a severe lung problem. Then they had gone through months of medication and hospitals. She had been so small. She’d huffed and puffed, until a ‘Healthyist’ friend had promised that a month on a healthy diet would make her well again. 23

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It had been the hardest month of their lives, and everything had been different afterwards. “The red shirt looks beautiful on you,” she said. “Yes, I know. Don’t you think it’s too red, though?” “You’re pretty. Everything you put on will be pretty,” said her mom. It wasn’t easy raising such a different child. Pretty, healthy and so good at school that everyone was jealous of her. “Do you think he’ll come?” asked her mom, drying her hair. “I don’t know. I hope so. He is older than we are. I’m not sure he will feel comfortable with us.” “He is only a year older than you. It’s his house. Do you think Toni will throw him out of the house before the party starts?” “I don’t know. I saw them during break talking to each other. They are very nice to each other. It looks like they’re good friends,” answered Sam. Her hair was dry. Her spirals came out bouncy and wavy, just like the way she liked them. She looked at her computer again. The red was prettier, the black was more formal. The black showed her great figure and the red showed her soft, dark skin. “I am pretty,” was her conclusion. She went to her closet, took out a shirt, put it on and left the room. Her dad was in the kitchen, making soup. “Hey gorgeous,” he said and smiled at her, his smile bursting with love. He was so proud of her. “Mom said you were going to Toni’s party. I’m happy to hear,” he gently touched her hair. “I’m making some vegetable soup. Would you like to eat some before you go? I don’t think you’ll get any healthy food at this party.” He kept on chopping vegetables into tiny squares. 24

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“I don’t think they know what healthy food is. Toni’s parents order everything. They have a huge unit in the beautiful building by the lake. They probably entered the order center and ordered food for a party. You only need to write the day, how many people come, their age, how many are boys and how many are girls, whether there are any special requirements and what your budget is. That’s how you pick food for a party,” said Sam. Sam’s dad twisted his face. “Never mind. We’ve talked about this hundreds of times,” said Sam’s mom and changed the subject. “You can invite them to a party, too, if you want.” “What would you give them to eat? Do you want to work hard for hours, just so a bunch of teenagers will throw up everything you make?” said Sam’s dad. “For people that eat junk, you can always order junk. Sam just told you how easy it is,” answered Sam’s mom. Sam smiled. Her mom always had a solution for every problem. For years, she’d been feeling guilty that Sam couldn’t eat like everyone else. Sam didn’t even feel bad about it. She loved the healthy food. Sometimes, she wanted a bit of chocolate, but only sometimes. One doctor told her that her body was so healthy that it was telling her what it could and couldn’t have. It didn’t give her a choice. Her grandma said her body was so determined, that it didn’t allow her to hurt herself. She took a pack of green tea from the green tea jar and put it in her bag. She stood at the door. Toni’s unit was big and fancy. She felt butterflies in her stomach. Are they going to pick on her? Is he going to be there? Are they going to spend the whole evening talking about food and diets? She took a deep breath and touched the door. The door opened and Toni’s 25

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mother stood at the entrance. She was skinny and tall and smiled widely at her. “Sam, I’m glad you could make it,” she said and showed her in. The room was dark. She was happy no one could see her. There were lots of little lights and the music was especially loud. People were dancing in slow motion. She looked around for Sean. He was not around. It sounded as if there were 100 people, but she knew there were only about 25 or 30. Toni saw her from across the room and came to welcome her. “I’m glad you came. There is someone here who wants to meet you,” she said and took her to a lit corner. “I would like to introduce you to my brother, Sean,” she said and pointed at him. “Sean, this is Sam. She’s in my class.” Sam felt the butterflies again. She was so excited she had no words. She smiled and nodded with her head. “Well, excuse me. I have to welcome some guests. Sean, could you take care of Sam and protect her from the other girls?” asked Toni and left. Sean looked at her excitedly. Her shirt was so becoming. Sam felt she was under a microscope. She wanted to disappear. “Would you like to dance?” he asked. He’d been waiting for this moment for so long. She smiled shyly and nodded. He took her hand and led her to the dance area. Her body felt just right in his arms. For a second he thought he wouldn’t mind eating healthy food just to get some of her attention. At the end of the dance, he took her to the table. Sam tried to avoid going to the table but Sean insisted. “Come on, let’s have something to eat,” he said, holding her hand tightly and pulling her to the table. Those moments were always her breaking points. The beautiful 26

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look of the cakes, the pile of chocolate bars, the talks about food and everyone looking at her. “Don’t worry. I promised Toni I’d take care of you,” he said, as if he could read her mind. A group of people stood around the table. There were sounds of surprise and excitement. When she walked into the room, everyone looked at her and the room went quiet. On the table, she saw a big tray of mangos and small jars with beautiful fruits all around it. Never in her life had she seen so many mangos on one tray. “It must have cost a fortune,” she thought. They all looked at her shocked face. She looked at Toni. “You told me to buy the cheapest thing they had on that day,” she said, smiling. “Now you have to teach us how to eat it.” Sam was shocked. All eyes were looking at her. She looked at Sean, who smiled at her. What if they hated it? What if it was good and the girls would hate her even more? What if Sean didn’t like it? The butterflies came again. “Some opportunities only come once in a lifetime,” she heard her dad saying. She went to her bag and took the green tea bags out. “I need a jug of boiled water,” she said and went to the table. Toni went to the computer and said “Hot water.” “Mango is a tropical fruit. It’s very good even without this green tea”, she said and put three sachets of green tea in the boiling water, “but since you’re used to eating ordered food, it will be hard for you to feel the real taste of the mango.” She put some of her raisins in the water. “My grandma says the green tea cleans the tongue. The raisins are a dried fruit called ‘grapes’. They ease the bitterness of the tea.” Sam put some tea in small cups that were there next to the cocktail bowl. 27

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Sean served them to the people standing next to him. Some took with hesitation. Others said “No, thank you.” Sam took a Mango and cut its side with a knife. The inside color was dark orange, similar to the color outside. She cut from top to bottom and then from right to left, forming tiny squares, and put them on an empty plate. Everyone looked at each other suspiciously. She looked at them trying to find one brave person. Toni’s mom looked at them from the side. She didn’t remember any mangos from her attempts to be healthy. “You have to drink this green tea if you really want to know what mango tastes like,” Sam said with a smile. Toni brought the cup close to her lips. It had an unpleasant smell. “Close your eyes and drink it in one go,” Sam suggested. Toni closed her eyes and drank. Everyone looked at her. She looked normal. She smiled bravely. “It wasn’t so bad,” she said and the rest did the same. Sam handed them the plate, but no one touched it. She took one cube and put it in her mouth. It tasted like heaven. Her face was full of smiles. She looked so pretty. Sean stuck a long fork in a mango cube and put it in his mouth. The cube rolled in his mouth from side to side. It was soft and melted in his mouth. He felt a tickle at the front of his tongue and then the tickle went backwards. He’d never felt the same with ordered food. Everyone looked at him quietly. He finished the cube, trying to decide whether he liked it or not, then took another cube. Then, two more people came closer to the table and each of them took a cube with a long fork. The music stopped. All the guests came to the table, whispering to each other. Sam kept on cutting mangos. When they had talked in class about their favorite food and the fantasies they had about food, some fantasized an 28

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ice cream swimming pool and some mountains of chocolates. Sam quietly fantasized a big pile of mangos. Her fantasy had come true. Toni’s dad came to the table. He took a small cup of the green tea, closed his eyes and drank it in one go. Then he used a long fork and took some mangos from Sam’s hand. When he finished he took some more. “Sheri,” he turned to Toni’s mom, “I think this is what we’ve been missing: the green tea. I can eat this thing for hours. I think grandma would have lost this battle,” he said triumphantly. Toni and her mom came to the table. “How did you know what to buy?” Sam asked her. “I asked for things for a party and the guy at the store recommended these things,” answered Toni and took a big piece of the mango. Soon after, everyone tried from the fruits on the table. Sam cut everything into small pieces and encouraged everyone to wash their mouth with green tea. They were all laughing and playing with the food and Sam smiled. It was all about food after all. Later that night, she was standing with Sean at the entrance to her building. “I’m glad you came,” he said and touched her hand softly. “I’m glad I came, too,” she said happily. “I loved that thing with the black seeds, the red thing with the green outside. I’m glad you showed us how to eat it.” “It’s called a watermelon. Remember the name, so you can ask for it in the store”, she said, trying to say a whole sentence while his hand was holding hers and her heartbeat was 4 times faster than normal. He smelled nice. “You look pretty in red,” he said and touched her red cheek. She wore no makeup. She was so pretty and natural.

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“I need to go,” she said, trying to stay calm. She wanted to stay like this until the morning, but knew she had to go upstairs. “What a pity,” he said and kept on touching her cheeks and looking at her admiringly. “I’m having a party next month. I hope you can come,” she said courageously. He leaned forward and kissed her. She bowed her head, turned and went inside. When she walked in, she knew her mom would wake up. Her mom peeked from her parents’ bedroom door and whispered, “How was it?” “Full of mangos,” she whispered back and went to her room. She took off her red shirt. She could still smell the chocolate ring from his mouth when he kissed her. She stroked her pocket. “I think if you eat ordered food from time to time, it won’t be so bad,” she remembered her mom saying. She took the chocolate bar from her pocket, opened the nice package and took a bite. The smell, she thought, would help her survive until Monday, when she’d see him again at school.

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Beauty Queen Michelle closed her books when she heard the bell. Hugging her books, she walked slowly to the dance hall, feeling that everyone was looking at her. She was pretty and all her ‘friends’ looked at her in jealousy. They hated her exotic beauty. They envied her straight A’s. They said she was sucking up to the teachers, but Michelle didn’t want to explain that it was because she read a lot. She refused to defend herself. “I have too much on my mind to explain how I get my grades,” she told her best friend, her only friend, Sam. Michelle was quiet most of the time and never said anything to win their friendship, which made them even more upset. When she left school at the end of the day, no one saw her in any of the afternoon activities. Her parents never came to school and no one knew if she had any siblings. Some people said they had seen her at the shopping center with a very old woman. In 10th grade, she became best friends with Sam, and Sam was never willing to participate in the gossip, so Michelle’s life outside school remained a mystery. Everyone knew she lived in the pink house at the edge of the city, but no one had ever been there. Before she came to parties on Fridays, the girls would sit in a group and gossip about her. Sam would look at them with contempt and say, “You’re so mean. Don’t you have anything better to do?” but she would never explain and they never knew why. Only Sam knew. In 10th grade, when a teacher made her pay a visit to Michelle with homework she missed when she was sick, Sam discovered it. 31

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Without permission, she entered a forbidden zone. Michelle’s mom, the prettiest woman on earth, behaved rather strangely. She was limp and looked confused. Her smile was unreal smile and her face had no expression. She said “Hello” a hundred times and patted Sam on the shoulder over and over again. Sam wanted to run away, but then Michelle came out of her room, clearly in a rage, her eyes asking “Why did you come? And what are you going to do now that you know? Are you going to keep it a secret or are you going to tell the whole world tomorrow? Go away. I never asked you to come.” Sam looked at her and all the hate she had felt before towards Michelle’s beauty, vanished. She wanted to hug her, be her friend and say “I’m sorry” a thousand times. Sam stayed. Her heart melted. She knew that her jealousy had made her blind. In her dreams, she had wanted to exchange lives with Michelle, but not anymore. Since then, she made sure Michelle was invited to all the parties and whenever she heard the girls’ gossip, she would say “You’re all mean” but would never explain. During break, when Michelle was sitting all by herself in the basketball stands, Sam ran screaming and shouting across the court with a letter in her hand. “I have a surprise for you,” she said and gave Michelle the letter. It was the first time she had seen a real happy smile on Michelle’s face. There were more than 400 girls sitting in the big hall, all dying to become the next beauty queen. Michelle and Sam walked in hesitantly. “Don’t be afraid,” said Sam, trying to encourage Michelle, “You know they all feel the same. They are all afraid, their 32

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hearts beating 250 times a second. Besides, you are pretty, look how many ugly girls there are here.” Michelle looked around. There were so many girls, and they all looked pretty to her. “They’re not pretty. They just think they are. They’re confident. That’s enough for them to feel pretty and make you think they are. They have nothing to hide. Confidence is what you need. Did you look in the mirror today and tell yourself 100 times you’re pretty?” Sam asked. “Yeah, I did,” said Michelle and smiled. After three hours of waiting, Michelle’s name was called. She said goodbye to Sam, who smiled and crossed her fingers for her, and entered. The pretty lady who greeted her looked at her in surprise, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. She asked Michelle to untie her hair. Her beautiful hair fell down to her shoulders and the lady continued looking at her in amazement. “Have you ever taken any modeling courses?” she asked Michelle, “Do you have any experience in performing?” “I dance at school,” Michelle said quietly. They lady kept on asking questions about her grades at school and hobbies and gave her a brochure to read and some forms to fill out. “You have to get your parents to sign the documents,” she said, smiling at her and escorting her to the door. Three weeks later, when she came for the screening, Michelle sat there and waited for the hairdresser. He was very late. His hair was in dreadlocks. He played with her hair. “You have beautiful hair. It looks like you take good care of it. Your hairstyle suits you. You should smile more often, so that everyone can see the amazing contrast between your 33

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beautiful white teeth and your great hair,” he said in a fatherly tone. At the end of the week, the dance teacher at school announced the Dance Odyssey performance was going to be the following month. Michelle was happy to take part, but she became sad when they started selling tickets. “You are going to buy her a ticket, aren’t you?” asked Sam. “No, I’m not.” “She’s your mother. You can’t hide her forever.” “You don’t understand,” said Michelle. It was very hard for her to explain. “What do you have to hide? You haven’t done anything wrong. Think about it. She’ll be so proud to see you on stage,” said Sam. On Monday, Michelle was invited to see the makeup artist. She took a biology book and sat there concentrating for two hours until they called her name. The makeup artist smiled at her and touched her cheeks. She examined her face, smiling the whole time. “This is pretty. I’ve never seen anything like this. I must call David,” she told her assistant, who was standing next to her. She left the room and came back with a handsome bearded man. He looked at her with a smile. His whole body smiled at her. He asked her to wait outside. On the bench outside sat a beautiful girl reading a science fiction book. She wriggled closer to Michelle and smiled. “Hi, I’m Brook,” she said and extended her arm to shake hands. “I’m Michelle.” 34

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“I know. On the first day, I went in after you left. Even before I went in, I wanted to tell you that you were very pretty. But you must know already. Everyone is saying you are.” “Everyone?” asked Michelle. “The pretty lady who interviewed us told her assistant, after you left, that you were the prettiest thing she had seen in her 25 years in this field. I’ve been a model for 3 years. Trust me. She’s seen a lot.” Michelle blushed. The door opened and the bearded man asked her to come back inside. He made her stand in different positions and took photos of her. He asked her to move and took some shots. He asked her to dance to some music and took some more. “Smile,” he said, “The camera loves you.” Michelle felt as if she were in heaven. It was all like a happy dream. The bearded man looked at her with a smile. He came closer and whispered in her ear, “Every year, if you ask me, I know at this stage who is going to be the beauty queen.” Then, he left the room. The rehearsals for the Dance Odyssey performance were in full swing. Michelle was happy to be on stage. She took part in 5 dances and had one solo piece. In the dressing room, Sam got dressed in a corner. “What’s wrong, Sam,” Michelle asked her. “Today was the last day for the ticket sale,” Sam said sadly. Michelle closed her eyes. She knew what Sam was saying. “I bought you a ticket, in case you changed your mind,” Sam said. “Why? I didn’t ask you to do that,” Michelle said angrily. 35

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“Because I’m your best friend,” said Sam defiantly, “And this is what best friends do,” and she turned her back and started to leave. Michelle followed her. “Please, Sam. They won’t accept it. They’ll never understand,” she tried to explain. Everyone looked at them. Sam turned back to her. She had tears in her eyes. “To hell with them. The question is whether you understand. Do you accept your life? I suggest you take a better look in the mirror,” she said loudly and left the changing room. In the evening, Michelle rushed to the last stage of the beauty queen auditions. There were 60 girls there and they were given a long lecture about the final contest ceremony. Later on, the pretty lady came to meet them and gave a detailed explanation about the whole process. “Next week, you’re all going to get the results letter about participating in the finals. Some will get a positive answer and some will be in the reserves. Remember, we only need 15 girls for the contest. This means most of you will be disappointed. Before you get the letters, I want you to consider this carefully. This is a big exposure, a physical and emotional exposure. This lifestyle is very tough, so you have to be confident. It involves media and your life becomes public domain.” Michelle left that day feeling very tired. She read her Biology book seven times and could recite it by the time she was finished. Her mom opened the door with a big smile, said “Hello” a hundred times and kissed her all over her face. Michelle looked at her, torn between two worlds. She had been 12 when her entire world had collapsed. It had been a week before her 12th birthday. She had never celebrated it, because her father had disappeared. On her bed she had found his letter: 36

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My sweet little girl, whom I love so much, I wish I had the courage to tell you all this face to face. I know that you’ve been worried about the relationship I had with your mother, but the truth is we never had any real relationship. I met her 13 years ago. I was young and stupid. I could only see her pretty face. She had a mental problem and I didn’t know about it. I saw her maybe twice. When you were born, she had severe post-natal depression and your grandmother raised you for three years. I was contacted three years later, when your grandmother had some financial difficulties. It was the first day I saw you. You were a big girl, three years old and gorgeous. My heart fil ed with happiness. Your mom, stil the most beautiful woman in the world, said “Come Michelle, say hello to daddy,” and you smiled and gave me a kiss. I decided at that moment to dedicate my life to you, to make it up to you for bringing you into this world… I’m sorry, my little girl. I have no more strength for this life. I am starting a new life. I hope you decide to join me. Love you always, Dad She had gone to her grandmother with the letter and asked a lot of questions.

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Her grandmother had bought them the pink house next to hers. Her mom had cried a lot. She had tried to hide it from Michelle. “Dad went to work overseas, Michelle. He’ll be back in no time,” she had said, trying to hide her tears. Michelle’s heart had filled with love. Her mom had gone through a lot to bring her into the world and to raise her with a lot of love. “I know, I know,” she had said and hugged her mom. Her dad had left the country and she had never answered his letters. She was only 12 when she had had to choose. She kissed her mom back, patted her cheeks and went to wash the dishes. There was a broken plate on the floor. Her mom looked at the broken plate and started crying. Michelle touched her gently, “Don’t worry mom, it’s OK. I’ll pick it up.” She picked up the pieces and cut her hand. Tears blocked her throat. “Every year … I know at this stage who is going to be the beauty queen,” echoed the words in her head. “This is a big exposure. A physical and emotional exposure. This lifestyle is very tough, so you have to be confident. It involves media and your life becomes public domain…” she heard them over and over in her ears. She could imagine the headlines the day after the ceremony: “Beauty queen born to ‘mental’ mother,” with photos of her mom, questions and gossip. She had written ‘Architect’ as her mom’s profession. What could she have written? How about ‘My mom is sick and so am I, because I didn’t choose five years ago to go with my dad’? “Every year … I know …” she heard the bearded man saying. It was nice to hear someone say, “This is pretty. I have never seen anything like this.” 38

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Beauty Queen She was very tired and closed her eyes.

On Friday, she went to the letterbox. She never thought she would have to choose again. “Every year, if you ask me, I know at this stage, who is going to be the beauty queen,” the words echoed again. She opened the letter, smiled and hugged it all the way home. When she got to the gate, she tore the letter to pieces with tears in her eyes and threw it into the orange bin that was standing there, and then went into the house. Her mom stood there, cleaning the big mirror at the entrance. She turned to her, said “Hello” many times and kissed her all over her face. Michelle gave her a big hug. “Mom, I have a dance performance this weekend. I’m performing in five pieces. I even have a solo dance. Would you like to come?” she asked, holding her mom’s beautiful face in her hand. “Yes, yes, yes,” her mom said and jumped up and down and clapped her hands, “I love you, I love you, I love you. I’m so proud,” she said over and over again with tears in her eyes. “I love you, too, mom,” said Michelle, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” and she kissed her mom all over her face.

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Be Special, Be Yourself It was lunch break on Wednesday. Adam ate quickly, trying to get to his Junior School Council meeting on time. He had tried saying that Wednesdays weren’t so good for these meetings, because all 7th grade students were in music rehearsals during the second half of the break. Mrs. McMillan, the Junior School Council Coordinator had said it was the only time she could be there and could they please not eat during meetings. All the council members had looked at each other, but no one had said anything. This happened every other Wednesday. Three members of the school council rushed from the meeting to the music rehearsal, taking bites in-between songs. “Did you have a Junior School Council meeting again?” asked Mrs. Pearce, the Music teacher. “Yes,” Adam replied and took another bite of his sandwich. “Did you tell Mrs. McMillan about the rehearsal?” she asked, trying to give them more time to eat. “We did,” said Matt Mrs. Pearce hardly managed to hide her disappointment, but she said cheerfully, “Never mind. I don’t mind you eating during rehearsals. Just try not to sing with your mouth full,” she smiled and helped them set up on stage. Adam decided not to mention the rehearsal again to Mrs. McMillan. He didn’t want to get in trouble. ‘Get in trouble’ was a common expression in Australia. His friends used it a lot to warn each other and it always sounded to him like a matter of life or death. 41

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He remembered his first days as a Canadian boy in Australia. His mother had said, “It is too hot for me here. We should have moved to Victoria. It’s much cooler there.” “The office didn’t need a branch manager in Victoria. Besides, I like the idea of a hot climate. I love trying new things,” his father had said. Adam had sighed and replied, “At least in Victoria I would have been in high school now. They start high school in 7th grade.” He had been a bit confused about it. His father had tried to assure him that the title of the school, primary or high, had not mattered, but he hadn’t been too sure about it. He remembered the accent issue. His mom had said, “Don’t worry, dear. English is English. They’ll understand.” The first days they had asked him to say things, just to hear his accent. A week later, he had realized they had been making fun of him. He had tried hard to speak with an Aussie accent, but only when he had been chosen as the president of the Junior School Council had he felt he blended in. “What kind of a representative are you, if you’ve been selected by the teacher and not by your friends? Are you representing the teacher?” his dad had asked. “Leave him alone, Sam. It’s a great opportunity for him,” his mom had said. “I didn’t say it wasn’t, Sally, but it’s not right.” Adam had wondered about it for a while. His friends had stopped picking on him and he knew he had settled in. He walked proudly displaying his badge amongst the 500 students in his school. Every night, he made sure it was on his shirt, ready on his chair for the next morning. In Canada, he had also been a member of the Junior School Council and he hoped this would be just as much fun. 42

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There were 12 members in the Junior School Council, representing grades 3 to 7, two from each grade and three from 7th grade. Matt was the vice president, and Melissa was the secretary. Mrs. McMillan insisted on starting the meetings on time, even if only two members were present. Adam had thought they had been there to represent the students and organize fun activities that would encourage kids to come to school happily and study well. Mrs. McMillan had thought differently. “We have a piggy bank to fill and fundraising to organize,” she had told them. Adam was surprised. Since they had arrived, his mom had been invited many times to join the Parents and Friends Association and help with fundraising activities. He didn’t think the junior school council was a branch of the Parents and Friends Association. Mrs. McMillan asked them what they thought should be done with the money. Adam didn’t know what she meant. “What money?” he asked. The others started making excited suggestions. “A cover for the cafeteria.” “A trip for the whole school to the beach.” “A sand pit for first and second grade.” “Let’s decorate the school.” Mrs. McMillan smiled and said, “It’s good you’re not asking for a swimming pool.” That sounded funny, but then she started talking about choosing between a digital video camera and a sound system. “But we don’t need a video camera,” said Melissa. “But the school does,” she said. After discussing the issue for three meetings, the members gave in. They started realizing what was expected 43

