Deborah Heal

Emma and the Laffy Taffy Crisis

  

          It was a sunny Monday morning and everyone in class was busy. Some of her classmates were having snacks. Aven was reading in the book center. Ellie and Cathy were feeding the goldfish. But Emma was concentrating on her math work. She only had two problems left to do, and it was her favorite subject.

          But then Mr. Shaun said, “Boys and girls, come sit in our circle. We have a special guest this morning. It’s Mrs. Frizzle, our new principal, and she has some important news.”

          Emma and the other students were curious and went quickly to sit in their usual spots. The lady who stood smiling next to Mr. Shaun had the sort of hair that looked perfect for someone named Mrs. Frizzle. It was curly and red and quite frizzly. She looked somewhat like a happy clown. Emma smiled inside when she thought about it.

          “Little ladies and gentlemen,” Mrs. Frizzle began, “I am happy to announce the first annual Goose Valley Montessori School Talent Show. It will be held next Friday night and you’re all invited to perform.”

          The students clapped their hands and began to chatter eagerly about what each would do.  Mrs. Frizzle had a list of all the children’s names. As she called off the names, the boys and girls told her what they would do for the talent show. Mrs. Frizzle carefully wrote each talent in her notebook next to each child’s name.

          “I want to tap dance!” Helen said.

          “I can juggle!” Sammi said.

          “I know how to sing the Star-Spangled Banner!” Holt said.

          “I can make funny animal noises!” Eli said. “Like this—Eeeeeeeeeee! That was a baby seal,” he explained.

          “Watch what I can do!” Annie said. She bounced up from her seat and did two perfect back flips across the room.

          Joshua said, “I’m a ventriloquist, and I have my own dummy.”

          “You ARE a dummy,” someone in the back whispered.

          “That wasn’t nice, Aven,” Mr. Shaun said, frowning.

          “I was just kidding, Joshua,” Aven said with a grin. “Anyway, I can spell ventriloquist and other really hard words.”

          “Those are all good ideas, boys and girls. I’m sure all your parents and friends will be delighted,” Mrs. Frizzle said as she shut her notebook.

          “Wait!” Mr. Shaun said. “We have one more student.”

          Mrs. Frizzle opened her notebook again. “Oh, yes, please pardon me. Emma Claire Thomas, what will you do for the first annual Goose Valley Montessori School Talent Show?

          Emma propped her chin with her hand, squinched her eyes tightly shut, and began to think. She thought and thought and thought. Finally she opened her eyes and looked up at Mrs. Frizzle and Mr. Shaun.

          “Well,” she said at last, “Dancing, juggling, singing, tumbling, acrobatics, and ventriloquism are all good, but those are already taken.”

          “Don’t forget funny animal sounds,” Eli reminded her.

          “Right,” Emma replied. “But I want something different.”

          “How about a musical instrument,” Mrs. Frizzle added helpfully.

          “I’m learning to play the violin,” Emma said, “but I’m not good enough yet.”

          “How about making funny faces?” Annie said. “Like this.” She pulled her eyelids up with one hand and squashed her nose with her other hand.

          Everyone giggled. “You look like a pumpkin,” Helen said.

          “That was funny, but it’s not what I’m thinking,” Emma said.    

          “Can you do funny voices?” Holt asked. “I’ll get you, my pretties!” His voice sounded like the Wicked Witch of the West’s in The Wizard of Oz.

          “I can gargle “Jingle Bells” with milk in my mouth,” Joshua said, “if my mom’s in the other room.”

          “Oh, gross,” Cathy said making a face at Joshua.

          “All those are cool,” Emma said, “but I want something different.”

          “You’ll have to think of something by Wednesday, Emma,” Mr. Shaun said. “You don’t want to be the only one in the whole school with nothing for the talent show.”

          “I’ll think about it,” Emma said thoughtfully.

 **********************

          When Emma stepped off the school bus her mother and baby sister were waiting on the front porch.

          “How was your day, Emma Claire Thomas?” Her mother liked to call her by her whole name sometimes when she was happy and not just when she was mad at her.

          “OK.”

          “Did anything exciting happen?”

          “No.”

          Emma’s baby sister [See her story here.] toddled over and smiled up at her. She looked so cute with her little baby teeth showing, even if she did have slobbers on her chin—as usual. Emma bent over and kissed her head and gave her a hug.

          “Oowidufluffaldell,” said her baby sister.

          “I’m happy to see you too,” Emma said, smiling. One talent she knew she had was interpreting baby language.

          “Do you have any homework?” her mother asked.

          “A little.”

          Her mother took her pink backpack from Emma’s shoulders and began to unpack it. Here is what she removed from it:

1. One sheet of math practice (It was about adding money.)
2. One sheet of spelling words to learn (The hardest word was airplane.)
3. A book about kangaroos and aardvarks to read for practice (It had funny pictures.)
4. A report card (Emma’s  card had all “S’s.”)
5. Emma’s stuffed cat Atticus (It was Show and Tell Day.)
6. Orange peels (Healthy snacks were encouraged at G.V.M.S.)

          At the very bottom her mother pulled out a rumpled sheet of paper. “What’s this?

          “We’re having a talent show and you and Daddy can come.”

          “What are you going to do for the show?”

          “I’m still thinking,” Emma said.

          “You are a good singer and dancer.”

          “Do you think I could teach Skittle some good cat tricks by Friday?”

          “I think Skittle would vote ‘no’ to doing cat tricks. You could play your violin.”

          “Not yet. I know! I could build a huge city of dominoes and everyone could watch them all fall over.”

          “It would take too long to set up the dominoes on the stage, Honey. Why don’t you ask Daddy for some ideas when he comes home?” Her mother went in the house to cook dinner.

          “Eeeegleefpoofwulump,” her baby sister said.

          Emma gave her a look that was part smile and part frown. “I know you have a talent for pooping in your diapers!”

          Emma thought and thought but could not think of anything good for the talent show.

           “How about reciting the Gettysburg Address?” Emma’s father suggested while they were eating spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.

          “The what?” Emma said.

          “I don’t think they’ve had that yet, dear,” her mother said. “But, Emma, you know all 50 states.”

          “That’s too much like school,” Emma said. “I want something that’s more interesting.”

          “You have a talent for drawing,” her father said.

          “Weepeejeedeeteeheepog,” her baby sister said.

          “What did she say?” her mother and father asked.

          Emma frowned. “She said: ‘I have a talent for getting into your stuff while you’re gone to school!’”

          Emma kept on thinking and thinking.

 ******************************

          After dinner Emma’s next door friend Aneesa came over. “I wish my school would have a talent show,” she said.

          “You can come watch mine—if I ever think of what to do.”

          “Too bad you’re not double-jointed like me.” Aneesa liked to amaze her family and friends with the strange pretzel shapes she could make with her body. “If I could be there, we could do a skit or a cheer or jump rope tricks, or. . .”

          “None of that is quite right,” Emma said, shaking her head.

          When Aneesa’s mom suggested that Emma could make balloon animals, and Aneesa ran back home to get some balloons so she and Emma could try. But nothing Emma made looked like an animal or anything else--just a strange twisted up balloon.

          Emma thought and thought and thought. But then it was time to go to bed. “Why don’t you sleep on it?” her father said.

          “What does that mean?”

          “If you let your brain rest, perhaps it will come up with a good idea.”

          “I know,” her mother said. “Let’s call Grandma.”

          Emma explained the problem to Grandma and was happy that she didn’t offer any silly ideas. Instead, all she said was, “Don’t worry, Little Donut. (She sometimes called her that because of her name E. Claire, which is a little like éclair, which is a type of French donut.)  Don’t worry about a thing. I have a secret formula that I will share with you. I’ll mail it by super-fast post and you’ll have it by the time you get home from school tomorrow.

          “Thank you, Grandma. I wish you could be here for my talent show.”

          “Me too, Little Donut,” Grandma said from far away in Illinois.

 **************************

          The first thing Emma saw when she came through the door after school was a brown cardboard package sitting on the dining room table. She let out a squeal of happiness when she saw that it was addressed to Emma Claire Thomas, 123 Koi Cove Road, Red Hills, GA.

          Emma never liked to rush surprises, so took time to guess what was inside. The package was light and when she shook it she heard a muffled thumping sound and she wondered what kind of “secret formula” it could be. There was a faint sweet, fruity smell coming from the package. When she turned it over she saw the words (in Grandma’s terribly messy handwriting) Use with caution. Good luck at the talent show!

          Emma could wait no longer and began to tear open the box. Inside she saw crumpled funny pages from Grandma’s newspaper. When she pulled that aside, she saw three flat, colorfully wrapped bars. In bold purple letters were the words Laffy Taffy and in smaller pinkish-reddish letters, For a Barrel of Laughs. One bar was yellow and smelled like bananas. One was pink and smelled like strawberries. And one was purple and smelled like grapes. In tiny print beneath the name on each bar she saw the words: Directions Inside.

          Emma decided to open the strawberry bar first since strawberries reminded her of Grandma’s garden and the fun they had had picking strawberries last summer. She carefully tore open the end and slipped out the pink rubbery bar that was inside. As soon as she touched the candy she felt a funny feeling in the tips of her fingers and dropped the bar onto the table. Then she saw that a slip of paper had fallen out of the wrapping. On it she saw the words:

Use sparingly and responsibly. Eat only one small piece at a time. Chew slowly. To prevent insomnia, do not eat before bedtime. And never, ever, under any circumstances, eat during school. The Laffy Taffy Company, Inc. is not responsible for misuse of this product. Good luck.

Emma looked in the box, but there were no other instructions. What kind of secret formula was this?

          She picked up the pink Laffy Taffy. Once again she felt a funny feeling in her finger tips. It was sort of tingly, but not in a bad way. She cautiously licked the Laffy Taffy and began to get a funny feeling in her mouth. It bubbled and tingled like 7-Up when it comes out your nose when you laugh too hard. But it smelled and tasted delicious, like fresh strawberries with lots of sugar and whipped cream. She decided she had to have a bite right away. She would take only a small piece as the instructions said, but the taffy hung on verrrrrrry stubbornly. Emma pulled and pulled with her sharp white teeth (fortunately her teeth were very healthy from brushing them everyday.) and at last she had a piece of pink Laffy Taffy in her mouth.

          She felt a giggle coming on even though she was not thinking of anything particularly funny at the moment. As she chewed, a delicious strawberry flavor filled her mouth and she began to smile. She felt a funny feeling in her throat, and when she swallowed the sweet candy, her tummy felt funny too. The Laffy Taffy was very chewy and it took her approximately 367 ½ chews to finish eating the small piece.

          She called out to her mother, “Mommy, come see what Grandma sent me. It’s Laffy Taffy and it’s delicious.” At least she meant to say that. But as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, a giggle came tumbling out. Next a small chuckle came from deep in her throat, then a medium sized chortle, and at last a full-fledged laugh burst out. She put a hand over her mouth to stop before anymore sillies came out.