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of them and all of them said they preferred a digital video camera. At the fourth meeting, Adam asked, “Will we be allowed to use the camera?” Mrs. McMillan’s eyes widened. “Of course not!” she snapped, “It’s far too expensive to be handled by the students.” Adam didn’t have the courage to ask why not and just nodded as if he’d understood. When Kate, a grade four student, asked how much money they had, Mrs. McMillan said, “None,” and the cake stall idea came to life. The school secretary helped them write a letter to the parents. They went to each class with reminders the day before and a couple of mothers came to help set the tables and put prices on the cakes. After the cake sale, all 12 members of the Junior School Council gathered in the library, joyfully counting the coins they had collected. When Adam passed on the bag of coins to Mrs. McMillan and said “$196.35,” he felt he was paying a tax for his desire to be part of the council. “At least everyone enjoyed the cakes,” he tried to encourage himself. At the eighth meeting, they planned to have a school dance. “You have to get the Senior School Council’s approval,” said Mrs. McMillan. “How do we do that?” asked Tom. “Write a letter to the Council and wait for their next meeting.” “When is the next meeting?” asked Adam. “Next month,” answered Mrs. McMillan. “But that means we won’t be able to have the party until the following month, even if they approve it,” said Kate. “That’s right,” said Mrs. McMillan. 44

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When they rushed to the rehearsal, Adam asked “Couldn’t she just ask them?” “The school council is the principal, a couple of teachers and some parents. My mom is on the council. Of course Mrs. McMillan could ask them,” said Melissa, “But why go the extra mile if she doesn’t have to?” Adam was surprised. “I have to say I don’t understand how it works. I thought she was here to help us.” “Wake up, Adam. We are here to help her raise money for the school,” said Matt and took a sandwich out of his lunch box. “That’s not what the Junior School Council is for,” Adam protested. “Well, here it is. Welcome to our school,” said Melissa and went into the music hall. The Senior School Council only agreed to have the party at 4:00pm, because of the younger students, referring to safety and insurance issues. The Junior Council members tried to argue, but Mrs. McMillan said, “I’m sorry. That was their decision, but if you want, you can write another letter for their next meeting.” They looked at each other in frustration. Kate suggested buying some refreshments with the $196.35 they had, but Mrs. McMillan said that money was for the camera. Adam went home that day feeling deceived. At night, when he prepared his shirt, he looked at his badge and wasn’t so proud anymore. In Canada, in the one year he had been in the Junior School Council, they had organized six ‘Parents and Children’ evenings, a successful Lunch-Break radio, the ‘Parents @ School’ day during which students took over the school management and teachers were students, and a fundraiser that helped pay a local artist build a big smiling sculpture for the school entrance. They organized a group 45

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that took care of the monthly newsletter. He couldn’t remember everything, but he remembered himself working the whole time, a lot of phone calls, a lot of afternoon meetings and a lot of laughs. “Why don’t you tell them about your previous experiences,” asked his mom. “People living in one place can’t imagine there are other ways. They can’t see beyond the horizon,” said his dad. He wanted to tell them, but he didn’t feel they wanted to hear. He had been in Australia for a year, but nobody had ever asked him how life had been for him in Canada. Maybe no one cared. He didn’t know whether to be ashamed or proud of being a foreigner. “You should speak up,” his dad said. “Sam, why did we do this to him? It’s not his job, to tell them they’re wrong. He’s just a kid,” said his mom sadly. “No one said it was going to be easy, but it sure is going to make us stronger,” his dad said and hugged his mom. “I don’t know about you, but I sure don’t feel very strong,” she said “Do you?” she asked Adam. Adam smiled. He could see she was sad. He didn’t want to upset her. He used to come home every day and tell her school was great, even when he had been all alone the whole day. “You’ve had the opportunity to live in two different places. You can see beyond the horizon. You have a skill you can’t hide. You can compare,” said his dad. Adam looked at his mom. She was sad. “I thought comparing made you sad,” said Adam. “It depends if you look at the empty half of the glass or the full half. When you move, take only the good things with you.”

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“What do you do if the bad things at the new place are greater than the good things you bring with you?” he asked his dad. “Move again?” asked his mom cynically. “Trust yourself. Be yourself. Listen to your inner voice. Be true to yourself,” said his dad. After spending some time in Australia, he started seeing his life in Canada differently. “Have you looked at your poster lately?” his dad asked, smiling. Adam looked at the poster every time he walked into his room. It was such a big poster, it was hard to ignore. It was a photo of him at the age of four, with sunglasses and a cap, wearing a shirt with the words

Be Special, pecial, Be Yourself His dad had enlarged it, framed it and said, “Whenever you have doubts, come and look at yourself, the way I saw you when I took this picture. This is to remind you of the right attitude to life.” For a moment, he was sorry he knew there were other ways. Kids in 7th grade should go to school and have fun during breaks without thinking about the horizon. “Sometimes you have to distinguish between the things you can change and the things you can’t. When will we say we’ve had enough? When will we decide that this is not the right place for us?” Adam’s mom asked his dad. “My dear Sally, there is no ‘right’ place. There is only ‘right’ attitude,” he reminded her. Adam felt confused. He sometimes felt like his mom, but knew exactly what his dad meant. “You should always say what you think. You’re the one who is going to live with you for the rest of your life,” his dad said. It sounded like a matter of life or death again. He 47

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touched his badge. It was too heavy. He covered it with his hand. He wasn’t sure he wanted to wear it to school the following day. In Term 3, the members of the Junior School Council were invited for the first time to the Senior School Council’s meeting. Mrs. McMillan couldn’t come, so she asked Melissa to prepare a nice report and told Adam to practice reading it. There were only figures related to the money they had collected for the digital camera. “A digital camera is a very respectable goal,” said Mr. Ross, the president of the Senior Council. “Respectable is a grownup word,” Adam started talking to himself. “I hope you reach your goal,” continued Mr. Ross. “It wasn’t our goal in the first place,” Adam thought to himself. “If you’re short a few dollars, I’m sure the Senior Council will be happy to help you get them,” said Mr. Ross warmly. “Then why don’t you buy it now and that’s it?” Adam asked himself. He imagined his poster, but couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud. He was ashamed of himself. He felt small and helpless, with no courage to express his thoughts. He had to wait there for his mom to pick him up, because she said she would come late. Adam sat on a side table, feeling hungry. He had an apple and a sandwich in his bag. He took out the apple, but then switched it with the sandwich, to avoid making crunching noises. He sat there and listened to Senior Council meeting number 7. It went on for an hour and a half and they only talked about money, money and more money. Adam looked at them with contempt.

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“A bunch of grownups that have forgotten what school was all about,” he told himself. Once again, Mr. Ross talked about the great progress of the Junior School Council. “No wonder the junior school council looks like this,” Adam thought and felt relieved when his mom finally arrived. “Our Junior School Council members are the politicians of the next generation,” Adam remembered the principal saying. He looked at the poster in his room. “People who talk about money all the time are emotionally poor people. The truth does not lie in our banks. It is inside of us. If I change the world around me and you change the world around you, we will spread the changes and help make the world a better place,” he remembered his dad saying. “Tell me, Sam, did we leave Canada for this?” said Adam’s mom, trying to protect him. Adam felt tired. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to tell them about the meeting. All he wanted was to be elected for the Junior School Council, make friends and walk around the school, showing off his badge. He didn’t want to be a politician. He thought of Mrs. McMillan. “She is probably doing what the Senior Council expects her to do,” he realized. But she wasn’t a student in 7th grade and she should have taught them to speak up and express themselves honestly. She probably gave up after a while. “It must have been because her dad didn’t make her a poster,” he thought. He smiled, looking at his poster. He knew now that for every event he organized, he’d have to pay a ‘tax’ to Mrs. McMillan. He considered his options.

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“I can pretend I’ve forgotten what I’ve seen beyond the horizon, hang on for six more meetings and keep passing the money on to Mrs. McMillan.” But then he’d have to hide his thoughts from his father. “Or, I can be honest and say that I don’t feel I’m representing anyone. I’m not representing my friends. I’m not even representing myself. I can give back the councilor badge and enjoy a sandwich during lunch break.” But that would upset his mother. “Maybe I’ll just skip some of the meetings.” The 4-year-old boy from the photo stared at him. He turned to the mirror. “Adam Price, don’t get sucked into the School Council game.” The young boy in the poster showed off his shirt. Adam could see his parents’ love in the 4-year-old boy’s poster. “Everyone will accept you only when you accept yourself,” he told his image confidently. Adam saw himself young and cute, wearing a cap, sunglasses and his special shirt. He looked so happy in that poster, without the need to be accepted. He inched closer to the mirror and examined himself carefully. “Be yourself!” he told his image in the mirror, picked up his shirt from the chair and took the badge off. “Tomorrow, I’ll give it back to Mrs. McMillan,” he told himself. Adam picked up his school pants and slipped the badge into the front pocket. He smiled, leaned back on his pillow and slept peacefully.

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Curly Line with Flowers This story is dedicated to all the people with learning difficulties, like dyslexia, and to the wonderful parents and specialists who enable them to make it in the world. Dir daiery, This is the ferst time I am raiting, jast raiting. Mises hart geiv me this daiery and told me to rait. She promised me no one wood rid it. she geiv me the book and sed “this book is for you to rait evrything you hav in maind,no one is going to look at this book but you. I want you to rait without thinking abaoot your speling misteiks, just as you are toking to me naoo.” I felt so relived, I coodent weit to get home and rait. I had so many words in my hed that I wanted to say, and never felt I cood rait them daoon. I felt so streing when she geiv me the book. Mom looked at her and I cood see som tirs in her eyes, I fliped the pages and I so that evry few peiges she rote sam sentenses with her beutifool hand raiting. On the frest pege she rote

“Never, Never, Never Give up” It was only words but it geiv me so mach strength. I think that I fooly understood the mining of not giving up. I fil streing raiting to myself, it is a bit fany, but I laik it. mom bot me thos gel pens and I laik the wey the ink flos from them ontoo the peiper. It looks olmost laik a droing. I laik cheinging colors evry fyoo lains. The day mom said we are going to see this leidy, I was working on my pictcher, I looked at her with disper and sed “why can’t you giv up mom?” “never” she sed konfidentli. 51

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I felt sory for mom. For seven yirs she has bin going from one expert to enather, from one ticher to the other and traing to faind the risen I can not rait or rid properly. “why do we nid another person to tel us I’m styooped” I asked. mom keim closer. she looked at me very cros and sed “don’t you ever say that egein, no one that is styooped can make such an ameizing masterpis” and she looked at my pictcher praoodli. “maybe insted of peinting she shood rid mor” “do you min she shood hold a book and pritend she is riding, so you and her ticher woold feel beter?” Dad held his hed. he didn’t no what to say. I new he thot I was styooped and leizy. He never sed it, but I felt he was asheimed of me. Mom was the only person that kept me going. She (and sports, and woodwork lesens) helped me get up in the morning and feis the day. Mom lowered her vois, “peinting is the only thing that meks her hapy. It is her sankchooery, we are going to incarege her to peint as much as we can. She is a wanderfool gerl, even gronups can not dro the way she daz” “Sam,” he sed in a nais vois, “maybe somthing is rong with her, and it is hard for you to axept it” mom sat on the cher. she looked very sad. “Richard, somthing is defently rong with her, but insted of thinking abaoot arselvs, we shood think abaoot her. We shood faind a solooshen” “maybe there is no solooshen” he sed “ofcors there is a soolushen, we just havent faoond it yet” “what did we do rong?’ he asked her “there is no point looking for somone to bleim” she sed, determined. I admayered her. somtimes at nait, I cood hir them talking abaoot me. It meid me very sad. no mater how hard I traid, the words wood get mingled and I wood skip lains and after five minits 52

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of riding I wood looz mai pleis and forget what it was all abaoot. I remember the day mom faoond the ad in the peiper. She went to see this leidy withaoot teling as abaoot it. At diner she sed “at last, I think I faund her. she was ameizing. the energi in the room was so good. don’t you get this filing somtimes? The filing that this is it?” she asked dad, and he looked at her and sed “No” And we all lafed, becoz mom talks abaoot filings that dad yoojooali dazen’t no what she is toking abaoot. The ferst time I so mises hart, I cood izily understand what mom ment when she sed ‘good energi’, we went to a clinic in her haoos. The room was fool of lait and colorfool pilows and matching kertens. she sat on the carpet berfoot and her purple skert tached her legs gentli. I cood imagin her on my canvas siting on a carpet of flaooers, looking soft and prity,with her byootifol hair. “Hi Jessie, my neim is jein hart, you can call me jein, come on in” I was sepraized. evry person I met ignored me and talked to my mom and she ignored my mom and sat on the carpet. “I’m gesing you didn’t want to come today” she sed and I felt exposed, I looked at mom. “don’t wory abaoot it. I’d be sepraized if you wanted to come. I have been working in this fild for 20 yirs and I don’t remember one person that wanted to come. I think you nided a lot of carege and you can start by ading this qwolity to your list of strengths. Carege, that is a greit qwolity.” she sed and brot a notbook and a pen. “confyooshes ones said that aooer greitest glori is not in never foling, but raising agein evry taim we fol” she sed opening her notbook. “I think it is best if I explein what my profeshen is. I stadied somthing called speshel edukeishen, a lot of pipl ask 53

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me what a speshel edukeishen persen is and I tel them it is a persen who nos how the brain works. Naoo, I’m not a brein speshalist, I only no how the brein works in the lerning proses.” She droo a lain on her not book, from top to botem. “do you see this lain?” she asked me. “most of the pipl step on this path in there qwest for noledg. It is a very izi , camfterbl path. Pipl are difrent so sam of them use this path and others use a paralel path. It is a bit difrent, but stil it is smooth and izi.” She said and droo lains paralel to the ferst one. “you on the other hand, are using a very difrent path” she said and droo a lain starting from the seim pleis but insted of going streit up, it went in kerly weivs to the said. My hart droped, I felt so bed. “in this path, it teiks much longer to get to the top, it is not izi, not streit and not comftebl at all, but the path is so byutifool, no wonder you want to take the taim to enjoy it.” She sed and droo flaooers on my kerly lain, I thot it was nais of her to meik my lain naiser. “pipl do not chooz their path. it is the brein that disaids where it wants to go. The kerly pipl are very speshel pipl, most of them are very crieitiv and they have a difrent way of looking at things. They are inventors or artists. They cam up with things that pipl that use the streit lain can never lern.” She sed and kept drowing flaooers on the kerly lain. I looked at mom, she sat there, lisening to us and smailing. I cood see in her eyes that she felt relived, her chiks were red and her feis was shaining. With her eyes she sed “thenk you” to mises Hart. “let me giv you this pazel” she sed and geiv me a pazel that had red sqwers to poot in a freim. I finished it in no taim. “naw I want you to tray this one” she sed and geiv me this streng pazel with streng looking pises. At ferst I didn’t no 54

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what to do. It had difrent sheips and colors. and she helped me sort them in the freim. When we finished I smailed , it looked so prity, it had very nais lains , colorfool lains. “this pazel” she pointed to the sqwers pazel “ is what normal pipl’s brein looks laik. But this one” she pointed to the colorfool one “ is what your brein looks like. I hop you see the difrens . it was harder to finish it, to faind aoot the way to conect the pises, but I helped you and now that we’v finished , it looks greit, dazent it?” for a secend I felt very speshel, as if my problem was an advanteg, I looked at the lains , they were so prity. I wanted to biliv her. “we are going to play a gaim” she said and took aoot of a box a pak of cards with pictchers of fames peinters like De Vinchi, Gogen, and Renuar, whenever I imagin her feis I see a pictcher of her in renuar stail, with flawers araoond her and smadgi peint. “your mom told me you like to peint. We are going to pley a geim, a memori gem. Remember the lains ?” she asked and showed me her peiper and the lains she droo. “ Aooer job today is to find aoot exactly what your path looks laik. We have three opshens, one, to fors you to cach up” and she droo a streit lain from the top of my kerly lain on the said to the top of the streit lain. She did it so sharply, it olmost hert me. “we can let you continyou with your path or make conecshen bitwin yours and the streit lain” she sed and droo a doted lain bitwin my lain and the streit lain. “if you ask me, we nid to meik a conecshen bitween your path and the streit lain, not becoz we want to force you to be laik them, but becoz we don’t want you to be alon and aisoleited. Your brein wont let us cheing the path, but when it is not thretened we can crieit a conecshen , if it is 55

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convinced we are not going to teik away its aidentity, it will sho us how to crieit it.” She spred the cards on the flor, ap said daoon. I wanted to ask her so meny things, but I coodent spik. She talked abaoot my brein as if it had a seperet aidentity, as if I didn’t have any control over it. I didn’t no if I was hapy that this was not my folt or frastreited that I coodnt do enithing to cheing it. I wanted to ask her and the words didn’t cam aoot, I remembered mom saying “spik, sei what you have to sei, words coming aoot of your maooth can’t have speling misteiks” “what do you min by ‘thretened’”? I asked her. “we think we have fool control over the things in aooer heds, but we don’t. can you stop shivering if it’s frizing?” she asked, I shook my hed. “your brein is working all the time, even when you are aslip. All the things you fil or do are kemical riakshens, hapines is a kemical riakshen, sadnes, fir, anger. We think the filings are insaid and they cam ap whenever they nid to, but if you slap your brein whenever it takes a step forward by teling it ‘bad, bad, you are not on the rait path’, your body fils with poizenes kemicals and the brein is thretened” “but it is not on the rait path” I told her, she smailed “there is no rait path” she sed ,I looked at her, serpraised. I wanted to sei “ofcors there is!” but I new it wasn’t the rait thing to sei. “let’s pley” she sed “things wil be much clirer after we lern how your brein works” it was an izi memory geim. We had to tern over two cards at a taim and faind two matching ones. From time to time she spred the cards aoot or brot them closer to me. “what are you doing?” I asked her “traing to lern how your visual presepshen is” she sed and reviled two matching cards 56

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“my what?” “your brein has many secshens. the visual secshen proseses what you si throo your eyes. it is very important, I’m traing to see whether your brein likes to work in an orgenaized envayerment where evrything steis in one pleis, or prifers the envayerment to be as smol as posibl, iven if it mast sort the cards egein and egein?” “and?” I asked her. mom ceim closer and sat next to us on the carpet. “you find more pers when the cards stei in the same pleis. If I moov a card, you stil go to its old pleis.” She sed and rot sam nots in her notbook. “what does that min?” mom asked her. She smailed and looked araoond as if she was looking for somthing. “samtaims words dont have the pawer to explein” she seid, and got ap from the carpet.“ I’ll sho you what I min” she brot a box with 10 drors. She opened ich one of them and spiled the contents on the flor. It was totaly creizy. the flor was fool of bids, and fethers and cards and badges and all sorts of tainy things. “this is what is going on in your hed rait naw. a mes, a big mes. Can you plis bring me one bid?” I looked araoond, the flor was very mesy, I tried to moov sam of the cards to the said, I noticed it took me too long to get her the bid. “Jessie can you plis sort all this staf intoo the boxes?” she asked and helped me put the bids and the cards. mom helped us too. “naoo I want you to get me one bid” she sed. I opened the secend left dror and geiv her a bid. When I poot the bid in her hand I rialaized it was mach faster then the ferst time. “isnt it faster for evry one?” I asked. she shook her hed. “no, sam pipl can giv me the bid very fast in both situeishens” she said, I looked at mom, she looked serpraised too. 57

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“imagen that your brein looks laik those drors, but you have thousands or even millions of drors. When I asked you to bring me the bid, you went over the mes and traid to look for the bid, but when I told you to sort the things into the drors, you had to poot twenty bids in the dror, when ever you poot a bid in the dror, your brein registers it in your memory. it is laik a stamp for evry entry. It works the seim in school, if you lern a word, your brein reqwayers a serten number of entry stamps. Sam pipl nid 50 entris, others nid 300 and in your ceis abaoot 500 taims or even 1,000 taims. So you nid to si the word abaoot a 1,000 taims befor your brein seis ‘I no how to rait this word’.” at ferst I didnt no what she ment. it saunded anril. 1,000 taims, thats a lot. But it geiv me the anser to my qwestchen “why am I difrent?”. The way she sed it, we are ol difrent. Sam kids nid 50, the smart kids, and sam nid 1,000, the styooped ones. And I think she red my maind becoz she looked at me and sed. “sam pipl nid to teik one glans in a pictcher in order to copi or peint it, and others nid 1,000 lesens” and it meid so much sens. “the drors are not ol the sem saiz. your crieitiv dror is thin, you nid a fyoo entry stamps, but your raiting dror is very thik and you nid meny entry stamps. The riding dror is atached to the raiting. they have a sicret paseg bitwin them. If you fil the riding dror, the raiting dror fils up too” evry thing we do is an entry. The wey she discraibed it, I’m lerning ol the taim. She geiv me som bloks to bild and crieit paterns. I so her raiting sam nots. “why are you giving me this?” I asked her, traying to rest a bit from the hard work. “this geim cheks the way your brein dils with paterns. I can see it is a bit hard. dont wory too much, do as much as 58

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you can and when you fil youv had enaf, stop” she sed and kept on raiting in her notbook. She so me looking at her notbook. “I have very bed memory, I forget the resalts after one aooer. this is why I rait daoon evrything.” She apologaized. I had never herd a gron up seing they had bad memory. then she sed “ if you want I can rid you all the resalts” I looked at the paterns. they were very hard and I geiv up. She pleid sam other geims with me, itch only for a short time. Then she geiv me a book to rid. I was so slo, my eyes started wotering. She got up and ceim bak with a rooler that had a naro windo in it. she put it on the lain I was riding. The peig looked shorter. I felt my eyes relaxing a bit and I started riding faster. “this windo is helping your eyes fokoos on 3 or 4 words at a taim. It is much izier then for the brein to sort them into the rait drors” She asked me to tel her somthing nais abaoot my clas and I told her abaoot peny, a nais gerl that sits next to me in clas who can dro evry cartoon you can think of. samtaims I ask her to dro samthing and she has the imeg in her hed and starts droing it from a streing ples. somtaims she starts from the fit or the ear and only at the end I can si how it cams to life. Mises hart rot daoon evry word I sed and looked at my feis a lot. When I finished she sed “well, we are naw at a point where I nid to ask you to rait samthing. only 150 words. Most of mai styoodents heit this, which is why I liv it antil the end. I promis that after this, you can go hom. I’ll go over my nots tonait and we’ll talk again next taim. no mor tests after that” I wanted to run awey. she geiv me a pen and I felt very hot. 59

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“wood you like to rait with a pensel?” she asked and I felt much beter when she geiv me a pensel. The tip had an iraiser and I felt relived. “what wood you like me to rait abaoot?” I asked her. I had a lot of words in my hed, but I coodent rait them daoon. I wanted to rait a leter to my dad, but evry sentens I wanted to rait, I didn’t no how to rait a serten word an I kept looking for another word. “I don’t know what to rait abaoot.” I sed. she smailed. “I no Jessie, I no it is very hard, but I hav to analais your raiting. Do you hav any relatives that you hav agood relashenship with?” she asked “yes, my ant nik” I told her. “then rait a leter to nik” she sed and went bak to her nots. it took me a long taim to start raiting. I wasen’t shoor if I nided to rait ‘dir nik’ or ‘deer nik’ or ‘dear nik’. It all saoonded the seim to me. I looked at mom from taim to taim and she smailed and wispered “you can do it, go on, you can do it” I think it took me eiges to rait the sentenses. Evry sentens took so long, I was so afreid to rait it with a speling misteik. I ireised evry secend word. Evry new sentens I aded, I caoonted the words again. “how meny words hav you caoonted so far?” she asked. “89” I ansered. she looked at her watch and rot daoon the taim in her not book. “OK, you can stop naw” she sed and I geiv her the leter. “Jessie, I nid to ask you sam qweschens. and I nid you to be onest. If I showed you three ways to rait a word and only one is corect, wood you no which of them is the corect one?” I shook my head. “how meny books do you rid evry wik?” I didn’t sey anything becoz the anser was 0. I didn’t rid eny books. 60