          Emma waited and waited, but she didn’t feel any new talent. After the giggling spell, nothing else happened for a long time, and Emma wondered if something was wrong with Grandma’s secret formula.

          Then it happened at the dinner table. When Emma’s dad asked her to pass the potatoes, she replied, “What gets wetter the more it dries?”

          “I don’t know. What?”

          “A towel,” Emma said. Everyone laughed, even Emma’s baby sister.

          “What building has the most stories?”

          “What?”

          “I library, of course,” Emma said grinning. After that jokes came faster and faster. They seemed to just come bubbling up out of no where, one after another. And with each joke she told, her mother and father and baby sister laughed harder and harder.

          “What flower do you always wear? Tulips,” Emma said because everyone was laughing too hard to answer. “What grows down when it grows up?”

          “I don’t know. What?” Her father was still laughing from the last joke.

          “A goose,” Emma answered. Her mother was laughing so hard tears were running down her face.

          Emma was relieved to know that at last she had a talent for the school talent show. But just to be sure, she practiced by telling these jokes to her mother, father, and baby sister:

1. What do moths study in school? Mothematics

2. What do you call a song about cars? Cartoon

3. What 11-word English word is always pronounced incorrectly? Incorrectly

4. Why won’t bikes stand up by themselves? They’re two-tired (too tired)

5. Why is six afraid of seven? Because seven eight nine. (seven ate nine)

6. Why did the starfish cross the road? To get to the other tide.

7. Why did the chicken cross the play ground? To get to the other slide.

8. Why did the cow cross the road? To get to the moooovie.

9. What is black and white and red all over? A zebra with too much lipstick.

          The jokes went on so long that her mother and father and baby sister got tired of laughing. Fortunately the strawberry Laffy Taffy began to wear off and the jokes began to slow.

          Next, Emma tried a small piece of the purple grape flavored Laffy Taffy. This time another kind of joke started to come. When her mother and father realized she could not stop telling jokes they told Emma she could go over to Aneesa’s house and practice her new talent there.

          Soon, Aneesa and her mom and little sister were laughing their heads off. Here are some of the jokes she told them:

1. What do you call a 5000 pound elephant wearing glass slippers? Cinderelephant

2. How do you get down off an elephant? You don’t. You get it off of geese.

3. What to elephants do for laughs? Tell people jokes.

********************

          Emma wanted to keep her talent a secret until the talent show, so she waited until she got home the next day to try the yellow banana-flavored Laffy Taffy. This gave her a bad case of knock-knock jokes that just wouldn’t stop.

          Finally her mother said, “Stop! My stomach muscles hurt from laughing so hard.”

          “Go take your baby sister and tell them in your room,” her father said. “You can practice on your dolls.”

          “Knock-knock,” Emma said.

          Her baby sister answered, “Gleebquoboo,” which means “Who's there,” in baby language. But since that sort of spoiled the joke, Emma answered the knock-knock jokes herself. Besides, her baby sister was giggling so hard she was rolling on the floor. Here are some of the jokes Emma told her:

1. Knock-knock. Who’s there? Tank. Tank who? You’re welcome.

2. Knock-knock. Who’s there? Anita. Anita who? Anita ride to school.

3. Knock-knock. Who’s there? Justin. Justin who? Justin in time for dinner.

4. Knock-knock. Who’s there? Patty O. Patty O. who? Patio Furniture

5. Knock-knock. Who’s there? Wayne. Wayne who? Wayne, Wayne, go away. Come again another day.

6. Knock-knock. Who’s there? Spell. Spell who? W-H-O

 *******************

          Finally the day of the Goose Valley Montessori School First Annual Talent Show arrived and it was time to leave. Of course Emma’s whole family was going and even her next-door friend Aneesa and her family were going to watch her. Emma was so excited she was the first one in the car. She was so excited she almost forgot to bring her Laffy Taffy. She ran back into her room and grabbed her pink backpack off her bed in which she had already packed the last of the Laffy Taffy.

          When they arrived at G.V.M.S. Emma’s friends and their families were beginning to arrive.

          “You get to sit in the audience,” Emma told her parents, “but I’ve got to go wait for my turn back stage.”

          “I’m proud of you, Honey,” her father said.

          “I know everyone will love your jokes,” her mother said.

          “Pookooweetmac!” her baby sister said.

          Emma looked hurt. “Why did she tell me to break a leg?” she asked.

          “It means good luck,” her mother explained.

          “In show business,” her father added.

          “Oh, thanks,” Emma said and gave her baby sister a hug.

          Sammi was juggling oranges. Emma could see the audience from where she stood backstage waiting for her turn to perform. They were smiling as they watched the oranges flying in a blur. When she was finished, Sammi gave a bow and the audience applauded. Emma’s baby sister laughed in delight and clapped her little hands.

          Helen was waiting to go next. She would do her Shirley Temple tap-dancing routine and then it would be Emma’s turn. It was time for the secret formula. As the music started and Helen began to tap across the stage, Emma unzipped her pink backpack and got out the three small pieces of Laffy Taffy that were left. Although she had used up a lot of the Laffy Taffy practicing during the week, she had made sure to leave plenty for her performance.

          She opened the strawberry Laffy Taffy, but instead of the delicious pink candy there was a piece of blue playdough! It was the same when she opened the yellow banana Laffy Taffy and the purple grape Laffy Taffy!  She anxiously searched her backpack but there was nothing there but a small piece of construction paper. On it, in orange crayon (in her baby sister’s messy scribbling) was this message: “I have a talent for eating candy.”

          “Oh, no!” Emma cried in alarm. “What am I going to do?” Just then she heard applause. Emma peeked out and saw Helen taking a bow. And there was her baby sister giggling and clapping wildly.

          Mr. Shaun touched her shoulder. “You’re next,” he said with a smile.

          “I can’t!” Emma said in a panic.

          “But, we’re counting on you, Emma. Everyone is waiting.” He gave her a gentle push and Emma walked slowly out on the stage.

          The lights were shining in her eyes. Then she saw the audience, at least two million, four hundred and seventy-nine people, and they were all waiting for her to be funny. But she couldn’t think of a single joke!

          The auditorium was completely quiet, but she could see that people were beginning to look confused. Her mother and father were whispering, “You can do it!” But still Emma stood on stage like a frightened statue. Mr. Shaun was whispering from backstage, “Come on, Emma. You can do it!”

          Then through her stage fright, Emma heard a tiny voice and looked down. Somehow her baby sister had gotten onstage. In her outstretched hands Emma saw three small pieces of Laffy Taffy—three very sticky, slobbery pieces of Laffy Taffy.

          “Wiojuoeroeoro,” her baby sister said sheepishly.

          “What did she say?” Aneesa’s mom called from the audience.

          “She said she also has a talent for practical jokes,” Emma replied while stuffing the candy into her mouth. While she was chewing the Laffy Taffy, which seemed chewier than ever, her father came to carry her baby sister off the stage.

          The audience was growing restless and Mr. Shaun looked like he was about to give up, when finally she began to get a funny feeling in her mouth. Emma smiled. She got a funny feeling in her tummy and Emma smiled even more. Then a small giggle, a medium sized chuckle, and a large chortle popped out and Emma knew her talent was back.

          “What state is inside another state?” Emma said.

          Someone in the audience said, “I give up. What?”

          “Kansas is in Arkansas,” Emma replied. The audience roared with laughter. Each time she told another joke the people laughed harder and harder. Even her mother and father, who had heard many of her jokes, had tears running down their faces from laughing so much. She told all of the jokes she’d learned and many new ones like these:

          1. Knock-knock. Who’s there? Donut. Donut who? Donut know who you are.

          2. Why did the elephant paint her toenails red? So she could hide in the strawberry patch.

          3. Knock-knock. Who’s there? Dewey. Dewey who? Dewey have to keep listening to knock-knock jokes?

          Then she saw that Mr. Shaun was waving to her from backstage. "You have to stop now, Emma," he said. "The audience is starting to gasp for air."

          "Oh, sorry," Emma said, and gave a little bow.

 *******************

          That night as she was climbing into bed she heard the telephone ring. Her mother brought the phone to her. “It’s Grandma. She wants to apologize.”

          “Hi, Grandma,” Emma said. “Thank you for the secret formula.”

          “Thank you?” Grandma sounded confused. “I feel so bad, I just had to call and say I’m sorry for being so forgetful. Can you ever forgive me for letting you down?”

          “Why, Grandma? Thanks to you, I was great tonight!” Emma said.

          “But I forgot to put the secret formula in the package before I mailed it to you!”

          “But I got the Laffy Taffy. And it worked!”

          “But I forgot to put in the joke book I wanted to send you. That was the secret formula. The Laffy Taffy was just left over candy from Halloween!”

          Emma began to laugh and laugh and laugh. She laughed so hard her stomach muscles hurt. She laughed so hard tears ran down her face. She laughed until she was worn out and at last with one last giggle she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

 

 

 

Meriel June Thomas and the Mysterious Birthday Present

  

 

 

            On a normal day at Red Hill Primary School, the clock over Mrs. Shott’s desk behaved properly. The minute hand moved swiftly around, marking the correct number of minutes for all the third grade subjects: 25 minutes for Reading, 30 minutes for Math, 15 minutes for Spelling, (etc. etc.) until seven whole hours had passed and it was three o'clock and time to go home.

            But on Meriel Thomas’s 9th birthday, February 7th-- a Monday--something was terribly wrong with the clock, perhaps even with time itself. It had taken 325 hours for Reading , 456 hours for Math, 432 hours for Spelling (etc., etc.) and now Meriel and her classmates were in the 625th hour of Science, the last subject of the day.

            Meriel put her pencil down, breathed a sigh of relief, and looked over at Amaya, who sat three rows over. Amaya looked up and grinned. "I can't wait for school to be over," Amaya said, "so we can all go over to your house for your birthday party."

            Sophie, in the front row, said, "We're going to be hyper and giggle until your mother tells us to settle down."

            Scott, over in the row closest to the door, said, "I'm going to eat birthday cake until I puke."

            Everett, in the seat in the very corner, said shyly, "I hope you like the present I brought."

            Of course none of her friends said any of that out loud or Mrs. Shott would have been disappointed and when Mrs. Shott was disappointed she tended to assign extra homework. Meriel and her four best friends all used the secret hand signals they had invented so they wouldn't disturb the other students (or get into trouble and have to do extra assignments). And of course,  they didn't want to hurt the feelings of those class mates who wouldn't be coming to the party.

             Meriel shivered in excitement. If only one of the presents would be an iPhone! She had been hinting for one for weeks and weeks. When she had been at her dad's house over the weekend, he surprised her with a treehouse he had built just for her. Her new step brother, Adam had given her a soccer ball and played "Happy Birthday" on his trombone (which was rather sweet since he was usually too shy to pay much attention to her.) Her stepmother Karen had made her a three-layer birthday cake with pink icing and sprinkles and given her a beautiful, fancy blue velvet dress, which just goes to show you can't believe everything you read about stepmothers.  Those were all nice presents, but none was in iPhone. But now it was almost time for her official birthday party. She bounced  just a teenie bit in her chair.