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“when you hav to lern for a speling test, what do you do?” she asked. I looked at mom and mom sed yes with her hed. “I traied to rait it three taims, just laik the ticher sed, but I forget after ten minets. I traid raiting ten taims, iven twenty taims but it didnt help.” and when I told her this I remember what she sed abaoot the 1,000 entry stamps. Gosh its too much for one word. Then she geiv me two lists, and said “tel me which one will be harder to lern” she said the first list had very long words like byootiful, sucsesful, pleyful, armful, handful and things with ful and the other list had just words that I don’t remember. They were both very hard for me. “they are both very hard, but I think I will lern the ones with the ful a bit better” I told her. she smailed and got up from her cher. she was stil berfoot and looked so soft, laik an impreshenistic pictcher. “I think you worked very hard today Jessie, it is amazing to rid your words, it is so consistent. I’m sepraised. You don’t giv yourself the fridem to rait, I so you ireising your words and felt laik you were traing to fors yourself to moov to the sreit lain. You shood stop hiting yourself ol the taim.” I didn’t no what to say. No one, exept mom, thot I worked hard. she actchooaly expresed my filings in sach a good wey, I wanted to stey. “it was very careiges of you to cam today. you hav a very speshel mother. there are so meny parents I no that fait and fait and evenchooaly giv up and your mom didn’t. she is a breiv women too” she sed and woked us to the dor. “don’t forget to rait in your daiery” she sed. In the car, mom was qwayet. She drov and looked at me from taim to taim as if she so a cheng. “what do you think, Jessie?” she asked. 61

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“I don’t no, I rily don’t no, but I shoor no what you ment when you sed ‘good energy’.” I told mom and I cood see she was hapy to hir it. The day after, I sat in clas traying to disaid who was a streit lain and who was a kerly lain. Peny sat in her cher with her cartoons and I cood imagen her on this lain with the flaowers. mister sokoya was defenetly a kerly lain becoz he joked ol the taim and told us abaoot history in a very funy wey. jeison, the tol gay that sits at the bak is a very smart gay, but he is streing and dasnt hav meny frends. I’m not shoor if he is a streit lain or meybe he is kerly. He shoor looks good. I looked at ol the styoodents and sed to my self, this one nids 70 entry stemps and he has a thin dror and that one nids 400 entry stamps and his dror is thik. When mister sokoya tot history, I had a filing he had two stamps for evry sentens he sed or maybe we ol had a thin dror in history. Dir daiery, Today, I cooden’t weit for the miting with mises hart. I went over the last miting in my hed and traied to hav beter ansers. In my hed I told her so meny things. When we entered, the room smeled nais and looked laik she espeshily clined it for us. She held the report in her hand and sat on the carpet egein. “Cam, sit hir, I want to sho you my concloogens” she sed and sat down with her legs folded. She had soft long heir and she looked so yang and cool. I looked at the report. It had so meny words in it. “Don’t wory” she sed, as if she cood rid my maind. “you don’t hav to rid this, I’m going to explein evrything” she sed and started going over her report. “I told you last taim that difrent breins proses things in difrent weys. A long taim ago, pipl laik you were considered 62

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styooped antil they faoond aoot abaoot lerning dificeltis, which is a difrent neim for aooer cerly lain. One of those lains is cold dislexiya. In this lain it is hard for the brein to analais simbols, laik leters. This is why you can’t rid properly and this is why you can’t rait properly” she sed. I thot I had herd that word befor. It saoonded bad. “The regioolar ediooceishen sistem canot handl kids laik you properly bicoz they only no how to tich kids in the streit lain. And bicoz they hav a dificelty, they meik you fil like its your problem. And this is what they hav bin teling your mom for yirs. Sam of your problem is the sistems folt, bicoz piking up in erly yirs that you were cerly and not streit wood hav meid life much iziyer for evry one” she sed and shod me the droing she did the last taim. “insted of meiking conecshens from this cerly lain to the streit lain at an erly steig” she sed and droo a doted lain clos to the botem (it was a short lain). “with a bit of work, we hav to meik a much biger conecshen from the point that you are in naw. It is hard naw, but cen be dan!” she sed that confidently. From the point I’m in naw, the lain was much longer but I felt so strong, I had a lot of hop. “I hav noticed in your tests that when you told me abaoot your frend peny, you used so meny words, byootiful expreshens, but you were efreid to rait. At this steige, you hav so meny frustreiting expirienses that it limits your riten expreshen, which is wors then raiting with speling misteks” she sed and tached her skert “Why do you think we rait?” she asked me. “I don’t no, meybe we wont to sey samthing” I sed. “That’s rait, Jessie. We rait when we cant spik, bat we wont to sey samthing. Do you think that when samone els rids your raiting they can anderstand what you are seying?” she asked and I looked at her pazeled. “I don’t think so” 63

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“Well, then how cen you explein that I understood every word you rot?” I was so serpraised, I thot no one understood what I was raiting. Then she geiv mom a pis of peiper. And this is what the text sed (she geiv Mom the peiper and Mom geiv it to me) Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at an Elingsh uinervtisy, it deosn’t mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteers are at the rghit pclaes. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit any porbelms. Tihs is bcuseae we do not raed ervey lteter by itslef but the wrod as a wlohe. Mom smailed. “you can kip it” she told her “this text is a total mes, most of the words hir hav speling misteiks, but stil evry person can rid it. Your raiting Jessie is very much laik this text. When you lerned your English, you had a mes in your hed and not meny drors to poot the informeishen in, so you lerned the “saoonding aoot” sistem and you are very good at it. This is why you don’t rid the hol word. The words for you are a mixcher of saoonds. This is why your riding is slo. I understood every word you rot, evry one can understand your raiting, but you wont be eibl to rid this text.” she pointed to the text she geiv mom. Then mom asked her how cam I no how to rait my numbers or sam other words I rait properly and she expleind that when I lerned them, I lerned them as a groop. “Somone took the taim to crieit a dror, poot a sain saying ‘nambers’ on it and tot you ol the nambers together.” And I looked at mom. She was the one to do that in greid 5 when she was so frastreited and she kept me at home for two 64

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weeks and tot me how to rait the nambers and body parts and the ‘wh’ qwestchens and the days of the week. I never nyoo it helped. Mom told her she thot it was the tichers resposebility to do that and she sed that most of the children can poot the sain by themselvs. And then she asked me to tel her abaoot samthing that happened in my clas today but she told me to teik a dip breth after evry sentens. It saoonded fany but then she told me to do the seim when I’m raiting in my daiery or in school and whenever I stop to take a dip breth I shood poot a fool stop and start the next sentens with a capital leter. It was so izy to do it, bicoz I sey them aoot laood enywey. She rot so meny things in her report, she seid things and I remembered only the ones she geiv an exampel or toked abooot the lains or the drors. Then mom asked her “then what do we do?” She shod us the last peig in her report. It had a long list of things we shood do and she started to rid them to as. “Every taim Jessie cams to see me I’ll tich her a trik to get faster to her 1000 entry stamps and to crieit the conecshen.” And then she sed she wood contact the school to explein the resalts. “I’ll see evry one of your tichers and meik shoor he or she nos how to tich you.” I think mom felt beter that she woodnt have to explein to the tichers herself enymor. “Do you have a computer at home?” she asked and mom seid that we did and that I loved using the crieitiv programs that dad had bot me. “You nid to rait me a leter evry day, but you have to send it to me by email. The problem you have with raiting by hend is that you rait a mistek and it is not considered an entry. If you use a word prosesor you’ll have a red sqwigely lain under ich misteik and a green one under capital letters or rong pankchoeishen. You shood fix it. If you pleis the cerser 65

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over this lain and pres the rait maoos baten the computer wil give you opshens. Faind the rait one. When you pik the rait opshen the lain wil disapir. When you finish this leter, evey word wil get an entry stamp. Theoreticly, you nid abaoot 1000 leters to corect the words you are using in your leters.” It was a lot. A lot of days, a lot of leters, but I cood see the end of it. And then she told me to rid books. She sed any book, even books for greid 2 or 3 with larg print were good. Even riding the seim book. She sed that evry chaild rids 10 to 15 minits a day. It was hard for me to beliv they red so much. I think I rid meibi 1 minit a day. “You nid to catch up on ten yirs of not riding. If you rid laik them, 15 minits a day, the gap bitwin you wil stey the seim, bicoz the ather kids wont weit for you. They kip going forword. So you nid 30 minits a day in order to moov twais as fast as they doo.” I traid fainding taim to doo ol this. “We want your eyes to see the words 1000 taims. It dazent mater how. Theoreticly if you rid samthing 1000 taims, you shood be eibel to rait ol the words properly. I hop you anderstand it is not exactly 1000. It can be much mor, but in two to three weeks you’ll see a difrens.” There was hop after ol. She geiv me her email adres and I thot it was very nais of her to giv me her praivet email. She sed she wood send me short ansers to help me get mor entris. And then she geiv me a CD. She sed this was a tach taiping CD. “It is a very nais CD with a lot of geims. The only rool is to do a bit evry day. Lets sey 10 minits at list. If you skip one day you are in big trabel becoz your brein wont be eibel to stor the noledg insaid for sach a long taim. It wont remember.” 66

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When we ceim hom I went streit to my room and opened this daiery. I don’t think I’ve ever riten so much at one taim. I have so meny things to doo toomoro and I don’t no where to start. Mom sed that we’ll go to the laibrery and get sam books and I have to rait a leter to mises hart and start working on the CD. I was planing to continyoo with my pictcher toomoro but I think it can wait. Good nait daiery. Jessie Dir daiery, Waoo, I had a long day today. I got up erly and terned on the computer. I wrote mises hart a letter. You wont biliv it. I had so meny sqwigely lains. So meny, I olmost geiv up. Then I remembered her sentence:

“Never, Never, Never Give up!” And I sed, no, I can meik it. At ferst I fixed evry red lain and then I thot, meybe it is a good aidie to liv them and see how bad I am. I’m bad, rili bad. But I noticed that in the letter I yoos the seim words and when I fixed one, I nyou how to fix it egein and egein in evry pleis. It took me one awer to write 50 words. I hoped to tray the CD but mom sed I had to get redy for school. Mom ceim to pik me up from school and we went to the laibrery. I felt imbaresed to look at the coloured boxes on the big teible. There were boxes in difrent colours. The red ones were for biginers and the books in the blue boxes had more words on ich peig. I think I so 6 or 7 difrent colours. Mom sed we shood teik as much as we can from the red and when we’re dan we’ll go up a level. I red most of them in the car, on the wey hom.

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“Freedom is not worth having if it doesn’t include the freedom to make mistakes” - Mahatma Gandhi What a cowinsidens! Mister Sokoya toked about Gandhi today in history. I traid the CD she geiv me. It was a cool one. I think I worked mor then an awer. I laiked it a lot. My spid was very good and my acuresy was 80%. Not bad at ol. It is leit naoo. I have a long day toomoro. Dear diary, Since I am writing dear diary evry day, I thot it best to look it up in the dicshenery. It took me a long time to find it, but I felt good when I did. This morning when I got up I had an email from mises hart. It was exaiting to get an email from her. She rote a list of words and told me to rid them aoot laood and find a patern. Words like: take, bake, make, late, shake, mate, plate, name, shame. I red them six times antil I rielaized that the ‘a’ and the ‘e’ olways apir in the same plases. Then she told me to write 5 sentenses with ich word she rot. And make shoor thos words are riten properly. It took me a wail bicoz I taip so slowly. I had no problems fainding the sentenses. I felt praood to send an email with no sqwigely lains. When I look at the words I’m raiting now, I can si that there are meny words with the same patern. Mom went to the laibrery today wail I was at school. On the way home from school I red mom some of the books. I had the rooler with the windo mises hart had given me and it helped me a lot. This afternoon I worked on the taiping CD and did the hole midel row of my kibord. At that level I cood pley a lot of games and it was fun. 68

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Last Saturday, my clas went to a moovi, but not evryone was invaited. I hate them anyway. Good nait. Jessie Dear diary, Sory I havn’t written for so long, but I went to si mises Hart evry day befor or after school and stil had to practis my tipeing, write a letter and rid the books mom brot from the liberery. When I had no more books, I red the same books bicoz mises Hart sed it was stil an entry. In the last three weeks, I’ve felt like I have repited primery school. She shode me ways to overcome my speling mistakes and some of them actchooaly worked. I have finished ol the letters on my kibord but it is stil not the end of the CD. I’m geting beter at it. I can write ol the words with a 89% acurasy and spid of 21 words per minit. When I play the games I can tipe 35 words per minit. I’m very praood of myself.

“Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars” - Less Brown Which remineds me – I have finished my last pictcher. I droo an indigo nite and the moon. On one of awer trips, I took a foto of this glorios twailite. When the red sun clirs the stage for the moon and the stars. I remember I had this wanderful filing siing the nite in such a colourful way. I have bin planing to paint it for such a long time and it is finealy finished. Dad sed he wood frame it for me. Last week, the most streing thing hapend at school. The tichers were very nise to me and tride to make me participate in the clas activitis. In the last leson, the English ticher, mises Boyd, came up to me and sed “I never nyoo abaoot the way you lerned. We had a miting with mises Hart last nite and she expleined evrything to us. You can submit your 69

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work on tape or on the computer and insted of siting for a riten exam, you will sit with a ticher and tel her the ansers.” Then she smiled. She looked so difrent. I looked araoond to si if anyone was lisening, and they were ol bizy paking their books and gigeling abaoot a birthday party someone is having next week. “It is not going to be izy, not for you and not for us, but if we do it together, it is posibl” sed mises Boyd and put a book on the taible. “Shakespir is very hard to rid, so I spent some time in the liberery and faoond this ‘Shakespir for children’ book. You have three weeks to finish your asinement. You can ask someone to rid it for you, and submit it in any way you wish” she sed and went to pak her things. I rote about it to mises hart and she sed she had a good miting with them and that they were very cooprativ and came up with meny aidies to help me lern. My leters to mises Hart are very good naw and I’m hapy with my progres. Mom looks at it befor I send it and she fineds mistakes that the computer dasnt. Sometimes I think it is beter to write on the computer becoz it fixes my mistakes and I fil much beter noing that the person riding it is not going to think that some stupid girl sent him this letter. Sins I started I have mised only one day with my tipeing CD, but I told no one sins I sat a hol awer the day after. Mises Hart shode me this program that tiches the words in groops and I have to say I was serpized to find out that ich vawel had two saoonds. “I don’t think I’ve ever lerned that” I told her. “I’m shoor you did at one stage, but most of the children made a patern by themselves, wile riding. Your brein cood not do that by itself.” Mom was very upset to hir this. I think she sat there and blamed herself for not figering it aoot in first grade. Mises 70

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Hart went to her cabinet and took out a folder with meny laminated colourful pages. She gave mom one with the sentence

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is mystery, today is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.” “There is no point torchering yourself for things you had no wey of nowing. Think ahed” she told mom, but I think she was toking to me too. Mom showed it to me and we both smiled. Mises Hart has this pile of sentenses she yooses when she wants to explein something. When I came home today, I copied it on nise paper and posted it on the dor. I think I nid to rid it a lot to anderstend that there is no point complaining abaoot things that hapend a long time ago. But what abaoot the things that are hapening today? Like ol the clas is going to a party or a moovi and they never invite me becoz they think I’m styoopid. I don’t think she has a sentence for that. Dear diary, I planed on writing every day but it doesn’t work. I’m so bizy with the work Mises Heart gives me and my homework. I did a lot of my homework on the computer and because I tipe fast, I have a lot of time to fix my mistakes. Mom read me the Shakespir book and I wrote some notes. It was cool. I liked it. I wrote the anser on paper and then read it into the tape. Mom says I can do the same with all my homework; write the anser and then rid out laud in clas but I can’t take the risk of anyone looking at my notebook. Some time ago, Mises Heart gave me lists of words. She said if I lernd them in the right order I’d have les and les red lines on the computer. She shode me five lists. One was the 12 most used words, the second was the 36 most used 71

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words and then the first 100, the second 100 and the third 100. “Most of the words you use are on these lists. On my report I wrote that you have learned some groops and you have most of the first hundred fooly stamped in your brane.” She gave me so much work to do on the words I didn’t know from the first 100 words that I think I caunted 120 entry stamps for ich word. Today I can’t write much because I have a lot of homework. I have to say I like it. I have never been so bizy in my life and I have to say it is serprizing how much time I have. When ever I fil I have no time for something she gives me, I manage to sqwiz more work in as if the time can rily strech. One morning when we went to see Mises Heart (she asks me to call her Jane but I got so used to calling her Mises heart that I find it very hard to change). Mom told her she didn’t think we’d be able to do something because we had no time left during the day and Mises Heart smiled. She looked so gentel with her smile. She had this soft lite on her face, she moved her heir to the side and said “Henry ford once said ‘whether you beliv you can do a thing or not, you are right’, you won’t beliv how many things you can sqwiz into your daley rootin. Managing time is an art. I promis you both that by the end of this you will master this skil.” And she was right, because we did find the time to do it. I beter moov on to my homework. Other wise I won’t have time at all. Dear diary, School sucks, the tichers suck, everything sucks. I had a bad day at school. And it sucks! I’m not going to go there ever again! I need to get dresed because we are going in a minet to Mises Heart. I wish I had time to dro a pictcher. A black one with no lite. 72

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I’m back. The kids talked all day today about a moovi they went to see last night. Most of them went to the moovi and I felt like I didn’t belong. During lesens I sow some notes changing hands and a lot of gosip about Michelle and Brian siting together diooring the moovi and kising. I wanted to cray. I stood next to them dyooring brake and realized I was so difrent and it made me want to die. And as if I didn’t have the worst day of my life, Mister Sokoya asked Jeison to sit next to me. I felt so bad, I couldn’t hide my notebooks from him and he was frendly and wanted to help but I was so ashamed with my speling. When I went to Mises Heart she said “What’s rong Jessie?” I looked at her. I wasn’t shoor if mom had talked to her and had asked her to convins me to go to school, or maybe she was very sharp and had noticed by herself. “I had a bad day at school” I said and kept on working. “I have to say I am serprized to hir it” she said “ I would have thot that most of your days would be bad and only some good, but it looks as if it is the other way around.” She gave me this close exersize that I had to fil in. I was shoked. It’s troo! I used to have so meny bad days. I remember that every week I had this discasshen with mom about not going back to school. “So you try to look at the bright side?” I asked her. “The big question in life is not why things hapen to us, but what we do about them” she said. “And who said that?” I asked her. “That is Jane Heart’s verjen of something Socrates ones said” she said and didn’t explain. “I can’t imagen you having bad time at school” I told her and she smiled. “Oh, I had hell at school. In primery school I had lokimia and I couldn’t hide anything. I had no hair and I was in 73

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hospital for a long time and no one from school came to visit. No one, but one ticher. She was wonderful. She helped me understand there were more important things in life then school. Do you know how many bad days I had? Every day was a bad day. I can caoont on my two hands the good days in school. But you know, this ticher, Mises Wiliams, once told me ‘What doesn’t kil you, makes you stronger’ and she was right, because I had no plans on daing and it made me stronger. So bad things can tern into good things if you change the way you look at them” she said and kept on writing notes on her notebook. I had tirs in my eyes. I imagined her with no hair, going to school and all those crul kids making fun of her. And she mised so much school that she probably didn’t know what the tichers were talking about. “Mises Wiliams told me that I have strengths that I didn’t know I had antil I had to use them. She made me a poster and left it on the dor and it said ‘the best way out is olways throo’. I never knew how grate an efect it had on me antil I went to yooniversity. She was in my heart long after I left school.” “Is this why you help other kids now?” I asked her. “I ges so” she said “Mises Wiliams told me that when she was in hi school, she had a problem and was about to be throne out of school and one of her teachers helped her stay. It was very inspayering for me. Tel me, what hapend at school today?” I wanted to tel her about the moovi and jeison siting next to me, looking at my books and notebooks, but it all saunded so sily, there are so many moovis and Jeison is olso cerly, and it is not a queschen of life or deth. One day, when I lern to love myself, they will love me too. I sow this sentens on this diary when I fliped throo the pages. “Nothing siries” I said and she smiled again. 74

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When we came home, I had a serprize from Dad. He had made posters from my pictchers. He had printed them on glosi paper and they looked amazing. “Waoo, it looks grate! Maybe we should frame them” mom said. “No, no” said dad. “We’ll frame the originals. These are for Jessie to put on her notebook covers.” I was shoked. “You are so talented. I’m very praud of you. You should put these on your notebook and be proud too,” he said and I cride, and we kised and huged and it looked like a sin from a moovi. In the end, it turned out to be a very good day. Dear diary, I don’t know if I beliv in fate or luck. I don’t know what I fill. I think this is happines, I wonder if the things that happend yesterday, happend for a rissen. The hole day I thot, what if mom and dad had alowed me to stay at home. Today, in Math lessen, I traid to hide my notebook from Jason with my pensel case. But he kept on looking at my things and fainaly said “Waoo, this is byootiful.” He took my notebook and looked at the picture on the cover. I panicced and tried to take it back from him. “This is amazing! Hang on, let me look for a secend. Where did you get it from?” he asked, admayering my pictcher. It was my ‘moon and stars’ pictcher. “I droo it,” I told him and he stoped, looking shoked. He looked at me and then at the pictcher, then he brot the pictcher close to his eyes. “I can see your signicher on it. It is yours,” he said serprized. “Do you have any more of these?” he asked and I couldn’t anser, I just nodded. 75

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“Can I please see?” he asked nisely. Without saying anything, I took out all my notebooks. Jason looked at all of them with his eyes wide. “These are the most byootiful pictchers I have ever seen” he said. “Thank you,” I said quietly, “I studied art in primery.” “This is nothing you can lern in an art lessen in primery. This is art that only rare pippel can create. You are lucky,” he said and I felt as praud as a pikkok. He talked to me but without looking at me, he kept on looking at the pictchers. Then he left them on the tabel and said “So you are an artist? I never knew” he said and I couldn’t spik. “Maybe you can tich me to dro and I can tich you something you are not so good at. My dad olways sais that god gives us something and takes something away. It’s only fair, you know.” I nid him to tich me everything; to rid, to write. I wanted to cry, for not being able to talk, for not being used to boys talking to me. “Well, what do you think?” “It is a bit complicated, you see. I don’t know how to tich you to dro and you can not help me because I have dislexiya. It is a problem that makes it hard for me to rid and write.” “I know what dislexiya is. My dad is dislexic. He is a big maneger now. He found out in grade 2. He said he never let it bother him that much. He stil uses the same rooler you’re using to read. That’s no bigi” he said. I had never herd him talk so much. Then Mister Marsden said with a firs voice “Jason, have you finished with the excersize?” and Jason said “Yes, yes, I have, but I think there is something here you should see, sir.” He lifted one of the notebooks in the air. Everyone stopped and looked at Mister Marsden aproching our table. He took the Math book and looked at it cerfuly. 76

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“That is byootiful. Who did this?” he asked Jason and Jason looked at me. I looked at mister Marsden and he looked difrent to me. He was always so siries. Well, he was siries then too, but difrent. “There are more of these,” said Jason and gave him the rest of the notebooks and I thot all that time how the day before I didn’t want to come to school. And only the day before dad brot me the posters. Was this a qowinsidens or maybe there is a plan for us all? Mister Marsden made some serprized sounds and soon all the students got up and came over to our table. In secends it wasn’t a Math lessen anymore and Mister Marsden didn’t mind. They passed on the notebooks and admired them. The bell rang and every one rushed to live the room. Mister Marsden gave me the notebooks and said “Well done Jessie, well done. You are very good. The art department is looking for aidies to decorate the entrans. I’ll tell them about you.” I smiled. I think my heart almost berst. I had this lump in my throt and I tried very hard not to cry. Jason sat there for a secend or two and then he packed his blue bag and left for lunch. I was in the class all by myself, crying. Dear diary, It has been six months since I started going to Mises Heart and we reduced the frekwensi of the lessens to three times a week. It gave me some time to do other things and I started art lessens on Thursday evening. My Art teacher helped me with this picture of a lady siting with a skirt on a carpet full of flowers, which looks as if she is in a field of flowers. Dad says it is going to be my best picture ever and he can’t wait to frame it. I’m so good at my typing that I do most of the assinements on the computer. Mises Boyd asked me to send her my 77

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English homework by email and I have finished reading my first 270-page book. I think my spelling is better since I don’t have so many red squigly lines when I type. I have riched a stage where I can fix my squigly lines by myself, without clicking the right mouse butten. Mises Heart said that most people have some spelling mistakes and I have to say I was serprized to hear that. I always thot I was supposed to be perfect. Dear diary, Last week was a stresful week. The end of the term is always stresful. Because I can’t sit for tests, most of the teachers gave me a written assinement, which in some cases was wors. With some of them I had to scedual time for an oral exam. I couldn’t bring notes, but had to memorise most of the matirial. I studied so much I knew all the answers by heart. Today was a special day for me. We had a History lesson with Mister Sokoya and every one was excited and talked about selebrating the end of the term with a movie and a trip to the beach. I was so dipressed but I thot about Mises Heart going to school with no hair, and it helped me realize that there are wors things. Mister Sokoya came in with the tests under his arm. I was sitting close to him but didn’t try to find mine because I hadn’t taken a written exam. Jason stretched himself to see the markings on the table. I always thot that students like Jason weren’t worried about their marks. He always gets 95% to 100%, and we know because all our teachers usually annaunce the students with 90% or higher. He was so smart, didn’t talk much and had a book with him all the time. I don’t think I ever sow him playing basketball with the others or hanging out with any of the boys. 78

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Mister Sokoya started the lesson with jokes, but everyone looked siries and no one laffed. “Why are you so sirius?” he asked. “It is only an exam. Ok, ok, I’ll give you your exams. You were very good. I was very happy to see that you know something about the history of the world.” He started giving out the tests, calling each student’s name and handing them the exam papers. After about 6 tests, he called out Jason’s name and Jason got up from his chair. “You were brilliant! Well done. If I remember correctly, your exam was the second best. 96%. Well done.” Jason smiled from ear to ear. He gets those marks every time and still looks as if he’s serprized and excited. He took the exam paper and sat and read it again. I didn’t expect to hear my name, since I didn’t think I had a written exam, but Mister Sokoya held a paper in his hand and called my name. I think every one expected him to hand out the paper and say nothing, like they usually do, but he kept holding it. “I had the most unusual exam with Jessie. I sat with her and she had to tell me the answers out loud. It was very strange for me, because I wrote down the things she said. Do you know when I last had to sit for an exam? I actually liked it. Next time you are all going to have an oral exam, so I don’t have to sit for hours and check them insted of baking a cake. No gigeling, I love to bake, I consider my self kwite an artist. Don’t you know the gratest chefs in the world are guys?” he said, but everyone still gigeled. “Anyway Jessie, you had a grate exam,” he said and I missed a heartbit. “I see that sitting next to Jason did you well.” We were both imbarresed and turned red. “I’m happy to annaunce that Jessie had the best exam in class and got a score of 97%,” Mister Sokoya said and 79

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handed me a paper with his handwriting and the score written in red pen and circeled. I couldn’t hide my tirs. Never, ever in my life, had I resived 97% on an exam. I wanted to jump and scrim and say “yes, yes, yes!”. Everyone said “waoo” and he went on to the next person. Jason smiled at me and kept looking at his exam, while Peny made a critcher out of her 82% mark. We didn’t have much of a lessen, because Mister Sokoya spent the entire lesson talking about the exam. I kept looking at my paper. It wasn’t my handwriting, but it had my name on the top written by Mister Sokoya. The red number looked grate. I wanted to fly home and show mom or call Mises Heart. During lunch brake, everyone talked about going to a daytime movie and then take a bus to the beach. Some girls went from one to the other and invited them to join. I knew they wouldn’t ask me to come, because they never had. Dip inside I hoped that a good mark would make me part of them, but I gess I was wrong because Jason gets good marks all the time and I don’t think they ever invited him. I didn’t want to destroy the grate day. In my school diary, I copied a sentence from Mises Heart’s office:

“Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but really great ones, make you feel that you, too, can become great” - Mark Twain So I left the class and went to sit near the cafetirria to eat my sandwich and go over my exam paper again. “Hi Jessie,” I heard a voice, when I was drawing a cerly line on my exam. It was Jason. He had a book in his hand, as usual. “Hi,” I answered. “Congratulations,” he said. He looked shay. 80

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“Thank you,” I said. “That was really good. Maybe now you can teach me to dro?” he asked. I was so imbarressed, and I said “Shoor.” He smiled. “Grate, grate, see you later,” he said and started leaving, but then he terned around and said “Would you like to go to a movie?” I almost choked. “I didn’t think you were invited,” I told him, hardly able to get the words out of my mouth. He came closer and shifted his weit from one leg to the other. I could imagin him on my canvas, with his glasses and the school uniform hanging on him. “I wasn’t,” he said, and I smiled. “I’ll be happy to,” I said and he smiled too. “Grate, grate,” he said and walked backwords. “I’ll see you later, then,” and he turned away. On my exam paper, I droo two cerly lines with flowers joining into one.

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The Building of Life Mrs. Cooper was going over the newspaper in the staff room when Chris and Sam came to ask for her advice. She was their home-group teacher and students often came to see her. She smiled at them. “Hi, Mrs. Cooper. We had a problem at our class meeting. Sam thinks we need to ask you to come to our next meeting,” said Chris. “We were trying to decide whether to charge a bit extra for our Mother’s Day stall to help some of the kids that have no money, or leave it the way it is,” said Sam. “It turned out to be a big fight,” added Chris. “Just like it is every time we discuss politics,” smiled Mrs. Cooper. “It was worse. We had to physically separate six children that almost hit one another. Kristy left the meeting crying and Julie left after her.” Mrs. Cooper didn’t like the sound of this at all. Having different opinions was OK, but getting into fights and making people cry was unacceptable. “Some kids said they didn’t want to help the students who could afford lunch orders in the canteen. Others said it was not the children’s fault they didn’t have pocket money. They started calling one another names and pretty soon we couldn’t have a civilized conversation anymore,” said Sam. “We sounded exactly like politicians in the Senate. It was really bad,” added Chris. Mrs. Cooper had been looking for the right moment for a long time. She had written this lesson plan a long time before. She smiled at Sam and Chris. 83

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“We will discuss this in our next Social Studies lesson,” she said, and the two students left the staff room. On Monday, Mrs. Cooper came into class with a big model of a building and put it on the floor by her desk. “We are going to play a game for a few weeks,” she said and gave the students a stack of sheets. On the front was a photo of her beautiful model. There were case studies and questions and, at the end, many blank sheets of paper. “Before we start, I want each and every one of you to write your opinion about the case I’m going to read to you,” she said and posted on the blackboard two big photos of two men. One of them had blond hair; he was young and had a nice smile. The other one was an older man. He was serious-looking and was dressed in a suit and tie. “This is Michael,” she pointed to the young man. “Michael represents the right wing of the political life. And this is John,” she pointed to the serious one. “He represents the left wing. You need to choose one of them as your representative for the next elections.” “But we are too young to vote,” said Phil. “And stupid,” added Brittany, “No wonder they don’t let you vote. It’s only a game.” Everyone laughed. Mrs. Cooper ignored the conversation. The best way she knew to discourage such talk was to ignore it. “On the first page, you can see Michael’s political philosophy. Sam, please read it aloud,” she said. “I believe in free economy. If you work harder, you deserve more. The money is yours and you have the right to decide what to do with it. I believe every person is responsible for his or her own destiny. Every person’s rights should be respected, with no exception. The government is a

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body we pay to give us services. Every member of our society should have an equal share of taxes to pay, to help run the government. Taxes should not punish the ones that produce more, in order to reward the lazy people,” Sam finished reading. “Sarah, please read the next paragraph. It describes John’s political philosophy,” said Mrs. Cooper. “I believe in a socialistic community. ‘All for one and one for all’. I believe in an equal society. I believe in a life of sharing, where the fortunate people share with those less fortunate. Our government is a body we pay to give us services. Everyone should give his or her share. If you earn more, you pay more. This way, the rich have a bit less and the poor get the chance to live a decent life. I believe a person cannot live on his or her own and therefore the public interest is more important then the individual’s,” Sarah finished reading. The class was noisy. Mrs. Cooper was happy to hear this noise. She could see the wheels in their heads turning. “On page 22 you have a question about your own political philosophy. You are still young, but you do make decisions based on your philosophy. I learned a lot of politics from my dad. I’m sure you hear a lot about it from your parents. Every house is like a small state to run and your parents are the government of the house. Remember, no one is going to read this but you. You need to write whether Michael or John is your preferred politician and why.” It was noisy at the beginning, but Mrs. Cooper called it a ‘moment of truth’, when students wrote down their beliefs and there was no need to convince the others of anything. Slowly, the class went quiet. Everyone was focusing on his or her white page. Mrs. Cooper looked at them. They were young, but one day some of them would be the future leaders. 85

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When everyone had finished, Mrs. Cooper took the building model and put it on her desk. “This model is called ‘The building of life’. It has 100 floors and 320 units. There are 1,000 people living in the building; singles, couples, with children or without, and even some old people. We are going to be the building government. We are the committee that runs this building. We’ve calculated the cost of running this building and found out it costs us $1,600,” said Mrs. Cooper and wrote the figures on the blackboard. “How much tax should we charge the people living in the building?” Scott was the best Math student in his grade. He took some scrap paper, wrote down the figures and said “If there are 320 units, and we need to charge a total of $1,600, then we need to charge each unit $5.” “Thank you,” said Mrs. Cooper and wrote on her blackboard ‘$5 per unit’. She turned to the class and said. “The problem we have is that Mr. McCarthy thinks he shouldn’t be charged so much, since he lives on the first floor and he does not use the lift.” “He is right; we need to give him a discount. If you use the lift, you pay. You can always walk down the stairs; it’s good exercise,” said Alex “The lift is part of the building. We can’t charge people by the time they use the lift,” said Natasha. “Why not?” asked Mrs. Cooper. “Is it fair that we charge a man in the country taxes to pay for a highway in the city, which he is going to use once or twice in his life?” Natasha was quiet. “I still think it’s impossible to monitor the lift for every person using it.” “How about if every person getting into the lift had to pay for that use?” suggested Brian. “Mrs. Hailey is an old woman, living on the 90th floor. She can’t afford to pay so much for the lift and I don’t think she 86

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can walk down. On days when the lift needs repair, she can’t leave the house.” “Even without Mrs. Hailey, it’s a bit of a problem. What if six people from six different floors are using the lift at the same time? How much does each pay?” asked Chris. “It’s just like a shared Taxi. People share,” said Brian. “Who pays for a friend coming for a visit?” asked Emma. “Let’s just give Mr. McCarthy a discount and that’s it,” said Alex. The class had no good solution. Sam kept on mumbling it wasn’t fair and Mrs. Cooper continued. “Mrs. Hailey, our old lady from the 90th floor, says she is not willing to pay for the cleaner to clean the stairs every week. She says people hardly ever use the stairs on the 90th floor, so they need to be cleaned only once a quarter.” “She is right,” said Alex. “We should give her a discount. She shouldn’t pay for something she doesn’t use.” “You can’t just give everyone discounts. Someone else needs to pay for these discounts,” said Sarah. “What if every unit cleaned its own area? We could save the cleaning costs,” said Daniel. “It would never work. At school, we have monitors who need to tidy up at the end of each day. When was the last time this happened?” countered Sarah. On the left side of the room, Kerri raised her hand. She was very quiet and rarely said anything in class. Mrs. Cooper noticed her immediately. “Yes, Kerri?” “What if we tell Mr. McCarthy that he can get a discount for the lift, but he needs to pay more for the cleaner, and tell Mrs. Hailey she can get a discount for the cleaner and pay more for the lift? This will bring them both to the same amount of $5.” 87

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Everyone looked at her in surprise. It was so simple, yet so fair. Mrs. Cooper had a big smile on her face. She couldn’t hide her feelings. She was very proud. “What do you think?” she asked the class. “I think it’s fair. We use some things more and other things less. But in the end it evens up,” said Sam. The rest of the class nodded. “If you think you want to write notes in your booklet, please do so. I’m glad we’ve solved this problem. It was an elegant solution. Great idea, Kerri. Unfortunately, Mr. McCarthy has another problem. He thinks the water pump needs to be charged differently. He thinks that Mr. and Mrs. Ronzio, who live on the 45th floor with their ten children, should pay more for the water.” “They do use more water, don’t they?” asked Alex. “They probably have less money to pay, since they have ten children,” said Sarah. “No one told them to have ten children. You have to consider these things before you have children,” said Phil. “I hope you understand the building represents our country. We are a government for a few lessons, trying to run this country. Mrs. and Mr. Ronzio are religious people. They believe pregnancy is a gift from God and they should never avoid it. Are we or aren’t we a free country, where people have the right to believe in anything they want?” asked Mrs. Cooper. She knew she was getting into a sensitive area, but avoiding it would have been inappropriate. “It’s a free country, but still their beliefs make the rest pay more,” said Chris. “Someone else’s religion is to color the windows blue. You can’t have an evenly colored building with a blue spot on the 50th floor,” said James. 88

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“I personally don’t think we need any religion in our country. People just hurt one another with it. I would say you can have your own beliefs as long as they don’t interfere with the community life,” said Scott. “I don’t think you’re right,” said Nicci, “I go to Church every Sunday and people there are very nice and help one another.” “I didn’t say all religious people were bad, but there is more evil than good in the things people believe today. How do you explain the many streams of Christianity? Don’t they all believe in the same God?” continued Scott. “Mrs. and Mr. Ronzio are very good people. They don’t want to hurt anybody and they love their children very much,” said Mrs. Cooper. “Still, don’t you think it’s too much to have ten children?” asked James. “Did you know that in China people can’t have more then one child? Would you like that to happen here?” asked Brittany. She was an only child and this was a sensitive issue for her. “He didn’t say ‘don’t have kids’, but you have to agree that in this building, if you can’t pay for your ten children, someone else will have to pay for them,” said Daniel. “If I lived there, I wouldn’t pay for them. I don’t think I need to pay for other people’s decisions. If I decide to live on my own and have no children, why should I pay more just because someone else hasn’t thought about his or her budget?” said Ben. When the class was finally quiet, Mrs. Cooper asked the next question. “Well, Mr. McCarthy had another reason to ask for Mr. and Mrs. Ronzio to pay more for the water bill. Since they had a big family, Mr. Ronzio had worked very hard and had 89

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bought two units on the 45th floor, then combined them into one unit.” “They need to pay twice the amount, then. They need to pay $10, because they actually occupy two units,” said Scott. “They already paid twice when they bought the units,” said Natasha. “If we charge per unit, then they must pay twice,” said Scott. “Then we shouldn’t charge per unit. We need to charge per person,” said Natasha. “This brings us to the next problem,” said Mrs. Cooper. “On the 4th floor, in a small unit, live three migrant families. They moved in not long ago and each couldn’t afford to buy a house, so they bought a small unit for three families. They sleep on the floor on mattresses and share the kitchen and toilet and even the blankets on cold nights. How much should we charge them?” Natasha lowered her head. This wasn’t what she had meant. “People who can’t afford living in this building shouldn’t move there,” said Nicci. “This is so cruel. What you’re saying is ‘if you were born poor, you will die poor. If you were born rich, you’re welcome into our building’. It’s terrible,” said Sam. She was a rich girl, who cared for the whole world. She wanted everyone to love one another and share everything. Emma had once asked Sam if she was so generous only because she was rich and could afford to be. Mrs. Cooper thought Sam was a great girl but a little naive. “What if they weren’t immigrants and they couldn’t afford a unit and they shared one?” asked Chris. He knew what it meant to share a room with two big brothers. 90

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“They still use the lift more, and they use more water per unit,” said Ben. “But they are willing to compromise and live in a crowded place. Isn’t that bad enough? There are some places in the world where people don’t have a roof to hide from the rain or the sun. You talk like you don’t know how it feels not to have a shelter over your head,” said Brittany. “It’s their choice,” said Ben. “No, it’s not!” said Sarah, “I’m sure if they had a choice, they would prefer living in three different units or even in a penthouse on the top floor.” It was indeed a beautiful building. The top floor was a big unit with a sun roof. “Who lives in this nice place with the sun roof?” asked Emma and pointed to the last floor. “This is the penthouse. Mr. and Mrs. Newman live there. Mr. Newman is a millionaire. He was once a poor child and bought a steel dumpster and made his fortune out of it. His unit, as you can see, spreads over the whole floor. By the way, Mr. Newman has four cars; one for every one of his household members.” “I think we need to charge Mr. Newman $20 for maintenance,” said Chris. “But we are not charging by unit. We are charging per person. Let’s divide the $1,600 to 1,000 people and charge each person $1.60. The old lady then pays only $1.60,” said Ben. “And the 12-person family would have to pay $19.20 and the migrants too, even though they have only one unit or two. Mr. Newman would only pay $6.40. Do you think it’s fair?” asked Sam. “You can’t punish him for being rich,” said Alex. “It’s not a punishment. If I charge Mr. Newman more and give a bit to the migrants or the Ronzio family, he would have a bit less and they would have a chance for a 91

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comfortable life. I don’t blame him for being rich, but you can’t blame them for being poor,” said Sam passionately. “How many spaces are there in the car park?” asked Daniel. “One for every family. As a matter of fact, one per unit. But most of the people don’t have cars, so there are a lot of empty spaces,” answered Mrs. Cooper. She liked the way Daniel thought. “Do we need to charge the units for the parking, then?” he continued. “We do. We have calculated the maintenance of the car park in the budget,” said Mrs. Cooper. “Why is that? We don’t need to clean the cark park, do we?” asked Emma. “Well, there is nothing you get for free. Even painting the spaces, changing light bulbs and taking care of the gates to the car park costs something,” said Mrs. Cooper. Kerri had watched the whole discussion and hardly said anything. When she raised her hand to talk, everyone settled down. “We can assume that families without cars have less money. It might be a good idea to divide the cost of the parking between all the cars and ask them to pay their share. It’s as if Mr. Newman is paying some of the poor families for using their space.” The class was quiet. Mrs. Cooper moved on to introduce the next tenant. “I think it’s time to meet Mr. Mitchell, the man from the th 17 floor. He worked for Mr. Newman in his factory. Many people living in the building work for Mr. Newman. One day, on his way home from work, he had an accident. He broke his back and couldn’t go back to work. Mr. Mitchell has two kids and his wife works very hard. The doctor said he had to stay at home for almost a year and after that he wouldn’t be 92

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able to go back to his old job. So Mr. Mitchell can’t pay his share of the budget because he doesn’t have the money,” said Mrs. Cooper. “You don’t mean we need to charge the rest more because he can’t pay, do you?” said Ben. “I only mean you all have to decide what to do,” said Mrs. Cooper. “Maybe it’s his fault. Maybe he wasn’t careful enough on the road. Everyone works hard for their money,” said Alex. “He drove carefully and the lady that bumped into him had lost control of her car,” said Mrs. Cooper. She had to make this story up to keep them focused. “Then the other lady should pay for his taxes,” said Phil. “Unfortunately, she is dead,” said Mrs. Cooper. They all looked at one another. For some time they looked puzzled and confused. “He must have some savings,” said Scott. “No,” said Mrs. Cooper. “We can take it from his wife’s salary,” said Ben. “Haven’t you been listening? Mrs. Cooper just said his wife was working very hard and he had no savings. They probably don’t have money for food,” said Brittany. “You cannot expect all the tenants to pay extra for everyone’s personal problems,” said James “Yes, I can. We don’t live in a vacuum. It’s one building and whether we like it or not, there are many things we have to share, good or bad,” said Brittany. “This way you are punishing the good people, the healthy people and the smart people and making them pay more for all the weak people,” said Brian. “Are you saying that people with ten kids are weak? Or that those migrants are weak? Or maybe that the old lady or the injured guy are weak? They are people. They have the same rights,” said Sam. 93

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Mrs. Cooper thought no one would have the courage to answer. She wanted to step in and save the conversation, but knew that it was the same in life. The strong survive. “Yes, they are weak,” said Emma, after a long period of silence. She was one of the kids who preferred everyone to pay a bit more, but only because she couldn’t pay for herself. “Every person who can’t pay for himself and needs someone else to pay for him is weak. And it doesn’t matter what the reason is,” she said quietly. Mrs. Cooper smiled at her. “It’s a good point,” she said to encourage her to stay in the conversation. “I don’t think there is a way to solve this problem,” said Brian. “How about we all quit? How about if the government quit?” said Brittany. “I think it’s time to move on to our next problem,” said Mrs. Cooper. “There are five families representing this building. They need to make sure the cleaner does his job and they buy the mops and detergents. They need to call the service, fix the letterboxes and pay the bills, take care of the garden and so on. In their last meeting, they said they didn’t want to work for the building anymore, since they had spent a lot of their family time on this work and they wanted to be paid for it.” “It doesn’t work that way. People can’t just say they want money,” said Nicci. “Why not? They volunteered, but now they can see it’s very demanding and takes a lot of their time. Sometimes they have to leave work to take care of the cleaner or the gardener or the lift service,” said Mrs. Cooper. “They can ask the workers to come in the evenings,” said Phil. “How can you do the gardening in the evening?” asked Emma. 94

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“People who work in the evenings get paid more for their time,” said Scott. “How about sharing this role? For example, every month five different families can be on the committee,” suggested Daniel. “What if someone can’t?” asked Ben “Tough!” said Brittany. “Mr. Newman is a very busy man and he went to Mr. Lacovski, who lives on the 72nd floor and asked him to fill in for him on the committee in exchange for some money. What do you think?” “That is outrageous!” said Sam. “Mr. Newman is using his power to take advantage of Mr. Lacovski.” “No, he’s not. He is doing something good. He is giving Mr. Lacovski an opportunity to make some money,” said Sarah. “Yes, I don’t see anything wrong with it either,” added Alex. “We go back to the poor and rich. Mr. Newman can’t buy everything he wants with money!” said Sam. “Obviously he can pay someone to take over his place on the committee,” said Chris. “Do you think it’s fair?” asked Brittany. Kerri raised her hand again. How can she solve this problem this time? They all wondered. “I don’t think this is a question of fair or not fair. No one ever said life was fair. If you’re born crippled, is it fair? If you walk on the street and get hit by a car, is that fair? If you watch TV and get a heart attack and die, is that fair? Still, it happens. It’s not fair, but that’s life. Mr. Newman is doing something good for Mr. Lacovski, and he is doing something good for the building. He didn’t force him to do anything. He asked him. He offered him some money in 95

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exchange for his time. I think discussing whether something is fair or not isn’t relevant to our game,” she said. Mrs. Cooper was so proud. They were only teenagers. It’s not easy to deal with the hard questions in life when your hormones are in full swing. She looked at them and could imagine them as adults – some talking about fair and not fair and fighting windmills all their life, some taking good care of themselves, some asking the questions and some finding the answers. Sam didn’t know what to say. She knew Kerri had been right. Life was not fair and no one could ever say it was. “It’s true, but still very sad” Sam sighed. The class was quiet again. “I would like to introduce two members of the building,” said Mrs. Cooper and put a sign on the 12th floor. “Tom and Kim live on the 12th floor. Kim is 12 and Tom is 10 years old. They live alone. How much do you think we need to charge them?” “I don’t see the point of adding new problems if we haven’t solved the previous ones,” said Emma. “I don’t think life waits for you to solve your problems before it creates the next one,” said Brittany. Mrs. Cooper couldn’t have said it better. “It’s only a game, after all. You don’t need to lose perspective,” said Scott. “It’s too real to be a game, don’t you think?” countered Brittany. “Kim and Tom represent the children in our society. Who do you think is responsible for them?” asked Mrs. Cooper. “Don’t they have grandparents or family they can live with?” asked Phil. “What do you want to do? Ask their grandparents to pay their share of the taxes as well as their own? What if they can’t afford to pay?” asked Brian. 96