            "What's wrong, Meriel?" Mrs. Shott asked. "Do you need to go to the restroom?"

            "No, Mrs. Shott," Meriel said.

            "Then please sit still and finish your assignment."

            Meriel liked all her subjects, especially Science. But it was impossible to sit still when she knew the bell was going to ring any second. At last, the hour hand was exactly on the three, and the minute hand, dragging its feet the whole way, clicked into place over the 12. The dismissal bell rang and Meriel and her friends, along with the rest of Mrs. Shott's class, busily put away papers, hurriedly gathered backpacks, and then rushed (as fast as the eagle-eyed teachers would allow) down the hall and outside to freedom.

            Meriel's smiling mom was waiting by her car. She helped them load their backpacks and four presents of various colors, shapes and sizes into the trunk. Then they all crowed into the car.

            "Did you have a nice day at school?" Meriel's mom asked as she pulled away from the school. They all began talking at once:

            "This day took 935 hours, Mom," Meriel said.

            "We had gross stuff for lunch," Scott said.

            "I got an A in spelling," Amaya said.

            "Billy got in trouble and had to go to the office," Sophie said.

            "It was OK," Everett said quietly.

            After 12 hours and 49 minutes they finally pulled into the driveway at 16 Reunion Hill Lane. When Meriel saw the large Happy Birthday banner across the front door, she squealed in happiness and was out of the car as soon as it came to a stop. Opening the front door, she saw pink helium balloons floating at the ceiling, pink crepe paper strung from the chandelier over the dining room table, and most importantly a pile of presents on the coffee table in front of the sofa. When her friends added theirs to the pile, there was a total of 10 colorfully wrapped packages. Meriel knew this because she counted each one.

            "Can I open them now?" Meriel asked. "Please, please, can I?"

            "Let's play some games first," her mom said.

            "But, Mom," Meriel wailed. "I can't wait."

            "Meriel June Thomas, please stop whining." Her mom called her by her full name, or even just her middle name, when she pouted, or forgot to clean her room (again), or accidentally wrote her name on her wallpaper (with permanent marker), or screeched at her big sister, or used up all the glitter and tissue paper making Christmas ornaments in the shape of snowmen (on the new sofa). "We will entertain your guests before you open your presents."

            "Yeah," Scott said, "You gotta have games at a birthday party."

            Meriel squashed her innner June Thomas  and went to set up Wii bowling on the TV. That took awhile because Amaya thought she should get extra turns since she had never played it before.  And after they had all had three turns (except for Amaya, who had five turns) it was time for pizza. Meriel gobbled her slice down and was done in three minutes and 40 seconds. Meriel knew because she watched the clock. But then her mom said she had to wait to open the presents until after the birthday cake. That took awhile, because she wouldn't serve the cake until everyone had finished their pizza. And that took awhile because Everett ate really slowly and because Scott was trying to beat his pizza-eating record. First, they all sang Happy Birthday to her (twice,because Mom said they hadn't sung it loud enough the first time), and then they all ate cake and ice cream. That took awhile because Sophie giggled so hard that ice cream squirted out of her nose and had to be cleaned up. And Amaya spilled her cake and that had to be cleaned up.

            "Can't we just let Skittle lick it off?" Meriel asked.        
            "No. We can't, Meriel," her mom said.

            And after the mess had been cleaned up, Amaya had to have another piece of cake AND "just a bit more ice cream to make it turn out even."

            When Meriel had reached the point that she just knew she was going to burst from impatience (and she knew that would take even more time to clean up), when she didn't think she could wait one more second, her mom said that it was time for her to open the presents.

            June Thomas thought that the best way to open presents was to just rip into them as fast as possible, one after another, until the paper reached to her knees and every gift was there beside her. But when Meriel saw the excited looks on all her friends' faces, she knew that they were waiting to see how much she liked the things that they had brought her. Besides, her mom was giving her that certain look in Mom Secret Code that meant, "Please open each gift slowly and be sure to thank the giver before you move on to the next one. Oh, and smile and pretend you like it even if you don't, so you won't hurt anyone's feelings."

            So Meriel squashed her inner June (again), and politely, and slowly, picked up the package on top of the pile. It felt like a big, fat book, and so she didn't have to fake a smile, because she loved to read.

            "That's the present I brought!" Amaya said. "You're going to love it."

            After she had carefully pulled back the wrapping paper, Meriel saw that it was the latest Harry Potter book. She had just finished reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows two days before, but when she saw Amaya's happy smile, she smiled back and said, "Thank you. I love Harry Potter."

            The next package was wrapped in Christmas paper and so Meriel had a feeling it was from one of the boys. Sure enough, the tag said, To Meriel from Everett. It was another rectangular box and Meriel hoped it would be the latest Lemony Snicket book because she hadn't read that one yet. But instead of a book, it was a box of arithmetic flashcards for multiplication and division.

            "I know how much you like arithmetic," Everett said eagerly.

             June Thomas thought it was a really silly gift, and actually rather insulting since she had memorized the complete table the year before. But Meriel saw Everett's shy smile and smiled back at him. "Thanks, Everett."

  Sophie gave her a "Hello Kitty Picnic Party Figure Pack" because she knew how much Meriel liked cats. June thought it was a present more suitable for a kindergartner than a 3rd grader, but Meriel said, "Thanks."            "Speaking of cats," Meriel's mom said. "Open this present next. It's from Skittle," she said with a sly grin.