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“Surely you can’t expect the rest of the tenants to take responsibility for them,” said James. “But someone has to!” said Natasha. The class became quiet. Everybody looked confused. Mrs. Cooper decided to wait and let the students think about the last point a little longer. “I don’t think there is a solution to this,” said Alex. “I think there is a very easy solution,” said Sam. “How about sharing? We can give to others and think about others and not only of ourselves.” “It’s all nice. Very nice” said Scott. “They are children, so they have to go to school and can’t work, but on the other hand you can’t help all the people in need. Who needs more? The children, the Mitchell family or maybe the migrants? I think Alex is right; there will never be a perfect solution.” “We’re not looking for a perfect solution. I think a reasonable solution is good enough,” said Daniel. “We can make a donation box and use the donation money to help people in need,” said Nicci. It worked in Church, so she thought it might work here too. “You can’t count on donation. What if we don’t get enough?” said Chris. Kerri raised her hand. “I wanted to suggest that every person give a percentage of his or her income to the committee and this should cover more than the expected bills. People with no income, like children, old people or injured people, will pay little or nothing. If you earn more, you end up paying more, but it’s the same percentage. Let’s say everyone who works must pay 5% of income to the building. We can calculate the percentage we need to cover the costs,” she said gently. “This way you encourage people not to go to work,” said Chris. 97

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“Do you think people are stupid enough to stop working and have no money for food just to avoid paying their taxes?” asked Brittany. “She’s right. For every dollar you earn, you still get to keep 95 cents, so you are actually encouraged to work more if you want to earn more,” said Scott. “Some people will end up paying more taxes than others’ income. It’s not fair,” said Ben. Mrs. Cooper wanted to say so many things during this conversation. Before the game started, she thought she knew the answers to everything. She knew that at their age, discussing fair or not fair was part of daily life. She looked at Kerri. She never thought she would find a child that age with such a mature way of looking at the difficulties in life. “It might be unfair for Mr. Newman, but very fair to the children or the migrants,” said Sarah. She looked at Kerri. “Anyway, no one ever said it’s a fair world. Do you think it’s fair to have to live all by yourself with no mom and dad to take care of you?” Ben lowered his head. He looked at Chris. He hadn’t thought it was fair to give a bit more for the Mother’s Day stall, but it would be much better than having to miss soccer every week because you have to work instead. Mrs. Cooper looked at the clock hanging on the wall in front of her. She knew the bell would ring before they finished. One lesson was not enough to build a government and handle its finances. “It wasn’t so bad,” she told herself and looked at them fondly. For the next lessons, she planned to bring another building and discuss international policies and foreign affairs. “There are many occupants of the building you haven’t met yet, but I think we’ve had enough for today,” she went to the board. Michael’s photo was smiling at her. No matter 98

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what his political view was, she still remembered him in diapers. John was so serious in his photo that the children would never believe he was a veterinary doctor, whose house looked like a zoo, because he tried to save all the lost animals. “If you remember, John and Michael were representatives of two sides of the political spectrum. Please open your booklet to page 22. Write which one you would choose now and why. This time, when you make the decision, remember Mr. McCarthy, Mrs. Hailey, the old lady, the Ronzio family and their ten children, the migrants, Mr. Mitchell and his accident, Mr. Newman, Mr. Lacovski and Kim and Tom,” Mrs. Cooper read their names from the blackboard. “I want you to remember: your decision influences their lives.” Alex looked at her. The first time had been much easier. This time involved real people with real problems. “Are they real?” he wondered. “Where did you find all these people?” he asked Mrs. Cooper. She smiled and didn’t know whether to answer or not. After all, this was a game. “In the telephone book,” she said finally. She looked at Kristy and Julie. Chris and Sam had said they had left the Mother’s Day stall meeting crying. She knew why. Living in a big family of 7 children and working every afternoon to pay for food puts you immediately on the poor side of the political spectrum. There are no right or left wings. There are only right and wrong. It is wrong to have to work for food when you’re a teenager. She had to remind herself that fairness is irrelevant. They had sat at the back of the classroom and said nothing during the whole discussion. They were both writing on page 22 when she approached. 99

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“Well, girls,” she said to them, “I didn’t hear you taking part in this discussion. Do you think you can tell me in a few sentences what we did today?” Kristy raised her head from the paper. Her eyes were wet. “We played a game of being a government, and we did it very well. Just like the government, we talked and talked and talked and did absolutely nothing.”

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The Guidance Counselor Tommie paced nervously by her door. Every time he went to the toilet, he tried to get near it to check her grade 10 reception hours, but the nearby administration office attracted many students, which made that difficult for him. Tommie didn’t know where he could get the energy to be optimistic. Every year, he had thought he would grow up. Tommie had looked for the point in time that would make him big and tough, having enough strength to cope. Instead, he had found his clothes getting smaller. He’d had another birthday and had joined a new class. Every year he had hoped and had been disappointed. He washed his hands and went back to class. In class, Tommie sat alone at a side desk. He had no friends and the quietness that stuck to him kept them all away. His pain had many facets. Every lesson that day, he had gone to the toilet, hoping no one would see him walking into her room. She was strange. The first time he had seen her had been in the general student assembly. Everyone was listening to her quiet, hypnotizing voice. During break, they whispered that she must be having an affair with Mr. Kline, the high school principal. Mr. Kline, who had been a widower for many years, kept on talking about her with admiration, despite the gossip. The first time he had introduced her, he had said, “This is Sam Peterson, our new guidance counselor. Some of her methods are a bit unusual, but they work,” and the teachers had felt a bit uncomfortable. It had taken her three months to establish a student council that ran the school in an extraordinary way. When 101

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all the teachers hated her, the students became her devoted fans and were willing to follow her through fire. She protected them passionately. The students were afraid that one day she would slip and quote the things they told her in the secrecy her room, but she didn’t. During breaks, the teachers on duty said she was nuts from learning so much Psychology, but the students loved her for being unconventional. They felt comfortable with her because they were going through a ‘nutty’ period in their lives and were looking for someone to stroke them, trust and encourage them. Tommie had never talked to her. After every student assembly, he had built new hopes. Tommie had imagined himself many times going into her room, trying to tell her “I don’t know what I’m looking for. Well, I do know, but I don’t know if it is possible. I have read books talking about the ‘sky is the limit’ and I don’t know if there is a limit to my pain. I’m hurt and I have an iron mark on my back. I’m glad it is on my back and I don’t have to see it every day, but I want to go to the beach so much. My dad has a very thin belt with a big buckle and it is very painful. I don’t believe I can find a girl that will touch my body until all the scars and the blue marks will disappear. My mom has no more space on her body to protect me with and I tell her to take my sister Tasha to the shower and stay there until he gets tired… I thought about running away, but it’s selfish. Tasha has a big scar on her face and she never raises her head… Court order?! And who do you think will stand on our doorstep to make sure he doesn’t come back?! Didn’t you read in the newspaper that a judge gave an abusing husband a fine for hitting his wife? And who do you think is paying this fine if they are drunk and violent and don’t work? Their wives! Prison? You are naive. You live in a nice Psychologist’s world. Don’t you read the 102

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newspapers? A husband that beat his wife to death was sentenced to one year in prison. And then what?” Tommie had ‘talked’ to her this way for hours, imagining himself sitting in her office, which he’d never seen before. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he was in a trap and there was no way out. Tommie asked himself again and again what he saw in her and why he thought she had the answers to the questions he couldn’t ask. In an urgent meeting she had about drugs, she was furious. She knew all her students. One of the girls had been caught by her parents with drugs. She didn’t say, like all other schools, “There is nothing we can do. Every school has some students like her.” She talked as if she was the student’s mother. The hall was in silence. Her eyes were spitting fire and she blocked any attempt from the teachers to enter the hall. “You betrayed the trust I had in you. You broke a holy oath. We had a contract and you failed to keep it. I’m taking the leadership of the school from you. You are weak and you do not have the ability to make decisions. I vote for drug prevention workshops and peer pressure seminars. I bring it to a vote and I choose independently. The list of the workshops and seminars will be posted on the board. They are compulsory.” Mr. Kline, the only other adult in the hall, said that the parents might be worried about the school’s reputation and she looked at him, nodded and continued with the technical details. One guy from 12th grade sat next to Tommie with his arms folded across his chest and said with admiration, “That woman is not afraid of anyone,” and Tommie suddenly found his answer. 103

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On Monday, when she sat on the bench in front of her room with the Psychologist from the Drug Abuse Council, she saw Tommie going to the toilet a few times. He was restless and tucked his shirt in over and over again. He looked skinny and weak. His body was limp, as if saying “don’t touch me.” He swallowed again and again. She smiled at the visiting Psychologist. “Excuse me,” she said and asked Tommie to come to her room. “Sit down, Tommie. I understand you wanted to talk to me,” she said and patted him on the shoulder. She heard him stifle a scream and was taken by surprise. He jumped and twisted his body to ease the pain. She stood behind him, trying to guess what such a young boy, so handsome, had to hide under a long sleeved shirt on such a hot day. He took a deep breath to get over the pain. “Tommie, can you please take your shirt off?” she asked. He was so relieved. He wanted to kiss her for asking him into her room. He wanted to thank her for finding such a great way to understand. He just had to take the shirt off. No words, no insults, no cries. She stood behind him, holding her breath. Gently, he took his shirt off. She looked at his back and closed her eyes. The tears started to form in her throat. She took the shirt and gently put it back on his shoulders. She walked around to her chair, looked into his eyes from across the desk and said resolutely, “Let’s do something about this.” Following the address on the note in his hand, he walked into a building on a side street in the city. He went downstairs to the basement. On the door was a small sign “Mike L. Burk, Child Abuse Counselor.” He wanted to run away. “She has unusual methods, but they work,” he 104

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remembered Mr. Kline saying and decided to trust her. The basement was very quiet, apart from occasional loud cries. After the fifth meeting in the city, the thin belt was waiting for him. He hated the belt most of all because he was covered with its marks. After the tenth meeting, he stopped counting. He went to the basement every chance he had. The coach said that an intensive course was very important. Tommie looked around. There were seven students in his group. Five boys from 8th grade and two girls from 9th grade. He knew them all. “The first step is to know ourselves. We have to be aware of our weaknesses,” he said confidently. “I don’t take care of your parents. They don’t come to me because they don’t think they need to. They were abused when they were young and they don’t see any other way to handle the stress. They will continue to be violent, but you’re going to change. Your power will calm them down. And if it doesn’t stop because they are calm, then it’ll stop because you’re strong.” Mike had the confidence that one day it would get better. He talked about scripts. He said that all his students came from the same script. And after they left, they went through the same script. He was confident in his methods. He tried to pass his confidence on to them and never allowed them to ask “and what if it doesn’t stop?” “If you use the right tools, if you believe you want it to stop, you’ll make it stop. I don’t want you to wait for it to go away. You have to do something to make it stop.” During breaks, Tommie hung around the toilet, looking for her eyes. They smiled at each other from afar, and he went back to his class. 105

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For four months, he went to Mike’s course, practiced breathing and looking at himself in the mirror, trying to change his “body language,” as Mike called it. “I want you strong. Focus! Focus! Remember, the pain is not in your body, it is in the box up here,” he said over and over again. Two weeks later, Tommie hurried home when he heard his sister screaming. He stood at the door. The air was full of the strong smell of alcohol. His presence filled the entrance. His dad stopped whipping her with his belt and looked at him. “Your power will calm them down. And if it doesn’t stop because they are calm, then it’ll stop because you’re strong,” he heard Mike talking to him from inside. He asked his sister to go to her room, not to the shower. “I think you should take a shower. You’re drunk,” he said to his dad and followed his sister. The sound of the belt behind him didn’t surprise him. He was focused. Slowly, he turned around. His dad looked at him, surprised. Tommie held the belt in his hand. “I suggest you take a shower. It’ll help you calm down,” he said in a clam voice and threw the belt back to his dad. He thought about Mike’s “right tools” when he heard the sound of the next whip. He reached out and caught the thin belt he hated so much. In his head, he heard Mike saying “Focus, Focus.” “You leave me no choice,” he said, as he caught the whipping hand, put it on the floor and stepped on it in a very sharp and accurate move. He hit in the right place and he could hear the sound of breaking bones. Amazingly calm, he got up and looked at the broken hand. “If you ever raise your hand on us again, I’ll break the other one, too,” he said and went to comfort his frightened 106

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sister. He could hear his pulse rumbling in his head. His body filled with the warm feeling of strength. But what if he didn’t get home at the right moment… His heart sank again. On the emergency room’s admission form, the nurse wrote, “Fell from the stairs.” He was afraid to say his son had hit him and threatened the other hand. He knew he had lost. He knew he was weak and miserable and his hand hurt like hell. Tommie couldn’t sleep. He wanted to go to Tasha’s room and watch her all night. He knew his strength would turn his dad on her. His dad would change the object, not his ways. He wondered how he could protect her day and night. There was another hand and the broken one would heal some day. He knew he had to find some unusual method. In the morning, he went straight to the counselor’s room. The crowd next to the administration office didn’t bother him. He wore a short-sleeved shirt that revealed all the scars on his hands. She looked at him. He looked strong and confident. She prayed that one day he would find a girl to touch him and heal his pain. He knew she had the answer. He wondered if she ever had a hole in her ‘solution bag’. He was sorry he hadn’t gone to her sooner. “I want my sister Tasha to see Mike and learn self defense, too,” he told her. She nodded and smiled. He had found the way. She knew that from then on, he would face difficulties wearing a short-sleeved shirt.

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Love Me, Love Me Not Tom took his nose ring off and examined himself in the mirror. The ring had been bothering him for two weeks now and he considered taking it out. Whenever he took it out, he felt relieved, but at the same time, he felt defeated. Mrs. Purdy, his English teacher, commented on his nose ring and his hair all the time and even sent him to the office to be scolded by the deputy principal, Mrs. Sherwood. In the deputy’s office, he defended the ring like a skilled lawyer and asked Mrs. Sherwood if she thought she could present the school as being open-minded with equal rights if the girls could wear earrings and boys couldn’t. The deputy principal, who taught him Math and liked him a lot, sat him in her office and asked him fondly “Tell me Tom, how long does it take you every morning to do this Mohawk?” “As long as it takes you to blow-dry your hair,” he answered and smiled. Tom liked going to the deputy’s office. He felt they understood each other very well. “I’m very efficient with my blow-dryer. I finish styling my hair in no time.” “I’m very efficient with my hair styling, too. I bought this new gel. Isn’t it nice?” he said and gently touched his long spikes. “It’s very original, I must say. We’re done with the hair style issue, aren’t we?” “You brought it up again,” he countered. Tom was the best student in school. At some point, he had decided that his geeky image really bothered him. He had considered failing some exams, so the others wouldn’t say he was a geek, but then he had decided against it. He had then started doing his hair in a Mohawk. He had 109

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received many comments from teachers and the deputy principal had told him it was very hard to fight what people thought. “I am what I have inside, not my hair style,” he had told her. “You can’t look like this and be surprised when people think you’re a punk,” she had told him. Mrs. Sherwood hadn’t been able to convince him to wear his hair ‘normally’. He had felt he had to prove to everyone that he could look weird and still be a good student. Then, one day, he had come with the nose ring. That day, he had spent the whole morning in the deputy’s office. Every teacher had commented and had sent him to her. “Tell me, Tom, can you blow your nose like that?” asked the deputy. “I’m healthy. I never needed to blow my nose,” he answered sharply. “Doesn’t it hurt?” she asked with a worried look on her face. “It hurts, but not badly. Look how much attention I get from it. Tell me it isn’t worth it,” he said honestly. “That’s negative attention you’re getting,” she said and took out her notepad. “I know what positive attention is. I got 98% on my science exam. Besides, you’re an educator. You know that for teenagers it doesn’t really matter what kind of attention it is,” he said smiling and touched his spikes. Mrs. Sherwood started writing in her notepad. She had an urge to explain to Mrs. Purdy that it wasn’t right to pay so much attention to undesired behavior. Besides, how can you have a problem with such a good student who doesn’t harm anyone? Why is it such a big deal if someone is different? 110

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“If other students want to imitate him, just tell them to be excellent students like him,” she told Mrs. Purdy in her head. It had been a year since Tom started experimenting with attention. He said he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to study psychology or law. Mrs. Sherwood was certain he would be successful in either. When she commented too much on his Mohawk, he came with purple hair the following day. When someone said something about the purple, he asked why it was OK for girls to color their hair in striking red or blond stripes and whether the school discriminated against boys. Mrs. Sherwood knew that if she said anything about the nose ring, he would come the day after with a stud in his tongue. The nose ring was terrible enough and the thought about a stud in his tongue was even worse. She had been asked to consider suspension, but she thought it wouldn’t work. Mrs. Sherwood thought maybe the point that Tom was trying to make served the school’s goals. Tom Ferguson was an asset to his school. She wrote a note to Mrs. Purdy, explained that Tom came for a talk and she asked not to pay that much attention to his appearance. Mrs. Sherwood knew that in the next meeting, they would discuss discipline again, and she sent him back to class. Mrs. Purdy quietly read the note he brought her. She looked at Tom, who was taller then she was. She looked around. Her eyes fell on Sam, who was an excellent student, a gentle girl, who dressed nicely and neatly. “From now on, I want you to sit next to Sam in my English class,” she said, turned her back to him and went to the blackboard. Tom turned to Sam. He had never talked to her. She was so quiet. Her hair was long and straight. She smiled. Her braces were purple. “Sam,” he said and sat next to her. 111

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“Tom,” she said shyly, shifting her notebooks to make room for his. “I’m supposed to sit next to you, so that I learn to be neat and tidy,” he grinned and took his notebooks out of his bag. Sam smiled. “What Mrs. Purdy didn’t consider is that if I sit next to you, you might get ideas from me about how not to be neat and tidy,” he said, his grin getting even bigger. “No chance,” answered Sam and smiled. Her braces were sticking out and Tom wasn’t sure why she needed them if her teeth were so straight. Sam lowered her head and her hair fell gently onto her face. “Tom Ferguson is a total hunk,” she thought excitedly, “If only he looked normal.” She sighed and went back to working on her speech. “What, don’t you like my hair?” he asked and touched his spikes gently. Sam wasn’t sure how to answer. If she told the truth, he would hate her. If she didn’t tell the truth, she would hate herself. “It’s disgusting,” she said smiling. “Are you serious?! I spent hours on it.” “So what? Some people write music for years and end up with crap. It depends what they have inside, not how much time they dedicate to it,” she said confidently, lowering her head to avoid Mrs. Purdy’s gaze. “You are absolutely right. What do you think about my nose ring?” he asked. “Why does it matter what I think? It’s more important what you think. Do you think it’s nice?” she asked him. In her wildest dreams, she had never imagined herself sitting next to Tom Ferguson, the most popular student in school, and talking to him like this. 112

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“I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. But it does hurt,” he said and started writing his own speech. “Tom Ferguson,” he heard Mrs. Purdy’s voice, “Can you please come here and present your speech to the class.” Tom reminded her of herself. Once, she had also had the courage to swim against the current, but she had lost this courage somewhere along the way and started swimming along with everyone else. “She hates me,” he whispered to Sam and went to the front of the class. “The subject I chose today was ‘peer pressure’,” he said and looked at Mrs. Purdy. He spoke clearly, kept eye contact with all the students and maybe once or twice looked at his notes. Mrs. Purdy listened to him carefully. She looked for mistakes, hesitations, inconsistencies in his argument, but Tom Ferguson gave a perfect speech. In a confident voice, he led his speech to the final statement “Because in the end, it doesn’t matter what others think about you, but what you think about yourself.” That said, he folded his notes and returned to his desk. “Tom, can I see your notes, please?” said Mrs. Purdy. Tom turned, unfolded a piece of paper and handed it to her. Sue Purdy looked at Tom’s note. All it said was “It doesn’t matter what others think about you, but what you think about yourself.” He was a brilliant student, this kid. His speech was excellent. He was one of those people who did everything well, no matter what they did. Those who were born with the gift to succeed. Tom lowered his head and gently touched his spikes. Mrs. Purdy looked at his spikes. There was something special in them. Tom Ferguson’s look made a statement. Somehow, he succeeded where she had failed. “Brilliant speech,” she said, a second before the bell rang. 113

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Sue Purdy packed her belongings and walked to the staff room. When she reached the staff room, she packed her things from her locker and went to her white car. She opened her calendar, looked at the ‘To Do’ list she had written the previous evening, and started sorting it by importance. She attached her mobile phone’s earpiece and listened to messages. In her diary, she had written “Dad”, “Tommie went for a sleep over at Brian’s”, “Pick up Beth from her friend’s at eight”, “Confirm with the hairdresser for Thursday (day off)”. She touched her hair. “I have to get a hair cut,” she thought to herself. Her father would have told her she looked messy. She dialed and started driving. “Hi dad, it’s me,” she said. “Hi Sue, how are you? Where are you? Still teaching those painful students of yours English?” she heard her father saying on the other side. “Would you like to come for dinner today? Tommie and Beth are out this evening. I can come pick you up on the way home,” she tried to convince him, ignoring his remarks about her students, just like the deputy principal had recommended, not paying attention to things she didn’t want to promote. “I don’t know,” he said. His juicer was making loud noises in the background. “I planned dinner just the way you like,” she tried to convince him. He didn’t live far away, but in the last six months, he hadn’t come for dinner. “There is no food that I like. Maybe some other time,” he said and the sound of the juicer stopped. “Would you like to meet for lunch on Thursday?” she tried for what felt like the millionth time. “No, Sue, I’m busy then,” he made the same excuse. 114

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“Can you tell me why it is so hard for us to get together?” she asked. “I’m very busy today,” he said. This was true. Sue drove to the mall, to pick up the present she had bought for his birthday. The jeweler carved on the business card box “Dr. Kelvink – Eye Surgeon” and on the other side “To Dad, with love, from Sue”. She wanted so much to make him happy. She hoped he would like her present. She had spent a lot of time choosing it. She prepared dinner with her husband, Nick. “I invited him for dinner today, but he said maybe some other time,” she told him. “Why do you keep inviting him if he’s like that?” he asked and took out a cauliflower from the fridge. “What do you mean? He said he was busy,” she wondered. “So what if he says he’s busy. When is he not busy?” “He’s working hard,” she tried to explain. “I don’t like it when he comes. You are always in a bad mood afterwards,” he said and cut some carrot sticks. “I’ve bought him a present for his birthday. I wanted to give it to him without everyone else around,” said Sue and cut some onion. Her eyes watered. She had been trying to buy his love for years. Since the day she had decided not to study medicine, she felt he had not been treating her as a father should. Her younger sister, Vanessa, who had studied dentistry, had become his only daughter. Sadly, she remembered the argument they’d had twenty years before on this matter. “But I love kids, I want to work with kids,” she had pleaded “Then be a pediatrician,” her father had said firmly.

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“But I don’t want to be a doctor, I want to be a teacher,” she had said. She had wanted to save all the kids in the world from their parents. “This will be the biggest mistake of your life. You’ll regret this for as long as you live,” he had said and he had been right. She had paid for her tuition by herself. She had had to work when Vanessa was getting help from him. To her wedding, he had come as a guest, but he had organized her sister’s wedding by himself. When Beth had been born, he had been on long service leave in France and had only met her when she turned one. Since then, a day hadn’t passed without her asking herself if she was sorry or not. The tears streamed down her face. “What happened? Is it the onion?” Nick asked her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Yes,” she said and sniffed loudly. “Why does it matter if Vanessa and the kids are there when you give him his present?” asked Nick, as he took the knife from her hand and continued cutting the onion. “Because Vanessa always buys him things he loves. I feel humiliated next to her,” she said, took the tissue box and sat at the kitchen counter. “Do you understand that all this is your interpretation? Vanessa buys him simple things. You always buy fancy stuff and think about it for three months. Vanessa goes on the same day and buys a shirt or a book. She doesn’t try to impress him.” “I only wanted to make him happy,” she said, sounding like a little girl. “His happiness is not your responsibility. Happiness is a choice. He is happy or unhappy because that’s what he chooses, not because of you,” he said and poured some oil into the pan. 116

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“I only wanted him to love me, like he loves Vanessa, but I’m never going to be Vanessa, am I? It doesn’t matter what I do now, I won’t be Vanessa.” Nick turned off the stove and sat next to her on the counter. “I’m happy you’re not Vanessa. I love you just the way you are. If you weren’t a teacher in school, I would never have met you. I’m never sick and if I came to see you as a pediatrician, it would have been for my child. I don’t know what you think about it, but I’m happy every day that you chose to study education,” he said and stroked her face. “He told me I’d be sorry about going to study education and he made sure I was,” she said angrily. “No, he only said you would. You are an English teacher. You, more then anyone else, should know those were just words, a collection of syllables. The only person who made sure you’d be sorry was you. Only you had the power to control your life. If you are sorry about your choices, you can only blame yourself,” he said and kissed her. Sue wiped her tears. She had met him 15 years ago in one of the ‘Personal Development’ workshops he had given in her school. He had been handsome and confident and he had given her a lot of strength in her choices. In the past, he had suggested she move far away from her father. “You have been carrying him on your back for years,” he had said when they had first moved in together. “He is my father.” “Your father isn’t the person who brought you into this world,” he had told her, “Your real father is the person who gave you confidence. The person who helps you to face the obstacles in life. Max is a sulky, grumpy man. You have to understand that his behavior has no connection to you. He treats everyone like that, even Vanessa.” “I only wanted him to love me,” she said, crying. 117

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“The question is not whether he loves you or not, but whether you love yourself or not,” he said lovingly and played with her hair. She had heard this expression that day at school. “I have to have a hair cut,” she said, “I look like a mess.” Tom Ferguson’s spiky head appeared in her mind. “Says who?” asked Nick and kept playing with her hair. She raised her head. “Says my dad,” she wanted to answer but realized it wasn’t appropriate. Nick already knew. “Try to go back in time and figure out where you got the courage to be true to yourself. You can bring courage from the same place again,” he repeated the sentences he had said in his workshops. She knew he was right. For years, she had tried to win his love. She hoped secretly that Beth or Tommie would go to study medicine and close the cycle she had broken twenty years before, even though Beth was only 12 and loved art and Tommie loved to play soccer. Nick had been right, back when they had been a young couple without children, when he had told her she needed to stay away from her father, because he had been driving her crazy. For years, she had been trying to tell her father what she thought about him. She pictured Tom Ferguson’s spikes again. At a quarter to eight, she got into her car to pick up Beth from her friend’s house. She leaned back in the seat. “Tom Ferguson is a clever kid,” she told herself. He had the power to fight all of society’s misconceptions. She only had to fight her dad. She passed her fingers through her hair. She couldn’t remember herself with long hair. She would give him the present on Saturday, at Vanessa’s house, without a haircut. The thought excited her. “Thank you, Tom Ferguson,” she whispered. She attached the earpiece to her mobile phone and dialed his number. His answering 118

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machine said, “This is Dr. Kelvink. I’m unable to answer the phone right now. Please leave a message.” At the same time, Dr. Kelvink was waiting at an Italian restaurant in the intersection next to his clinic. He looked nervously at his watch. The nice waitress serving his table passed next to him with an understanding smile and asked him if he wished to order. “No, I’m waiting for someone,” he said rudely, looked at his watch and ran his fingers through his neatly cut hair. That morning, he had felt messy and had gone to get a haircut to look his best. “Good evening, Max,” he heard a pleasant voice above him and raised his head. “Good evening, Kathleen. I was worried you wouldn’t make it,” he said and smiled happily. “I finished my shift later than I thought,” she said and sat elegantly in the seat in front of him. “And I went to the hairdresser,” she told him and smiled. She was gorgeous. Even though she wore a soft red dress, he imagined her with the white uniform she used to wear under the surgery gown, a tight uniform, which showed off her beautiful figure. He had asked her many times how come a 38 year old woman could have such a pretty face and a great figure. How come after a long 10-hour shift in the operating room, she still looked fresh and young. “Did you have many operations today?” he asked, trying to sound interested. “Not so many, but at the end of the day, Dr. Mogilner had an emergency and everyone had to stay until he finished,” she said smiling. She mentioned Dr. Mogilner, who was a handsome surgeon, quite often. In the operating room, there were rumors about an affair between her and Dr. Mogilner and Max felt jealous hearing his name. 119

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“You look stunning. Who would believe that you’ve been on your feet since seven a.m.?” he tried to flatter her. “Thank you. A good shower can work wonders,” she said embarrassed and signaled to the waitress. For years, Max had been trying to make a pass at her and she had been avoiding him. He was 20 years older then her. He looked good, but was rigid. She didn’t like the way he talked to the other nurses. He was arrogant and rude. He complained and grumbled a lot. She noticed that he was much softer towards her, almost asking when he instructed her to pass the needle and thread. It was Grace, her sister, who had convinced her to meet him, just this once. “How was your day?” she asked, going over the menu and trying to find healthy food. “It was a quiet day. No real dramas. Listen, I’m starting to take a day off every week. I think I’ll stop working on Thursdays. After a long day of surgery, it’ll be good to take a break. You take Thursdays off, too, don’t you?” he asked, as if he didn’t know. For three months, he had been trying to clear his Thursdays of patients, so he could take the same day off as she did. “Yes, I‘ve had Thursdays off for years. It’s a great day. After it, I have a long shift on Friday, and then a long weekend. Are you ready to order?” she asked and smiled at the nice waitress, who stood there patiently, listening to their polite conversation. While she ordered a salad, he looked at the menu. He didn’t like to eat. Once, when Sue had asked him what his favorite food was, he hadn’t known what to say. Actually, he didn’t like anything. He asked the waitress for the same thing and leaned on the table, trying to touch Kathleen’s hand.

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“Can you tell me why it took us so long to meet for dinner?” he asked her directly. He felt uncomfortable listening to himself asking this question. Kathleen smiled, embarrassed. Her skin was soft, her hair was full of long, big curls and shiny hair clips with sparkling stones. He had never seen her wearing her hair down. “I’m glad you came. I’m very glad you came. I only want you to tell me why you’ve refused to go out with me for so long?” he asked. He felt he had to know. He had been trying to get her attention for years. He had changed his surgery day to Wednesday, so that she could be with him in the operating room. He had treated her dad to gain her trust. He had come to any social event at the hospital, just to see her, but she had avoided him all this time. “I don’t know. I didn’t think we fit, you and I,” she mumbled, “Look, Max, I’m almost your daughter’s age,” she said gently. Max felt embarrassed. All of a sudden, he felt old. He immediately calculated the age difference between her and Sue. He was celebrating his 60th birthday that following Saturday at Vanessa’s house. All the kids would be there, a full crowd and loud music. He hoped Saturday would never come. “And what happened today?” he asked, “Are you older than my daughter today?” he asked sarcastically. He wondered if she would get up and leave. He had been waiting for this meeting for months. Max feared she might despise him. He never handled himself well when things didn’t flow just the way he wanted them. When his wife had said she wanted to have a career in alternative medicine, he had felt she was criticizing his own profession and had divorced her. When he had clashed with his boss in the hospital, he had quit and had opened his own clinic. When 121

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patients hadn’t done exactly what he’d told them to do, Max had refused to treat them. He felt lonely and cast away. “You’re rude, you know? I thought you were nice the last couple of months. I hoped that maybe under this rudeness and sarcasm, you were actually a nice man, but I can see I was wrong,” she said and looked at him angrily. “Especially today, I needed a reminder about my age,” she thought bitterly. “I apologize,” he said and gently touched her hand. She pulled her hand back. “It’s too late. Some things you can’t take back. Words are like knives. Once you use them, you can’t prevent the bleeding and taking them back only opens up the wound,” she said sharply, disappointed. She thought that considering Dr. Kelvink as an option, as Grace suggested, had been a bad idea. Max lowered his voice. He hadn’t been out with a woman for years. All of them had been twenty years younger than him and it had always ended within the same week. He had forgotten how to treat a woman. “I’m very sorry, Kathleen. I like you a lot. I feel awkward with you,” he said gently. He felt awkward around people. He preferred them as patients, so that he could give them orders and they would do exactly what he told them. He could never handle people who didn’t do exactly what he wanted. He couldn’t even get along with his own daughters. When they had built their own families, he had started feeling lonely, but rarely met with them. “Your awkward feeling has nothing to do with me. You feel awkward because you’re rigid. You’re rigid with others and rigid with yourself. When was the last time you took a holiday and stayed away from work, patients and surgeries? When was the last time you spent time with your daughters, 122

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or asked your grandchildren about their day at school?” she asked and gave him a piercing look. Max didn’t answer. He couldn’t find the words to tell her why he hadn’t taken a holiday for years. He didn’t know what grade his grandson was in and today, his daughter invited him for dinner and he turned her down again. “I love my job,” he tried to defend himself. “Really? What exactly do you like about your job? You complain so much about the patients, the nurses, the equipment in the emergency room, your colleagues,” she told him. “I love to treat people,” he said and took a spoonful of soup. The soup was cold. It irritated him. He put the spoon disappointedly on the table. “I’ve been working with you for years, Max. You might be good at treating other people’s eyes, but you can’t see that you’re sick, that you can’t cure yourself, because you refuse to see your illness,” she said, wiped her mouth and packed her bag. “Are you going?” he asked. “Yes, I shouldn’t have come in the first place,” she said and got up. “Please stay. Let’s talk about it,” he said softly. “I’d rather go,” she said, turned her back on him and left. Max looked at his empty table. He held the spoon and then put it back on the table and leaned back in his chair. “I should have said yes to Sue,” he thought to himself. She had been calling every week, asking how he was, and he had avoided her, just like that, telling her he had been working and then he had spent the time in front of the TV or reading a professional book. Yes, Kathleen was indeed his daughter’s age, and all he wanted was for her to love him. It was humiliating for him to love her so much and be rejected. 123

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He asked the waitress for the bill and got ready to leave. He was hungry. Her smell was still around. He asked himself why he always went after younger women. He could be their father. For a second, the fatherly feelings and his passion for Kathleen were mixed up. “You have never been a good father, either,” he told himself and left the restaurant. He saw her red car still in the car park. She still sat there. He was hungry and felt humiliated. He looked for younger women to make up for being a bad father. He thought about Sue, about Vanessa. Yes, he tried to be friendly towards young nurses, so he could be a little bit of the father he couldn’t be for his daughters. He remembered Vanessa in grade 12, angry because he had said something about her not getting 100 on her science test. “I got 95 and I’m proud of myself,” she had said. “There is nothing to be proud of. You could have gotten 100.” “I’m proud of you,” Sue had said, encouragingly. “You are my dad. You should be able to see beyond the numbers. I’m your daughter. Mom is proud of me when I get 80. Sue is proud of me even when I fail. You are horrible! I hate you! You don’t know how to be a father,” she had said and left. He had never followed her. Never apologized. Sue had stood there, working on her projects with an angry look in her eyes. He had never apologized to her either. Even when she had succeeded so much in her teaching, successes of which he had heard from Vanessa, he had never been able to bring himself to compliment her for them. He had avoided her graduation and at the end of the ceremony, she had gone to celebrate with her mom and Vanessa.

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“Dad, we are at the restaurant in the corner, in front of the clinic. Would you like to join us?” she had called and asked. He wanted to come, but couldn’t tell her. “I’m very busy,” he had said and hung up. He remembered Kathleen’s sparkling hair clip. She was the girl he wanted to show the love he couldn’t show his daughters. Sue had a day off on Thursdays. She had called and invited him for lunch many times. From next week, he’d have Thursdays off, too. He would call and tell her. He got into his car and tried to remember Sue’s number. “I don’t even know her phone number,” he told himself. “I’ll drive over. I’ll tell her I came for coffee and invite her to lunch on Thursday,” he decided and started the car.

In her car, Kathleen sat for a while. She saw Max’s car passing and felt relieved. She attached the earpiece to her mobile and said “Grace.” The phone made connection sounds and a young women’s voice sounded at the other end of the line. “Hi Sister, how was it?” “Awful. Just awful. He is a disgusting man. How did I ever let you convince me to go?” said Kathleen. “What’s so bad about him? I told you he was very nice when he took care of Dad.” “And I told you he was a rude man. You should see how he treats the staff at the hospital. He is such a tyrant, full of himself. I sat for an hour at the hair salon getting ready for this awful meeting,” she said angrily and took out the hair clips. She stopped at a stop light. A young girl crossed the street, pushing a baby’s pram. Kathleen closed her eyes. There was a quiet moment on the line. 125

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“Kath? Are you OK?” asked Grace from the other end of the line, “What are you going to do?” “What I had in mind in the first place,” she said confidently, her eyes following the young girl with the pram. “Kath, I want you to know that I’ll support whatever you decide to do. I’ve been dreaming about the time I’ll hold your baby in my arms and baby-sit.” “Grace, I need to get pregnant first.” “I know. Don’t you feel excited, thinking about it?” asked Grace. “I find it hard to get excited over raising a child by myself.” “You’re not going to raise it all by yourself. I’m going to help you. Mom will help, too.” “Grace, Mom will pass out when she hears.” “You underestimate her. She may pass out, but after that, she’ll recover. She will be a great supporter. Have you ever considered that maybe, deep inside, she wants you to have a child, even if it’s without marriage?” “No, I haven’t, but it sure suits you to think about it,” she said affectionately, “In your world, all the people love each other and are nice to each other and there are fairies and magic. You’re my beloved sister and I love you. You are the optimism in my life.” “And you’re my beloved sister. Then who won the competition to be the father of our baby? Dr. Mogilner?” Grace asked cheekily. “Grace, stop calling him Dr. Mogilner, his name is Carlos and this is my baby. You’re only a 20 year old kid.” “OK, OK, I’ll stop calling him Dr. Mogilner, although it’s such a cool name. Rolling. Where are you going now?” “I don’t know. I must eat something, I’m starving,” she said and searched for a fast food place.

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“Don’t eat junk. You must take care of your health now. Come over here. I’ve made a great vegetable and chicken soup,” said Grace. Kathleen parked at the tall building of the university dormitories. The atmosphere of young people walking in the hallway excited her. She wondered about it for a while. Her mom had brought Grace into the world quite late, but her mom had had Kathleen and her dad for support. Kathleen remembered the day she had gone to her mom and asked, “How could you bring a baby at such a late stage, when you had a big girl like me? Weren’t you bothered with what people might think?” “I was only worried about what I would think about myself after twenty years. I would have had the feeling of being incomplete, having just one child. All my life, I had wanted another child. I had always imagined myself with two children. You were a wonderful girl, so I wanted another one, just like you,” her mom answered. Maybe her mom did want Kathleen to make this brave decision of having a child by herself, at the age of 38, when her ‘train’ had almost ‘left the station’. Grace opened the door. She was tall, with loose clothes and her short bright hair had blond streaks and lots of styling gel. “Hey, you’ve dyed you hair? That’s nice. When will you shave it? I told you, you’d look astonishing with a bald head,” said Kathleen. “Thanks. I did it the day before yesterday,” said Grace and smiled. Grace had this beautiful smile. It was the same smile she’d had when Kathleen saw her for the first time, in the babies’ room at the hospital. Sometimes she wondered if 127

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Grace was her sister or her daughter. Maybe because of Grace she hadn’t felt she had to have a child of her own. “Sis, come on, I’ve heated the soup already,” Grace said, went to her small kitchen and took the pot off the stove. “I know you don’t like talking about it, but tell me again why the sperm bank is not a good option for you?” she said and poured some soup for Kathleen. “Grace, will you stop it? I don’t trust them. They check and ask, but I want to meet the man. I want to tell my child about his or her dad. It is very important to me. I want to touch my child’s father,” she said and sat down to eat. “A father is not the person who gives his sperm. A father is the person who raises you and loves you. What kind of person doesn’t know he’s going to be a father? It’s like cheating, Kath, don’t you think so?” she asked carefully. Kathleen kept eating her soup and didn’t answer. She had been going out with Carlos for years. It was a hospital affair, in shifts. He had been promising for years to leave his wife and move in with her. “It’s just not the right time,” he’d said, while her time melted away. A child, she hoped, would bond them forever. “Kath, do you want a child, or do you want him?” Grace asked and sat next to her. “Both,” she answered. “Look, his wife has three kids from him and he is not hers. You don’t bring kids into the world to bond people,” said Grace. Kathleen looked at her younger sister. She was so young, yet so wise. How quickly she’d grown up. How much she understood. “You told me you wanted a child. You wanted someone to make a healthy, smart child with you. If you had told me you were doing all this to get this Mogilner fellow, I wouldn’t have suggested the eye surgeon.” 128

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“Carlos. His name is Carlos.” “You didn’t lie to me, you know. You lied to yourself. You need to know your motives. You don’t have to tell me what they are, but you do have to tell yourself. You’ve taught me there are things you can’t take back. In a year, when you have your child, you won’t be able to get back to this time and ask yourself why you did it. It’ll be too late then,” she said and touched her sister’s hand. Kathleen felt the warmth on her hand. She remembered Max’s touch. How could she have considered having a child with him? She scared herself. “I love him,” she said with tears in her eyes. “But he doesn’t love you,” said Grace and stroked her hand. Kathleen wiped the tears from her eyes. She knew Grace was right. “You don’t love him, either. You’re happy he pays attention to you, that he is such a Casanova, that all the nurses have a crush on him, and he chose you,” said Grace. “My dear sister, you are so pretty, so successful, so good. Why do you need all this? Why do you need to destroy his life and his family?” asked Grace. For a second, Kathleen felt their roles were mixed up. “His family is destroyed anyway,” she said through a blocked nose. “You once told me if a friend of mine was doing something wrong to someone, I should consider the possibility they might do it to me, too. What’s the difference? If he can live a lie and do this to his wife and children, then you don’t want him as a partner, because one day he will do it to you, too. He is doing it to you now! You don’t need him to be the father of your child, do you?”

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Kathleen finished her soup. Grace had listened well to all the lectures she had given her and now Grace was lecturing her back. Kathleen loved him playing with her hair, sneaking a secret smile in the corridors. She loved sliding the equipment into his hands in the operating room. “The new nurse in the operating room slides them the same way…” she thought to herself. “No, I don’t want him to be the father of my child,” she replied. She could imagine him having a baby with the new nurse. She thought about his eldest son. No, she wasn’t going to do that to her child. The last time she went to the sperm bank secretly, she saw a medical student in the catalogue. “He might actually be a weight lifter,” she said to the nurse, laughing. “Kathleen, you know they can write whatever they want. We don’t really know much about them, except their physical state when they give the sperm,” said the nurse. “Yes, I know,” said Kathleen. During her studies, she had to work in the sperm bank for a week. She never imagined she would use their services one day. Kathleen got up from her chair. “Are you going?” asked Grace in alarm. Only that day, she wanted someone to stay with her until the morning. She wanted to tell her big sister, but was afraid. The secretary at the lab told her not to worry, but she didn’t know how. “I need a good rest. I’ll go to the sperm bank first thing in the morning,” said Kathleen and kissed her sister goodbye. “Would you like me to come with you, so they’ll think I’m the one who wants a sperm donor?” she asked, although she knew she couldn’t make it the next day. “No, Grace, no need. It’ll only postpone it by a couple of months. When I get pregnant, everyone will know anyway. 130

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Why does it matter if they know now?” she said and went to the door. “Wow, I’m excited,” said Grace with tears in her eyes, “Do you think it’ll happen tomorrow? I want to be with you when it happens.” The tears rolled from her eyes. “No, it doesn’t happen in a day. I need to go through a whole process and the doctor is in the sperm bank only on Thursdays. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you when it happens,” she said, blew another kiss in the air and left.

Grace hugged a pillow and wept quietly. She may not be there when it happens. She went to the shower and turned on the hot water. The water washed her tears, but not her misery. Only today, if only today, Kath could stay a bit longer. She touched her body. She could feel her pulse all over. She could feel Mark’s hands touching her. She wanted him to touch her so much and now she wished she could turn time backwards and keep him away from her. Her arm was bruised from the needle. “Stupid nurse,” she had said when she left the lab that morning, her arm hurting. The nice secretary in the lab, who took care of payments and paperwork, had told her to come in three days for the results. “Can I call?” asked Grace. “No, you have to come and bring your ID card, otherwise you won’t get the results,” she had said kindly. “Keep pressing this bandage for about ten minutes, so that you don’t have a bruise,” she had said and given her the papers. Grace had tried to get them into her bag with one hand. 131

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“Don’t worry too much,” the secretary had said with a smile, “Your worries won’t change anything anyway.” Grace had looked at her in surprise, thanking her sincerely for the encouragement. “It’s the waiting part that’s hard to bear. You have to fill in your time. Be with friends. Do fun stuff,” the secretary had continued and got up from her chair to help her get the papers into her bag. Grace had examined her. She had been a woman in her late thirties. Her hair had been wavy and had gently touched her shoulder. There had been many people there. How could she be so nice and serve so many people, Grace had asked herself. “Thank you,” she had said and left the hospital. She had walked around the lawn aimlessly. Angrily, she had thrown away the bandage in the bin and kicked the grass… “If only…” she told herself repeatedly and knew she was in a trap. There are things you can’t take back. Mark was the most popular Economy student. He was a rich, spoiled young man, who did a lot of sports and was envied by all the guys in first year Economy. “Hey you,” he had called to her at the end of a lesson. “Hey you,” Grace had answered and all the girls had looked and gossiped. “Mark, nice to meet you, and you?” he had presented himself and reached to shake her hand. “Grace,” she had answered. He had a strong grip. His hand was strong and the veins in his hand were showing, as if he’d just lifted some heavy weights. Under the stream in the shower, she talked to her image in the mirror. “Then why didn’t you tell me?” she imagined Kathleen talking to her. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed,” she replied. 132

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“Grace, you have to tell me such things. I’m more disappointed knowing you hid it from me.” “You see? I told you you’d be disappointed.” “Do you want to tell me you knew he had slept with all the students in the faculty?” Kath asked her in her imagination. “I knew, but I didn’t want to know. I wanted to think I was the one and only,” she said and the water kept running over her face. “And you’d never heard about protection?” she imagined Kath preaching to her. “I had, but he didn’t want to use a condom,” she said, feeling like a little child who was caught steeling candy. “Didn’t want? What do you mean didn’t want? It is a new world, Sister, a new world. You can’t just make love to a guy without knowing if he’s passed an AIDS test.” “That’s why I didn’t sleep with him right away. I thought that if he had something, he’d tell me.” She remembered that night. He had invited her to his fancy room. He had had a double bed, which invited them to cuddle in it. She had been in heaven for three months, thinking about him day and night. All the girls had sought her attention, she had been invited to parties and her studies had been in excellent shape. She had thoroughly understood the meaning of “to love and be loved in return.” He had touched her, had gotten his hand into her shirt. “Mark,” she had whispered, “Have you had an HIV test?” “Of course,” he had said and had kept kissing her. “I wanted him to say yes. It was very hard. It was the hardest thing for me to ask that question, but I did, and wow, how happy I was when he said ‘yes’,” she talked to her image in the mirror. Her hair got into her eyes. In the hair salon, where she had gone to dye it after the lab test, they dyed it with bright streaks. “I should have shaved it all,” she told herself. 133

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“I wanted to believe him. Why would I think that he was lying?” she asked her image. “Because when people are in such excitement, they don’t think. Here, look at yourself, you didn’t think either, otherwise you would have known you needed to see the test” Then, when she was naked and felt his great body on hers, she asked: “Did you get a condom?” “Condom? No way, it’s not fun with a condom. Don’t worry,” she heard him whisper in her ears and she closed her eyes. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! What were you thinking? What’s fun about this scary feeling?” she shouted at her image. She took out her hair shaver, clicked on number three and passed it through her hair again and again in anger. “I don’t want to die,” she told herself, crying. It’s been three days since the test and her whole life passed before of her eyes. Life this week was not the same as last week. After that single time they had made love, she had been feeling high, but from a high point, the only way is down. Mark had started avoiding her. She had wondered how far she could still fall. Time dragged on. Why can’t they provide the AIDS test results on the spot? She picked up the phone many times, to talk to Kath. She called and talked about other things: about Mogilner, the eye surgeon, and the baby she dreamed with Kath. She wanted to tell her “Sister, I have to get tested for AIDS and I’m afraid,” and she was afraid to disappoint her, afraid she would be angry. A week earlier, she had heard a conversation between two students in the cafeteria. “So, did you go out with Mark?” the one with the glasses had asked. 134

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“I did go out with him a few times. You know, a movie, coffee,” the girl with the braids from the basketball team had answered. “And?” the girl with the glasses had asked excitedly. “Don’t get so excited. It’s like a roster. He changes girls like underwear. He flirts with them for a couple of months and says he loves them. He doesn’t love any of them. He doesn’t know what love is.” “So nothing came out of it?” “It did. It came to a point when I asked him about an HIV test and he said ‘HIV test? Of course not’, so I opened the door and showed him the way out,” the girl with braids had said confidently. “Did you really kick him out of your room?” the one with the glasses had asked, sounding a bit disappointed. “Of course I did. Tell me, what do I need this for? He had slept with so many girls. People, when they get excited, they don’t think twice. My life is too precious to be thrown away for a jerk who doesn’t even take care of himself. I expected him to ask me for the test. How could he be certain that I hadn’t slept with half of the world and I didn’t have AIDS?” Grace closed her eyes. She felt so stupid. She had been so naive to think that if he had told her he’d had an AIDS test it meant he really had. It took her a week to muster up the courage to have an HIV test in a faraway lab. “It was a good idea for you to come,” the nice secretary had said, “It’s better to know than to worry,” she had said and kept typing the information into the computer. “There are things that hit you out of the blue. It’s better to know.” Grace woke up in the morning. She had dreamt of babies with angel’s wings. She looked at the mirror. She liked her new hairstyle. It had something brave in it, showing her 135

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whole face. Kath always said that shaved hair is like being fully exposed, that people hid behind their hair. “People who shave their hair are pretty. They’re real, because they don’t have anything to hide. They have no frame.” She passed her hand through her hair a couple of times. It felt soft and nice. “Are you worried?” she asked her figure in the mirror. “No, not at all. It won’t matter anyway, will it?” she answered herself. In the lab, she went to the secretary with the wavy hair. The secretary smiled at her as if she recognized her. Her nametag said ‘Lorraine Forbes’. “How many people pass through here every day?” asked Grace. “About 400,”answered the secretary and took Grace’s papers. “And do you remember them all?” “Yes. I have a good memory for faces and written material,” she said and went to a locked cabinet and took out a file. Inside the file was a bunch of envelopes. She flipped through them, looking for Grace’s name. “Maybe she remembers what was written in my envelope,” Grace wondered. “Can I please verify your details?” she asked politely. Grace smiled. “What do you think? Do I want this envelope to be mine or not?” she asked, trying to get some pieces of information from the secretary. “Don’t worry. Worrying won’t change a thing,” she said and gave her the envelope. “Good luck,” said the secretary, “The new hairstyle really suits you.”