            Skittle had given her a weasel-shaped cat toy and Meriel took time out of unwrapping presents to give her cat a big hug. "Thanks, Skittle. We'll play with this later."

 Scott's present turned out to be an "Iron Man 2 Action Figure" because he really liked the movie and thought Meriel would too. June thought sarcastically, You're such a dork, but Meriel smiled and said, "Thanks, Scott."  

            Her aunt Susie had sent a pink frilly dress two sizes too small. June thought, I don't ever wear pink anymore, because black is so much more cool. But Meriel looked up at her mom with a crooked smile and said, "I guess Aunt Susie always wanted to have a little girl of her own."

 The present from her mom was a crocheted sweater. "I made it myself," she said. "Why don't you try it on." The yarn was a pretty shade of blue (which she wouldn't mind wearing on days she didn't wear black), and fit okay, except for the sleeves, which came down four inches past her hands. June thought her mom should have given more than just one old sweater, but  gave her mom a hug and said, "Thanks. This must have taken you a long time to make. You really did learn how to crochet." 

            There were only two presents left on the coffee table. The bad news was that they were too big to be an iPhone. The good news was that both boxes were from her grandparents, which meant that they probably held something pretty good. She picked up the one from Granddaddy first. It was wrapped in pink paper and something inside shifted when she gently shook the box.

            "Hurry and open it," Sophie and Amaya said almost at the same time.

            "Maybe it's a Buzz Lightyear action figure," Scott said. "I almost got you one. The new movie is awesome!"

            "Maybe it's a science kit," Everett said. "I know how much you like science."

            Meriel quickly tore away the paper and found that inside was an American Girl doll made to look like Betsy Ross. It came with a tiny American flag.

            "Oh, isn't she adorable," her mom said. "Look at those cute little shoes and socks! I know how much you love American Girl dolls."

            June Thomas thought about throwing the doll down on the sofa and stomping out of the room. How could anyone think she would still play with dolls? She hadn't played with dolls since she was little, when she was a second grader. June thought about saying, "If you like dolls so much, Mom, why don't you take it." But Meriel said with a sad smile, "Granddaddy knew that if Grandmommy were still here she would have wanted to give me an American Girl doll. She sure liked them, didn't she, Mom?"

            The last present was from her grandma and grandpa back in Illinois. "Go ahead and open it, honey. I think you're going to like it. I told Grandma what you wanted most of all."

            Meriel picked up the large box and shook it. Nothing moved at all. She began to slowly pull the paper away.

            "Oh, just go ahead and 'er rip," her mom said, grinning.

            So she did. The lid was taped shut, but she got it open after only 12 hours and 13 minutes.

            "What's in it?" Scott said, and all the others chimed in, "Yeah, what's in it?"

            At first it seemed like the box only contained packing peanuts, but then she pulled out a little rose-colored crocheted square that looked like it would make a nice doll blanket (if she ever got in the mood to play with dolls again). After digging through more Styrofoam peanuts she found another crocheted item. It was a hat to match the scarf Grandma had made her for Christmas.  She stuck her hand all the way to the bottom and felt a smallish box, the sort of box that might contain an iPhone! Eyes lighting up, she tugged the box out. The label on the box did not say iPhone. It said 500-piece jigsaw puzzle. The picture showed a lot of people in old-fashioned clothes skating around on a pond. But then a thought occurred to her. Maybe Grandma was just being sneaky and put the iPhone inside the puzzle box to trick her. June Thomas slit the tape on the sides of the puzzle box and turned all the pieces out onto the floor. All 500 puzzle pieces scattered around her, but there was no iPhone inside. She turned back to the big box. Something shifted inside and she knew there was something else there. June Thomas turned the box upside down and let the 5 million packing peanuts pour out all around her until at last a round box fell out. It was a box of Wholesome Oats. Nothing else was lurking in the bottom of the box, not even a Buzz Lightyear, or a book she'd already read, or even a Sugar Bunnies Playtime Set like the one she had thought about buying for her 3-year-old cousin. She started to unseal the oatmeal box. Maybe it was in there.

            "June. . . ," her mom said. She drew out her name, which meant in Mom Code that Meriel had better not even think about dumping the oats onto the living room floor. "Let's all go into the dining room to have some more cake and ice cream before your friends have to leave."

 

********************

            That night Meriel lay in her bed in the dark thinking that it had been the worst birthday anyone had ever had in the history of birthdays. She had been so hopeful that with ten presents, one of them would have turned out to be an iPhone--or even something, anything, that she could actually use. That was bad enough, but then she had to worry that Grandma was starting to really lose it. Even Amaya had thought so. "I'm sorry your Grandma has Alzheimer's," she had said kindly on her way out the door.

***********************

            On Saturday Meriel's mom gave her a box of note cards and sat  her down at the dining room table.

            "Why can't I just get those cards that already say Thank You on the front? Then all I'd have to do was sign my name."

            "Meriel, there's an art to writing thank you notes, and you need to learn it. A well-written thank you note should be specific. It should mention the gift and say something nice about it."

             June Thomas wanted to write sarcastic comments like, "Thanks for nothing." But Meriel squashed June down (again), picked up her pencil, and began to write. She managed to think of something positive to write about each gift— until she came to Grandma's. Sure, it was sort of nice to have a hat to go with the scarf. And she always liked to do jigsaw puzzles with Grandma. But a puzzle was not an iPhone. And how in the world was she supposed to think of something nice to say about oatmeal?

            Meriel started to get up from the table.

            "Don't leave that table until you finish all of them," her mom called from the kitchen. Apparently, her mom really did have eyes in the back of her head.

            Meriel sat back down and thought and thought. Her brain was obviously damaged from spending so much energy squashing her inner June that she couldn't think of a single nice thing to write. She stacked the finished thank you's into a neat little pile. She positioned the flower vase until it was in the absolute center of the table. She straightened  the hat and doll blanket. She picked up the puzzle box that had set on the table ever since she had picked up all 500 pieces after the party on Monday.

            It was a pretty neat picture, actually. And she was sort of in the mood to do a puzzle--at least more than she was in the mood to write a thank you note about oatmeal. She turned the puzzle pieces out onto the table and began to turn them all face up. The first step was to find all the edge pieces. After she had fit them all into place, she decided to start with the Christmas tree by the side of the pond. It was easy to spot all those bright colors, and it didn't take long to finish that section of the puzzle. Next, she worked on the people with their colorful clothes, and then the pretty house with blue shutters beside the pond, and then the cute dogs playing in the snow. Finally, all the fun and interesting parts were done and only the sky was left. Skies were always rather boring, but Meriel was not the type of girl to leave a puzzle unfinished. As she began filling in the light blue pieces that made up the sky, she noticed some strange marks on some of them. Grandma must have written on some them. The writing was small and the ink only a bit darker than the blue background, but as she fit the sky pieces together, she could make out words. And as word after word took shape, Meriel began to smile. It was a secret message from Grandma and this is what it said: 

 

Dear Meriel,

I know you like puzzles, but this jigsaw is not your birthday present. To find your present, you'll have to solve another sort of puzzle.  First, you'll need to decipher the C.C.C. clues. Then use the information you find to claim the gift I arranged for you at www.bestbuy.com. Good luck. Let me know when you figure it out. I sure wish we could be there for your birthday.

Love,

Grandma (and Grandpa too)

P.S. Be sure to eat your oatmeal first. It's so good for you.

 

          Eagerly Meriel logged onto her mom's computer and went to www.bestbuy.com. But Best Buy sold a million things. Which one was her gift and how would she be able to get it? Then, she noticed a tab at the top of the web page called "Claim Your Gift." She just had to fill out the order form in order and they would send the gift to her. The first part was easy--just her name and address, but then she was stumped. She would have to give a seven-letter password, and then enter the "Claim Code," for which there were slots for six numbers or letters. Finally, she would have to be able to fill in the serial number of the gift item that had been arranged for her. How was she supposed to know all that stuff?

            Meriel went back to the dining table and plopped onto her chair. She looked at Grandma's message on the puzzle again. Whatever could the  C.C.C. clue possibly be? Something about cats? Catsup? Cans? 

            "What do you think it is, Mom? I bet Grandma told you."

            "No she didn't, honey. But you keep thinking and it will come to you."

            Meriel called her friends to see if they could help figure out what the C.C.C. clue could be. Amaya thought maybe it had something to do with crackers or crocodiles. "No," Meriel said. "I think that the three "c" words need to go together.

            "How about cute, cuddly cats?" Sophie suggested.

            "I don't think so," Meriel said.

            Scott came up with calm, Canadian cannibals and common criminal carcass before he had to get off the phone, because his favorite movie of all time, Raiders of the Lost Ark, was about to begin.

            "Cake, cookies, candy, and corndogs," Amaya  said quickly.  "But I've gotta go.  I'm starving."

            Everett, who knew lots of strange words nobody else did, suggested, "caboodle, calabash, and coati. That's a racoon-like carnivore," he added helpfully. "Oh, and conidium. That's the spore of a certain fungi. And "certain" reminds me--don't forget the soft "c" words like cider, citizen, cereal.

            "Thanks, Everett," Meriel quickly said. "You've been very helpful."

            After she hung up the phone Meriel thought and thought and thought. "Clearly, I'm confused and confounded. And really cantankerous," she added with a frown.

            Meriel's mom came to the kitchen doorway and said, "Have you finished those thank you notes yet?"

            "Almost. Maybe the clue has something to do with the gifts Grandma sent." She looked at the hat and the doll blanket where they lay on the table next to the puzzle.

            "How about crochet," her mom said. "That would take care of two of the "c's."

            June Thomas started to say something sarcastic like, "That's a stupid idea." But then, Meriel had a brilliant idea. "Oatmeal!" she said, jumping up from the table. "Oatmeal is a cereal, right, Mom? How about  crochet, crochet, cereal?  Where's my oatmeal?"

            "It's right here," her mom said, stepping back into the kitchen.

            Meriel grabbed the box from her mom. At first, it looked like an ordinary oatmeal box. The label said: Wholesome Oats. 100% whole grain oats. On the back of the box there a cute little girl still in her pajamas, clutching her security blanket. Grandma had used bright colored markers to fill in the girl's blanket and to highlight some of the words. The ad looked like this:

 

 

Please pass the Wholesome Oats! An important factor in maintaining a healthy heart is having a healthy blood   cholesterol level. Some cereal companies claim to have healthy benefits, but   only Wholesome Oats has been proven to lower high cholesterol. But don't    take our word for it. Visit our website for the clinical proof. Besides, there's   nothing more comforting on a cold winter morning than a big bowl of         Wholesome Oats!

 

 

             "What does it mean?" Meriel's mom asked.

            "It's a code," Meriel said without looking up. She was busily writing the highlighted words on her tablet. "It should give me the stuff I need to get my birthday present," she muttered.