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Grace opened the envelope. She closed her eyes, put the envelope into her bag, got her phone out and dialed Kath’s number. Kath picked up the phone “Grace?” she asked with a worried voice, “What happened?” “I shaved,” said Grace.

Lorraine Forbes smiled, looking at the shaved girl, who was sitting on the chair in the corridor and talking on the phone. “It’s a good lesson,” she thought to herself whenever she gave those young kids the envelope she finished typing early in the morning. She smiled peacefully. This morning, when she typed the results, no one had gotten bad news. This girl reminded her of her daughter Alice. The thought scared her. “Stop worrying. Worrying won’t change reality anyway,” she told herself and went back to her computer. A lab worker came out and left a pile of results on her desk. Lorraine looked at them and became depressed. Once again she‘d have to stay late to type them up. Normally, she would give up her lunch break, but today she had to go to the nearest hair salon. She called home and was happy when no one answered. Alice’s teacher said she had missed 12 days in the last semester. Lorraine got scared. She only remembered one day when she had taken Alice to the doctor. “She must hang out on the street,” she thought in horror. She considered coming to school and sitting with Alice in class. “I don’t want to learn,” Alice had said. “Then what do you want to do with yourself?” she pleaded. “Nothing. I want to do nothing.” 137

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In the mornings, Alice spent hours getting her hair and face done. “Come on Alice, we’re all late because of you,” Lorraine would say, but Alice was closed in her own world, feeling angry. When the report card had arrived, Lorraine had looked at her in shock. Alice’s report had been so bad she needed improvement in all her subjects. “Then what are you doing in school?” she asked Alice. “That’s exactly it. I don’t want to be in school. Next year, when I don’t have to go to school, I’m leaving. I want you to know that no one can force me to go anymore. I hate school, I hate the teachers and I hate you for forcing me to go.” Lorraine had looked at her daughter, whom she loved so much. She knew exactly where this anger had come from. Why couldn’t her love touch Alice? She had wanted to tell Alice how much she loved her, but she hadn’t been able to find the words. Lorraine hadn’t heard the words “I love you” for two years. She needed love so much herself.

Alice put her things into her locker. She looked around and left the school grounds. Life had been different before her dad had had a heart attack at the age of 45. She remembered herself saying “It’s not fair, it’s not fair…” and her mom holding her tight and saying “No one ever said life was fair.” She remembered herself crying for a year, then the tears had dried and she hadn’t been able to cry anymore. After that, nothing had been important anymore. Not friends, not school, not the house, not food, not fun. Nothing. Usually, she went to the edge of the soccer field to read. This time, she decided to go to the mall. Many students, wearing her school’s uniform, hung around there. 138

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“How come they are not at school?” she wondered. “Well, I’m not in school either,” she laughed to herself. She went to the salon at the bottom of the stairs. On the window was a big picture of a model, with tiny braids woven into her head and soft curls on her shoulders. Alice wanted to wear her hair that way, but didn’t know how to do it. “What do hairdressers do, who does their hair?” she had asked once. “Their friends from the salon do it for them,” her mom had answered. She didn’t want to ask for any favors. In the morning, when she wanted to braid her hair, she fought it for hours and refused to ask for her mom’s help. In the end, she combed her hair into a ponytail and left the house.

Lorraine took her bag and left for her lunch break. She had been looking for an idea for weeks. She remembered the photo of the model with the braids, the one in the hairdresser’s window Alice had looked at, hypnotized. She went into the salon and went to the old lady who was in charge of the place. “Can I help you?” the woman asked politely. “Yes, you can help me a lot. I want you to teach me something. I’ll pay you as if you did my hair. I only want you to teach me to make braids, like the ones in the photo,” she said bravely and pointed at the poster in the window. She had been practicing this moment for a week. “Tell her the truth,” she had suggested to herself in the mirror. “But why would she care about your relationship with your daughter?” she’d asked her reflection. “She is probably a mother, too. She knows how important it is. She’ll understand.” 139

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“Yes, what do you have to lose? Worst case she’ll say no,” she concluded. The hairdresser looked at her in surprise. “My daughter feels very bad about herself,” said Lorraine and touched her hair, “She thinks I don’t love her. I can’t tell her how much I love her. I want to braid her hair like that to show her my love,” she said confidently. She didn’t mind all the people around turning their heads to listen. She had lost one person. She wasn’t going to lose another one. The hairdresser had an understanding smile. “I’d be glad to,” she said and opened her calendar. “I work in the lab. I can come every lunch break,” said Lorraine with excitement. “Thursday?” she asked, took out a business card and wrote down “Thursday, 12.” “Thank you,” said Lorraine, “I do appreciate it.”

Alice stopped next to a candy stall. She bought some chewing gum and sat outside on a bench, reading and playing with her hair. “Hey Alice,” a group of students, coming out of the mall, walked up to her. She looked up. They sat next to her, giggling. They smelled of alcohol. “Would you like a cigarette?” asked one with a huge watch on his wrist. Her heartbeat sped up. He held up a cigarette he’d rolled by himself. It had a funny sweet smell. He passed the cigarette amongst the others. Alice looked at them anxiously. She always wondered where they got those cigarettes. “How come no one offers me some?” she had asked once. 140

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“If you are in class, studying, then no one can offer you anything, but if you hang around the wrong places, you’ll be offered some immediately,” her friend had told her. She looked around. She was only at the mall, but maybe the mall at this time of day really was the wrong place. The cigarettes reminded her of death. She had already experienced death. She didn’t want to die. “No, thank you,” she said and closed her book, “I only came to grab something to eat. I need to be back for my Math exam,” she left the bench and sneaked a look back to make sure they didn’t follow her. The counselor was waiting for her near her locker. He asked her to come to his room. Alice looked back. They hadn’t followed her. In his office, he took out a file with her name. “What’s going to happen to you, Alice?” he asked. “Nothing,” she said, her heart still beating faster. “I wanted to let you know, that you have so many F’s on your report, we have decided that you won’t be able to stay in school next year. Usually, if you have failed one subject, we offer a summer course to catch up, but you have too many. There is nothing I can do for you, unless you decide to help yourself,” he said sadly. Alice smiled. She knew this would happen. She was waiting for it. It was even easier than she thought. What was she going do? Nothing. She was going to do nothing. Maybe she was going to hang around the mall and read a book. “Oh, maybe the mall isn’t such a good idea during school hours,” she thought to herself.

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When she helped the boys to bed, she passed next to Alice’s closed door. She gently touched the door, trying to send her love. “Try, try again,” the hairdresser had said, “Don’t give up.” There had been so many hairs. It had all been so complicated, but she wasn’t going to give up. She gently knocked on the door. No answer. She knocked again. “Yes,” she heard Alice’s surprised voice. She opened the door and stuck her head into the room. In her hand, she carried the poster the woman from the salon had given her, a comb, some gel and a spray bottle with water. She gave the poster to Alice. Alice took off the rubber band. The colors on the poster’s edge were familiar. She opened it onto her bed, her eyed widening in astonishment. “How did you know?” she asked her mom, without words, tears starting to form in her eyes. “Would you like me to braid your hair like that?” she asked softly. Alice couldn’t speak. She took out her hair band, got off her bed and sat on the chair. Lorraine gently combed her hair, sprayed it with water, took sections of hair, covered them with gel and started braiding it. “I didn’t know you could braid like this,” said Alice. “That’s mainly because I couldn’t.” “Then how come you know now?” “I went to a salon next to our lab and asked the hairdresser to teach me.” “Why?” asked Alice and turned her head to her mom. “To make you happy. To show you how much I love you,” she said. Alice started crying. Lorraine held her and hugged her tight. 142

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“I love you too, mom,” Alice sobbed. “I know, I know,” said Lorraine and played with her hair. “I miss him so much.” “I know, sweetheart. I miss him, too,” said Lorraine and continued to braid her hair. In the morning, next to her locker, the kid with the huge watch, who offered her a cigarette in the mall, smiled at her. She got scared. She closed her locker and went to the counselor’s room. He sat in his office, working on the computer. He looked up at her in surprise. Her hair was softly curled, the top woven with beautiful braids. “Good morning Alice,” he said fondly. “Good Morning, Mr. Van Croft,” she said politely, “I came to tell you I was staying. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to fix my marks and anything I can’t fix until the end of the term, I’ll fix in a summer course.” “We only allow one course, Alice. You need more than one.” “I’ll take more then one course if I have to,” she said confidently. Once every couple of years, he had met a student who was confident he or she could make it. Usually, the decision had been all they had needed. He smiled. “OK!” he said happily, “I’ll see you again after this term’s report.” “Thank you,” she said and left his room smiling.

Lorraine took her bag off her shoulder and looked at the pile of results. On the counter was a vase with the flowers she had put there the day before. Fresh yellow flowers. She took a flower, grabbed her bag and left the office again. The salon was empty. There was only one woman, who came for an early morning blow-dry. 143

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“Excuse me, is Sofia in today?” she asked the hairdresser. “Sofia,” called the hairdresser, “She’s at the back. She’ll be out any minute,” she said and continued blow-drying. When Sofia came out, Lorraine handed her the yellow flower she had taken from the vase. “I wanted to say Thank you. Now, every hair my daughter has on her head knows how much I love her,” she said and smiled. Sofia was overwhelmed and took the flower, shaking. “Thank you,” she said quietly and sat on one of the chairs. Lorraine smiled. “Thank you,” she said and left.

Sofia held the yellow flower and looked at it carefully. She tried to get up, but couldn’t. “Sofia, are you OK?” asked the other hairdresser. “I think I’ll go get some coffee. I’ll be back in about half an hour,” she said and wiped away her tears. She went to the coffee shop under the escalators and sat at one of the tables. “Latte, please,” she told the waitress, who knew her. She put the flower on the table. She couldn’t get the woman with the braids out of her mind. “What irony. I helped a total stranger to tell her daughter she loved her and I can’t help myself say it,” she thought and opened a sachet of sugar. She put the sugar in her hand and started licking it. Only the day before, she had received an email from friends, saying: “You have to use every second of your life to tell your loved ones you love them, so you don’t miss the chance.” “Was it a coincidence?” she asked herself. “Maybe not? Maybe there’s no such a thing as coincidence. Maybe everything happens for a reason. Maybe the email from 144

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yesterday and that woman with the braids did not appear by accident after mom called two weeks ago. It’s too much of a coincidence.” “Sofia, come see him. He’s very sick,” her mom had begged. “I’m very busy, Mom. I can’t close the salon just like that.” “You are always busy, but he is very sick, Sofia.” “I wish him dead,” Sofia had thought to herself and had been afraid to say it out loud. “He hasn’t seen you in 15 years, Sofia. You don’t want it to be too late.” “He can always come and see me here.” “No, he can’t. He’s 85 and he’s not well. He can’t fly anymore.” Sofia knew her mom had been right. She had been sending her mom a flight ticket for years, so she could come and see the family, but he had been too weak to fly. 15 years before, she had gone for a visit. She had been there for three days, had said she couldn’t stay any longer and had gone back home. The thought of flying back frightened her. 25 years before, when her eldest daughter had been born, she had decided to live far away from him. As far as possible, so she could have a fresh start, away from his violence, so her daughter wouldn’t feel the anger and tension in the air. She had packed her house with an 18-month-old baby and had flown away. “It takes courage to leave the place you’ve lived in all your life,” she had told her daughter. “Couldn’t you just move to a different city?” her daughter had asked. “It wasn’t far enough.” “Was he hurting you when you were married and had your own baby?” 145

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“No, but it still hurt when I was married and had my own baby,” she answered. He had only hit her for a certain period, but to her, it might as well have been all the time. The waitress brought her the coffee and offered some cake. “No, thanks,” she said and touched the yellow flower. “You must have some good memories from him, too,” her husband had said. Sofia had tried to remember. She must have had good memories, but she had erased them so she could keep on being angry. She remembered a great vacation they’d had. There had been many laughs there. She remembered him covering her with the hot sand until she had laughed and said it tickled. Sofia remembered him taking her fishing and teaching her how to hook the bait. Then, his company had gone bankrupt. They had sold everything and he had been mad. So mad, that everything had made him go crazy. “It was so long ago, Sofia. You have to forgive him. I’m telling you, you’ll be sorry you didn’t see him before he died,” her husband had said. “I wish he was dead already,” she had said angrily. “You can’t be cross forever. You must find a way to leave it all behind you,” he had tried to convince her. “When he dies, my anger will die, too,” she had said. “No, when he dies, the anger towards him will die and the anger towards yourself will be born. Then, you won’t be able to forgive yourself.” Sofia knew he had been right. It had been so long before. She had been a small girl. Her dad had worked three jobs and had been angry all the time. “He loves you, Sofia. He really loves you,” her mom had told her every time he had hit her. “What kind of love is this?” she’d had asked, crying. 146

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“It’s very hard for him. Life is hard for him. It is not easy to live with no money and work to death so you can have food to eat,” she had explained and stroke her hair. “Love is in the heart, Mom. In the heart. You don’t need money in order to love,” she had said and cried. Her coffee was too strong and bitter. She called the waitress and asked for a weaker one. “It was so long ago,” she thought. If he died, her anger would remain forever, until she died, too. She hadn’t learned to forgive him for over 40 years. There’s no chance she would learn to forgive herself. From time to time, she remembered the fish they’d caught, jumping in the bucket. “If there are things to be done, you do them and that’s it. They don’t disappear if you postpone them,” she used to tell her hairdressers. She believed this with all her heart, but couldn’t follow her own advice when it came to her father. The second Latte was nicer. She looked at the flower and thought about the woman’s daughter, with the braids. She had found such a beautiful way to express her love. An old man sat at the table in front of her. He had soft white hair and a stick and ordered breakfast. He ate by himself and Sofia wondered if he liked to fish. Does he have a daughter he loves somewhere around the world? He raised his head and smiled at her, as if he could read her mind. She got scared and got up, paid at the cashier and went back to her salon. During lunch, she sent the hairdressers for a break, hanged the ‘Closed’ sign and locked the door. She walked confidently to the travel agency, but stood at the entrance, hesitating. “Love is in the heart,” she heard herself telling her mom. She would leave the hairdressers for only ten days. They’d be fine. Sofia would take the children to show them her own childhood. The neighborhood, the lake they had gone to fish 147

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in, the grandfather they’d never had a chance to get to know. “It was so long ago,” she heard her husband saying. She thought she had left it all behind her. That the minute she had flown away, it had stopped existing, but it had stayed inside, it hadn’t disappeared. She felt like a 12-year-old girl with the insult that had stuck to her. “If there are things to be done, you do them and that’s it. They don’t disappear if you postpone them,” she heard herself saying and went in. She counted the minutes until four o’clock. She waited for the moment she could hold the flight tickets in her hands. She walked into the travel agency excited and the travel agent gave her the tickets. “Oh, you came right on time. I’ve just printed them.” said the agent. She held the envelope, excited. She took the tickets out and examined them carefully. The name “Milan” excited her the most. She saw herself playing hide and seek with her dad, playing in the sand. The earlier life, before age 12, came up. There had been many fish, she hugged the tickets and went back to the salon. When she went in with a big smile, one of the hairdressers approached her. “We left you the Mohawk,” she said and pointed to a high school student, sitting and flipping through men’s hairstyle catalogues. “Hi, I’m Sofia, I’m your hairdresser today,” she said, smiling. “Hi, I’m Tom,” he said and smiled up at her. She looked at him, surprised. She didn’t expect such polite behavior from a punk with a Mohawk. This one also had a nose ring. He sat on one of the chairs and she gently covered him with a robe and clipped it with a pin. 148

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“Your hair’s nice. It needs to be in one of the hairdressing journals.” “Thank you,” he said and gently touched his spikes. “Even if I practiced for hours, I couldn’t do this. What kind of gel do you use?” she asked. “The cheapest one. You see, the cheaper it is, the stickier it is,” he said. “Makes sense,” she said and rested his head on the sink. “So, Mohawk, how would you like to look this time?” “Normal,” he said. She smiled and put some shampoo in his hair. “What’s normal for you may not be normal for others,” she winked at him and gently washed the shampoo out of his hair. “Actually, I’m looking for something that my girlfriend would like,” he said. “Then why didn’t you bring her along?” she asked. “I want to surprise her. She’s meeting me in an hour,” he said. Once, he had heard that going to the hairdresser was like being treated by a psychologist. He thought that maybe when he had to go somewhere for psychology work experience, he would go to a hair salon. “And what does your girlfriend look like?” she asked him and put in some hair conditioner and massaged his head softly. “You know, the way a good girl looks,” he said, unable to find any other way to describe her. Sofia could imagine her. Good girl with straight, neat long hair, dressed nicely, with a hair clip. “I know just the haircut you need, young man,” she said and lifted the towel onto his head. She collected the hair and cut. Tom wondered why she didn’t use the machine. She cut away slowly, layer by layer. Tom looked at himself smiling. 149

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“Are you sure you won’t regret this tomorrow morning?” she asked interested. “No, I won’t regret it. I should have done it a long time ago,” he said and looked closer at the woman who was cutting his hair. “Why? Do people usually regret cutting their hair?” he asked. “People, who have a haircut, really want the haircut to do something for them. They want to get up after a haircut and be different people,” she said and moved his ear to cut around it. “Hair is sometimes something you can hide behind,” he said. “That’s right. Many people hide behind their hair. People think there’s magic in a haircut, like it’ll change them.” “But their inside doesn’t change after a hair cut, does it? It works the other way. First, they need to change the inside and then go for a haircut. The hairstyle is only a reflection of what we feel. It doesn’t make us feel anything,” he told her. “You are a pretty wise kid,” she said and looked at him through the mirror. “Some adults don’t understand these things until the day they die.” “It’s only hair. We cut. It grows. The feeling inside we can’t cut or make pretty,” he said. He had to say it to himself in order to understand that being a geek or being cool is the feeling you have, which is not related to what others think. “Tell me, when you learned how to become a hairdresser, did you have some psychology courses?” he asked. “No, but I always thought we ought to.” “It is a great arrangement, having a haircut and some therapy for the same price,” he said, smiling, “People say that hairdressers get the most hidden secrets from people. Is this true?” 150

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“I don’t know. Only you know your own secrets,” she said and lightly dried his hair. She put some talcum powder on his neck and brushed away the hair with a big brush. “Well, that’s it. What do you think?” Tom got up from the psychologist’s chair and examined himself, smiling. “Nice. It’s really nice. I like it,” he said and gently touched his hair. It was soft and smelled great. He had been imagining her touching his hair and he closed his eyes and smiled. “If you like it, she’ll like it, too,” said Sofia, smiling. He thought of Sam. He remembered the first weeks they had started hanging out together. They had hugged and she had touched his hair. “It pricks.” “If you want, I’ll have a haircut for you.” “Don’t have a haircut for me. If ever, have a haircut for you,” she said confidently. Tom loved her wisdom. Whenever he kissed her, he felt his nose ring. He examined himself in the mirror again, moved closer to the mirror and took off the nose ring. He felt relieved. “Oh, good. That’s much better,” he said and put the ring in his pocket. “In a month, I’ll have to come again and tell you another secret of mine,” he said to Sofia and kept on looking at himself at the mirror. “In a month, I’ll be in Milan, but one of the other psychologists will be happy to take care of you,” she said and laughed a big, hearty laugh.

Outside the bookstore, Sam sat on the bench and played with a little doll that hung from her bag. She was happy to meet Tom after school. He had promised they would study 151

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for their English exam together and she knew that studying for an exam is as good an excuse as any to spend the afternoon together. Tom looked lovingly at the girl sitting on the bench. He walked slowly towards her. She had helped him find what he had had inside. He gently touched his hair again. It smelled great. Sam kept staring, looking for the kid with the Mohawk. She couldn’t recognize him approaching her. She looked at the kid coming towards her. He looked at her and smiled. “Tom? Tom? What have you done?” she said and got up from the bench. “You won’t believe what people do for love,” he said and touched her face. “It’s beautiful, Tom, It’s beautiful. You look great,” she said and jumped around excitedly. She touched his hair, smelled it, laughed and then suddenly stopped. “You didn’t do it for me, did you?” she worried. “No, Sam, I did it for me,” he said, put his arms around her and kissed her tenderly.

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Biography In the morning, when Daniel was waiting for Anna, he saw them singing. It had been two months since he had started waiting for her for the short morning walk towards school. In the last few days, he had noticed they were singing. At 8:15, Anna, her mom, her brother and her younger sister were sitting in the car and singing. The windows were shut and he could only see their lips moving. Then her mom stopped, they finished the song and kissed each other goodbye. “Good morning, Daniel” said Anna. “Hi, Anna. What do you do in the car every morning?” Daniel asked, tightening the straps on his backpack as they started walking. “Singing,” she said, smiling uncomfortably. She never thought anyone would notice. “What do you sing?” “All kinds of stuff. My mom records songs about peace, hope, motivation, love. She says that when you sing, your body releases happiness chemicals. She says singing sets you free.” “Is your mom into music or something?” asked Daniel. “No, she’s a doctor. She was a doctor in Croatia,” said Anna proudly. “And now?” “Now she’s a mom. Just a mom.” “And how is that related to songs?” Daniel was curious. “She thinks it’s her role to give us happiness. She says not all people can sing. Many like to listen to music, but then they only taste freedom.” “But not everyone can sing,” said Daniel. 153

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“Everyone has a song inside, but you must know yourself to find your song,” said Anna. “Everyone can sing,” she added confidently, then said goodbye and went to her locker. In English class, Mrs. Markson taught the class about biographies. Daniel wasn’t very interested in Mark Twain’s biography. He looked at Anna, imagined her singing and smiled. Every so often, she raised her head and returned his smile. He pondered whom to choose as the subject of his English biography assignment. That afternoon, he waited for his mom to pick him up. He looked around to check if anyone was watching. He had told his mom so many times that he preferred to take the bus, just like everyone else, but she always said “This is why I’m here,” and insisted on picking him up. They had had this argument quite a lot. “You don’t have to come. I’m a big boy. I can get home by myself,” he had said. “I’m sure you can, but what for? I’m home anyway and I’m happy to come and pick you up everyday,” she had replied. “Why are you home? I don’t understand,” he had asked. “I want to be with you in the mornings and afternoons, when you’re not at school,” she had said and turned on the radio. Daniel didn’t like this strangling relationship. Next to people, she used to kiss him and touch his face and he always felt like wiping his cheeks. He didn’t like it that he had grown up alone most of his life. His sister Sam was ten years older than he was, so she hadn’t been much of a playmate. When Daniel had tried to pick a fight with her, she would just say “I love you to the sky and back” and hug him. When she had finished high school, she had gone to 154

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study psychology and he had felt as if he had been left behind. The next morning, Daniel waited for Anna at the school’s car park. The blue car stood at the stoplight and Daniel watched Anna and her family singing and moving their heads simultaneously from side to side. Even her younger sister, who looked about three years old, sang with them. Anna came out of the car after kissing everyone. “Hi Daniel, good morning,” she said and moved her fringe out of her eyes. “Good morning,” he replied. “Anna, why did you leave Croatia?” he asked. Anna looked surprised. She had been at this new school for a whole year and no one had asked her this question. She remembered the packing days. “We take only what we have to,” her dad had said. They had said goodbye to Grandpa and Grandma at the airport, her mom had cried, and Grandma had said, “God will take care of you. It is the happiest day of my life. When you go up in this airplane, I might not see you again, but I’ll know you are alive.” Then everyone had cried, hugged and cried some more. Back then, at the airport, she hadn’t been sure she knew why they were leaving. Serb Rebels had come to their village, there had been gunshots and they couldn’t go to school anymore. Mom’s clinic had been destroyed and there had been funerals everywhere and everyone had been screaming and crying. “We wanted to stay alive,” she replied with tears in her eyes. Daniel was puzzled. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Croatia is a dangerous place. You get up in the morning and you don’t know if you’ll still be alive in the afternoon. How many people do you know who have died?” she asked him. 155

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“I don’t know,” he said, “two, maybe three. My mom’s uncles. But I didn’t know them that well.” He was curious why Anna should ask such a question. “Do you know how it feels to live in a place where there is not one person who hasn’t lost twenty or thirty relatives or close acquaintances?” she asked and felt like she was a bit cruel to him. “No, I don’t, and I think I don’t want to know. It must be terrible. You were probably happy to leave Croatia,” said Daniel. He felt lucky. The thought of death scared him. Anna smiled. She was very sad to leave her home and her country, but very happy to say goodbye to that fear forever. She turned to leave. “My mom says that every day we should thank God for our eyes, arms and legs and for having one another,” she said with a smile and went to her locker. Daniel stood where he was and watched her leave. She was playing with her fringe. He remembered his mom saying something similar. “People don’t appreciate what they have. Sometimes, when they are threatened, they learn to appreciate the fact they have eyes, hands, legs. Then, they appreciate that every cell in their body is functioning and that they have other people who love them.” At that moment, he had the idea of writing his English assignment about his mom. At lunch break, he found a love letter from his mom in his bag. “My Daniel! I love you to the sky and back. Mom.” He looked around before throwing it away so no one could see. In the afternoon, when they were waiting in the car park, he asked Anna about the subject of her English assignment. “I haven’t decided yet,” she answered. “You’re not using any family member?” 156

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“I know everything there is to know about my family,” she said. He felt embarrassed that he didn’t know much about his family and the things that shaped their lives. “I was thinking about dad’s friend. He was a musician in Croatia,” said Anna. Daniel looked at her carefully. She had such beautiful eyes and played with her fringe all the time. He saw her singing in the car every day. He wondered if she could sing well. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the cars coming into the car park to pick up high school students from a long day at school. “Doesn’t it bother you that your mom comes to pick you up every afternoon?” “Bother?” she was surprised, “Not at all. I’m happy she comes. We have time to be together. We sing”, she said, “Why would it bother me?” “I don’t’ know. I feel like I need my space. My mom is overprotective. I feel choked.” “Why, are you an only child?” she asked. “Not exactly. My sister is 10 years older than I am.” “Wow! That is a big gap. Why is that?” she asked him and he looked at her speechless. When he was born, Sam was already there. Whenever he had asked, they had told him it took time to make such a wonderful child, and he hadn’t bothered to find out any more. “Good question. I might have been an accident,” he said. She looked at him strangely. “Maybe I’m adopted,” he continued. “Don’t start with that nonsense. Soon you’ll tell me they found you in a rubbish bin,” she said and tapped his chest playfully. Her hand felt warm and soft. “Don’t you ever have doubts?” he asked, his heart beating faster.

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“Never. I know my mom and dad love me. I know why they brought me into this world, what they were thinking and what they felt,” she answered confidently. “How do you know?” he asked. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the blue car entering the car park. Her mom was sitting there all by herself, singing. From the outside, it looked like someone had muted the TV while it was showing a music clip. Anna put her hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “I asked,” she said, then smiled and got in the car. She hugged her mom, kissed her and joined in singing. When he got into his mom’s car, he told her about the English assignment. “You can do it about Uncle Andy,” she suggested, “He is an interesting person.” “I was thinking maybe I should do it about you,” he said hesitantly. He looked up at her, trying to read her silence. “What could be that exciting about my life?” she said and turned on the radio. Sam came for dinner. She talked for a while with people from her university. She spent hours every day finishing her doctorate. She was always a brilliant student and Daniel sometimes felt that he could never compete with her. “Then what, Doctor Sam? Are you going to charge us for a consultation?” he teased her. “I’m not a doctor yet and I’ll give you consultation for free, even though I think you’re hopeless,” she teased him back and kissed his cheeks. He wiped the kiss with the back of his hand. “For an English assignment, I need to do a biography on someone,” he told her. “And?” she inquired. “I suggested doing it on Uncle Andy,” said his mom. “And I was thinking of doing it about mom,” said Daniel. 158

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Sam, his mom and his dad looked at one another. Daniel felt as if they were saying something to each other with their eyes. “Excellent idea,” said Sam and her mom looked at her angrily. “Excellent idea,” Sam repeated and kept on eating her pie. Daniel looked at them, trying to understand what was happening. He felt left out in his own home. He could sense they all knew something he didn’t. In the morning, he tried to think of the questions for his mom’s interview. When he saw Anna’s family arriving in the blue car, he tried to read their lips, but couldn’t catch what they were singing. Anna got out of the car, said something in a different language and sent her kisses through the air. “Hey Anna. Good morning,” he said. “Hi Daniel. Good morning.” “What does your mom do now?” he asked her, as they started walking towards the school. “She volunteers for an hour or two every day in the immigration department. She helps immigrants from Croatia. When she’s not doing that, she’s at home, sculpting with clay or finding songs and singing.” “You have a very special mom,” he said, trying to imagine his own mom singing. He remembered the songs she had sung a lot when he was young. Sometimes she still sang in the shower. He and his dad laughed whenever she did that. “Yes, I think so, too. When we left Croatia, she swore she would do all that she could to be with us as much as possible. When her brother was killed, and then another doctor in her clinic, she kept on saying ‘The time we have together is limited and we have to cherish every second’,” said Anna and straightened her fringe. Daniel looked at her. He wanted to move her fringe and uncover her face. In the distance, he saw the building where 159

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her locker was. When they got there, they would be separated. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. “You have a nice sister. How old is she?” he asked. “She is adorable. She is four. I love her so much,” she said, her face glowing. Daniel smiled. He had never heard anyone loving their brothers or sisters, except Sam. He didn’t hate her, but he had never told her he loved her. “To the sky and back,” he remembered her saying whenever they met. “You have an older sister, don’t you?” she asked, “How is she? Is she a good sister?” Daniel stopped. He didn’t know how to answer. He remembered her singing him love songs. She had taught him to read and had posted photos of him in her diary. One day, when he was six, he had gone into his room and she had written on his wall with paint, in giant letters:

I love you you to the sky and back - Sam In her music class, she had composed songs to Barney, the dinosaur from the kids show, “I love you, you love me.” For a while, he hadn’t felt he could invite friends to his room, but after a while, he had gotten used to seeing her love written up on the wall like that. Mom always said he was lucky, because he had two mothers. “She is a great sister,” he said pensively. Anna smiled and turned to go. Daniel stretched out his hand and touched her. He wanted to move the fringe on her cheek, but was too embarrassed. He looked for words to say, but he couldn’t find his voice. “I’ll see you later,” she said and smiled. She liked the feeling of his hand. She paused for a second longer then turned and left. Some students brought the biographies they had done on their family and friends to the English lesson. Mrs. Markson 160

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gave the class a sheet of paper and asked the students to schedule themselves in for a presentation. Daniel hurried to reach the paper and scheduled himself last. One of the students asked “What if our family is boring and they don’t have an interesting biography?” Mrs. Markson looked at him in surprise. Daniel looked at Anna and she smiled back at him. Anna’s mom was very interesting, Daniel thought to himself. Mrs. Markson walked over to the student who had asked the question. “Every person, every person has an interesting biography. Every person has his own story. Even your parents, whom you might consider boring. They, too, have an interesting story to tell. You only need to know how to ask,” she told him. Daniel wondered about it. It sounded almost impossible that every person would have an interesting life, but he had never asked. Mrs. Markson announced the due date and Daniel thought that if he could choose Anna’s mom, it would be much easier. Whenever he talked about the assignment at home, everybody went quiet. He guessed it would take a while until he would be able to sit down with his mom and ask her some questions. One afternoon, after he had gone to his locker to take his English books, he saw Anna going towards her car. Her mom, with a short haircut and white clothes, stepped out of the car and gave her a great big bear hug, as if she hadn’t seen her for years. She kissed her and touched her hair gently. He tried to imaging his mom getting out of her car with a big ‘I missed you’ hug and many kisses and he felt like wiping his face with the back of his hand. They started singing. Daniel tried to read their lips. “Back … why, why … understood,” was all he could hear before they left. 161

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At home, he prepared his tiny tape recorder. The cassette was partly recorded already and he wasn’t sure whether to rewind it or not. He looked for the right time for the interview with his mom. He looked at her in the kitchen, preparing dinner, and felt strange knowing more about Anna’s mom then he did about his own. “Mom, do you have time for my English assignment?” he asked. “Are you sure you don’t want to do it with Uncle Andy?” she asked and kept on working. Daniel debated with himself for a second. He decided to ask. “Is there any reason for you to avoid doing my assignment, or am I just imagining it?” he asked her. She looked up from the chopping board. “Not really. It’s just that my life is not very interesting, so there isn’t much to tell.” “It’s not supposed to be interesting. It’s suppose to be real,” he said and remembered Mrs. Markson’s words. He felt he was missing so many pieces in his life’s puzzle. His mom left the knife on the counter and dried her hands. She sniffed loudly and sat at the table. “OK, ask away,” she said and kept on playing with her fingers around her lips. Daniel brought his notebook. He started going through some questions, but then he remembered his teacher telling them they had to listen to the person they were interviewing, look for the things that shaped their life and flow with them. He turned on the tape recorder. The red light came on. “Do you need to record it?” she asked with apprehension. “Yes. Later on, I need to summarize everything we talk about. I’m making sure I can remember it all,” he said. She got up and went to get herself some cold water. “Tell me a bit about yourself,” he read the first question he had in his book, just to get started. 162

Biography

Ronit Baras

“What do you want me to tell?” she asked. “Anything you want.” “How about you ask and I’ll answer,” she said. Daniel looked at his list of questions. He made them as open as possible to allow him to flow with her stories, but he had to improvise the questions. He remembered Anna. “Tell me how you met dad,” he said. She smiled. It looked like she liked this question. “I met dad during my studies at law school. We were in the same course and had to submit an assignment in pairs. He was my partner,” she said and paused. “And?” “He would come to my dormitory so we could work on the assignment and I would go to his, and when we got an A, he invited me on a date to celebrate. We’ve been together ever since.” “Why did you decide to study law?” he asked her. “I’d wanted to be a lawyer since I was young. I think I’d known that was what I wanted to do since the end of primary school. I wanted to save the world. Like Sam. She’s known she wanted to be a psychologist since she was ten.” “Sam really loves being a psychologist. Were you happy being a lawyer?” he asked her. “I was happy being a lawyer, too. It was very rewarding.” “Then why are you working so little now?” he asked. “When you were born, I took a long break, and when you started school, dad and Sam convinced me to go back to work. Then, I didn’t feel like going back to intensive work. I wanted to be with you, take you to school, and bring you back from school. I wanted to come to every activity and event, so I found a job that let me work a few hours a day and still be with you,” she answered peacefully. 163

Biography

Ronit Baras

He thought about Sam. In their house, Sam wasn’t really one of the kids. She had a different status. Maybe he should have written the biography about Sam. Sam and his mom were so close. Why had his mom kept on working as usual when Sam was born? He felt confused. “What was the happiest day of your life?” he asked. Sam. Sam was definitely the happiest thing in her life. “The day you were born,” she said and paused again. “I thought you would say it was the day Sam was born,” he said. He forgot all about the assignment. “Sam brought me a lot of happiness, but I lost it. You brought it back to me,” she said and touched his hand. Lost it? What had happened? Was it something Sam had done? “What was the saddest day in you life?” he asked. This wasn’t on the question list. His mom lowered her hand, played with her finger, took a sip from the water. She looked at him and smiled. “It was Tuesday, just before Christmas. I was supposed to get the most wonderful present that day. I came to the hospital early in the morning. During the whole pregnancy, we had looked for a hospital that would allow Sam to be in the delivery room. The nurses were great, the doctor was great and we had the most beautiful, adorable baby boy. It was all very exciting and dad took happy pictures of Sam holding her newly born brother,” she said and didn’t look at his eyes. He felt confused. It all seemed so perfect, but he hadn’t been born on a Tuesday. “And then, in the afternoon, the doctor came and said there was a problem. We were busy taking photos, so she suggested we take the baby to the baby room, and kept on saying there was a problem. She brought in a drawing of a heart and said our baby would not live for very long, because he had a heart defect and he would die within hours.” Daniel looked at his mom. The tape kept on rolling. 164

Biography

Ronit Baras

“And he was so cute, so beautiful and so perfect,” she said and her voice started shaking. Daniel looked for words. “Why?” he asked, his voice shaking. “No reason. Nature’s mistake. One in every ten thousand births. He had had this defect from the early months of the pregnancy.” “And how come they couldn’t figure it out earlier?” he asked angrily. “It’s a rare defect. It’s something you have to look for. With healthy people, there is no reason to look for it and I was healthy. I’d had healthy pregnancies, Sam was healthy, so no one could have suspected that something would be wrong,” she said and took another sip of water. “So what happened then?” Daniel urged her. “He died a couple of hours later. Just like the doctor said. She gave him some morphine to calm him down and his heartbeat slowed down until he died. We already had photos. He already had a name. We already loved him so much,” she said with tearing eyes. Daniel took a sip from his mom’s water. “We called him Daniel,” she said and touched his hand. “I stayed in the hospital and dad and Sam went home to pack his new bed, dresser, mobiles and decorations. They had to arrange a funeral. This was the saddest day of my life. The day after, the day of the funeral, was also the saddest day of my life.” Daniel thought about Sam. She had only been a child when it had happened. He tried figuring out when it had happened. He imagined her as a young girl, helping his dad to arrange a funeral. “What about Sam?” he asked. “Sam went from one person to another and explained we had had a baby with a broken heart that couldn’t be fixed 165

Biography

Ronit Baras

and that he had died and soon we’d have a new baby. Every day, she used to come to our bed whispering ‘Mom, are you pregnant yet?’” “And were you?” “It took me a while to get pregnant. When I was, we did all the checks to make sure there weren’t any heart problems and we were all very excited. Sam was very happy and everything was fine. Then, in the last month of the pregnancy, I got up in the morning and I couldn’t feel any movements. I hurried to hospital, where they told me it was too late and the baby had had a cord accident and died inside.” Daniel felt enormous pressure in his chest. He looked for words. He moved his head from side to side. “No!” he managed to say in a weak, desperate voice, “No! No!” and he got up and left the dining table. In his room, he lay on his bed, hugged his pillow tightly and rocked himself from side to side, his heart pounding. Daniel’s mom got up from her seat. The little red light was still on. She went to the family albums and took out photos in a colorful envelope. She went hesitantly to Daniel’s room. She went in quietly, put the envelope on his bed and left the room. Daniel reached for the colorful envelope. There were about 50 photos in it. He looked at them carefully. Sam was about five or six years old. She looked so little, but still like her current self. She held a wrapped baby. She looked so happy. Daniel wiped the tears off his face. It was so real, so close and yet so far away. With his fingers, he gently touched the photo of Sam holding the baby. His mom looked so happy. He hugged the photos and went to the dining area. His mom sat there with her head between her hands. The red light on the tape recorder was still on. “So what happened then?” he wanted to know. 166

Biography

Ronit Baras

“Then we lost Sam,” she said and tears came out of her eyes. “She was so angry with us and didn’t want to accept it. She said ‘You promised it wouldn’t happen again’ and became a screaming, disobeying girl and there was nothing we could do to make her happy. From the most wonderful girl in the world, she turned into a girl with sleeping problems, eating problems, shower problems and hairbrushing problems. Everything became hard and complicated for her. We had lost our happiness,” she said and started to cry. She got up to get the tissue box. Daniel stood still. The tape kept on rolling and the light was on. He imagined Sam screaming and shouting. She was always so perfect. So perfect. He tried to imagine what could be going on in a little girl’s head but he couldn’t. His mom came back to the table with the tissue box. “Did she get over it?” he asked. His mom smiled sadly, “No, she didn’t. She went to study psychology so she could treat herself every day, every moment. It leaves a wound that keeps on bleeding,” she said and drank a bit of water, “Well, maybe she did get over it. For a long time, whenever she saw a baby, she asked ’When is he going to die?’ and I used to take her to places with lots of people and tell her ’Do you see all those people? They were all babies once, but they stayed alive’.” She smiled through the tears. Daniel looked at his mom carefully. Every feature in her face looked different. Her nose was red. “Then, Aunt Nicky gave birth to Josh and we came to see him immediately when he came out of the delivery room. Sam touched him and asked quietly ‘Is he going to die today or tomorrow?’ and we came to the hospital every day to visit Nicky and Josh and later on, when they went home, we went to see them every day, so that Sam would believe he was still alive. After another nine months, you were born,” she said, 167

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smiling and crying at the same time. “Dad went to get Sam and she walked slowly towards you, touched your nose with her fingers and said ‘Hi Daniel, I’m Sam. I’m your sister. I have been waiting for you for such a long time and I already love you all the way to the sky and back’ and she couldn’t speak anymore.” Daniel looked at her and tears rolled down his face. He imagined his ten year-old sister in the hospital, fighting the fears that maybe he would disappear again. He remembered the stories about the day he had come from the hospital. Sam had stood on the street, telling the people passing by that she’d had a baby brother and had offered them to come in and see him. He remembered being told that she had asked if he could sleep in her bed and when his parents said no, she dragged her bed closer to his and sang to him until he fell asleep. He knew Sam loved him, but he never knew how much. “Weren’t you afraid?” he asked through his tears. “I was afraid throughout the whole pregnancy. The only time I could run away from that fear was when I slept. Everyone was afraid. If I came a second later to pick Sam up from school, she would scream that I scared her out of her mind, because she was convinced something had happened to me. But after you were born, the past faded away. The happiness you brought us was so great, it was stronger than the sadness and the worries,” she said, smiling. “Are you sad now?” he worried. “I’m not sad anymore, but I am worried. I’m worried all the time. Once, happiness was taken away from me. I’m afraid it might be taken away again,” she said. Daniel looked at her with understanding. He finally understood why they had all surrounded him and protected him like this. It was from fear he might disappear again. He came closer to the table. 168

Biography

Ronit Baras

“Why didn’t you tell me, mom?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he really would have liked to know. “I always told myself I didn’t want it to pressure you. I didn’t want you to feel that because of all we had gone through to bring you to the world, you were supposed to match up to any expectations we had. I wanted you to be you. I wanted you just the way you are.” “What kind of a reason is that? Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked angrily. His mom looked at him softly and touched his face. “It was painful. It was so heavy. I didn’t want you to carry this burden with you,” she said. “I could have made it easier for you.” “You did, just by being there. You’ve made it so much easier for all of us,” she said and kept on stroking his cheek, “Sam always thought we should tell you and we had this argument many times, until we reached an agreement.” “What agreement?” he asked impatiently and remembered everyone’s looks when he talked about choosing his mom for the assignment. He remembered Sam saying it was a great idea. “The agreement was that if you asked, I’d tell you,” she said. “So you see,” she said and touched his hair, “The day you were born was the happiest day of our life,” she continued, “After you go through such loss, a lot of things look different. Once, the most exciting thing for me was to close a case in the office and get my bonus check But after that, my life became one big excitement after another. To see you smile, laugh, crawl, eat, and say your first words. Every day in my life, around you, around Sam and Dad, brings me so much joy,” she said and looked at the tape. The red light was still on. Daniel looked at the light. He remembered his English assignment. He had looked for something that shaped his 169

Biography

Ronit Baras

mother’s life. Now, he wasn’t sure about whom he was doing his assignment. His mom? Maybe he was doing it about Sam? When he looked at the photos in his hand, he wondered, maybe he was actually doing it about himself. His mom held his face in her hand and gave him an endless kiss. “My Daniel, I love you, love you, love you. There are no words in the world to express my love,” she said. Daniel looked at her face. She sounded as if she was almost singing it. He held her wet face with his hands. “To the sky and back,” he said and kissed her back. In the morning, he waited for a while in the parking lot. From a distance, he saw Anna’s blue car. The windows were shut and he tried again to read their lips. “But … I’m sure I … why, why …misunderstood, so now I see … eyes … give … love.” He managed to read their lips singing. He could imagine the Spice Girls singing and the music played gently in his head. Anna came out of her car and played with her fringe. She looked so pretty. He walked up to the car. Anna approached him, looking embarrassed. He looked like he was mumbling something. “Hi Daniel, Good morning,” she said with a surprised look. Daniel looked at her with a smile. He moved the fringe away from her face and sang, “Mama, I love you. Mama I care. Mama, I love you. Mama my friend. You’re my friend.” She smiled and stood closer to him. “Hey, that’s nice. My grandma is thinking about coming to visit us, so this is our ‘song of the week’. You’ve done the assignment on your mom, haven’t you?” she said, coming closer to him. Daniel nodded and smiled. “You sing beautifully,” she said and kissed him. 170

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They walked into school hand in hand.

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