             These are the words she saw: pass, for, hat, see, claim, in, ward, code, and blanket. (She included blanket because the kid's blanket had been colored in.) Then it only took her 2.5 seconds to see the clue Grandma had given: See hat for password. Claim code in blanket. Well, actually, she didn't know which was in which, but when she picked up the crocheted hat she saw right away there was a tag sewn inside on which Grandma had written "June Bug." And "June Bug" sounded like a good password.

             But the doll blanket didn't have any labels on it. How could a claim code be in it? She looked on both sides of the little crocheted blanket. She turned it around and around. Then Meriel noticed that each row of stitching was different. When Grandma had taught her to crochet at Christmas time, Meriel had actually only learned the single crochet stitch. But Grandma had also shown her how she made double and triple crochet stitches. The little blanket had all three kinds of stitches. After studying it for awhile, she wrote this number down on her tablet: 12231.

            "How did you get that number?" Meriel's mom asked.

            "It's quite ingenious," Meriel answered. "Do you see all the different stitches Grandma used on this doll blanket? The first row is definitely made of single crochet stitches. The second and third rows are double crochet. Then there is one row of triple crochet and two more rows of single crochet. It's a very strange pattern and no one would crochet a blanket like this," Meriel said, "unless they wanted to pass along a code, like a claim code for instance. If a row of single crochet means a one and double crochet means a two and triple means a three, then this blanket is telling us the number 12231," she patiently explained to her mom. "The trouble is, I need a six-digit number."

            "Ah, but don't forget about the very first row of chain stitches," her mom said. "Wouldn't that be a zero?"

            Meriel smiled up at her mom."You're right," she said excitedly."If I put a zero in front of that number it will fit exactly."

            She quickly logged onto the computer again and went back to the Best Buy gift card page. Meriel began to bounce and wiggle and giggle, because junebug fit in perfectly for a password and 012231 worked for the claim code. Then she stopped bouncing and wiggling and giggling and began to frown. "What about the serial number, Mom?"

            "Well, Grandma didn't mention it in the message on the puzzle."

            "And there's nothing more on the hat or the doll blanket," Meriel said, picking up the oat box once more. She didn't see it at first, but there it was right at the very bottom of the box: Best if used by 07-13-2015. " It's a cereal number," Meriel said, laughing. "Only s-e-r-i-a-l and not c-e-r-e-a-l. Get it?"

            When Meriel typed in BT7305, the web paged changed in a blur. And there it was at last. Just what she'd been hoping for: A beautiful shiny red iPhone.

            "There's only one thing left to do," Meriel said.

            "I think you've got everything, Meriel-- the password, the claim code, and the serial number," Meriel's mom said. "See, it says right here," she said, pointing to the screen. "You'll receive your order in 6-10 business days."

            "No," Meriel said. "There's something else. I'm going to go right back in there and write the best thank you note ever for the best birthday present in the history of birthday presents .

[See Meriel's sister's story here.]

The Pharisee and the Tax Collector

The Pharisee and the Tax Collector

  (Luke 18:9-14)

by Deborah Heal

Sara peered into the mirror inside her locker door, satisfied she had the look she had been striving for. Her shiny blond hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail and her eyes looked extra blue because of the top she was wearing.

She turned from the mirror and diligently began to gather what she’d need, unlike so many of her classmates who so childishly forgot their stuff every other day. She picked up her textbook, which was in the same pristine condition as when she received it at the beginning of the school year, and selected the appropriate red folder for English class from the neat stack of color-coordinated folders in her locker. In it she kept all her previous assignments, tests, and handouts arranged in chronological order for ease of retrieval should Mrs. Howard require it. (It had never occurred to arrange them by grade like some kids did; hers were all “A”s.)

The noise in the hall was outrageous, as usual. The chattering of students was punctuated by the slamming of locker doors. Sara couldn’t quite close her locker door unless she didn’t mind catching Jill’s sleeve in it. Jill and Emily were giggling like hyenas and flirting with Josh because he had just made the football team.

Sara pasted on a smile, “Excuse me. I need to close my locker.”  The hall was crazy as usual. One kid had dropped a pile of papers and the river of students was flowing around him. No one stopped to offer help. Two girls were not-so-secretly talking on their cell phones even though that was definitely against code. Several of the guys were admiring Keith’s new Mohawk hair cut. She pretended she didn’t notice it and called out a reminder as she passed him, “Don’t forget your textbook.”

As usual she was one of the first to reach the classroom, having passed poor Joe Dawson scrabbling through an untidy avalanche of papers in his locker. Even if he did find his assignment it would earn at most a “C.” He’s just not very smart, she thought sympathetically. But if he could just be organized like I am he would do a little better.

“Hi, Sara,” Mrs. Howard said as she entered the room.

Sara smiled slightly and murmured what could be taken for a greeting. She didn’t want to encourage Mrs. Howard’s usual attempts to be overly friendly. She seemed to think that just because they went to the same church she and Sara were buddies, comrades in evangelizing the school. It annoyed her no end when Mrs. Howard called on her whenever the class discussion turned to any topic the least bit religious (and she was forever seeing biblical connections to every piece of literature they read) as if she wanted Sara to stand up in class and begin preaching to her fellow students. Didn’t she realize there was a law about the Separation of Church and State in America?

Actually, Mrs. Howard was always being friendly to everyone, even Alan Landers, who tripped John on his way back to his seat and was being his usual loud, obnoxious self. Why didn’t Mrs. Howard put Alan in the back row so his clowning around wouldn’t bother everyone else so much? He was always trying to get attention, and what did she do? Let him be group leader, let him pass out papers, let him take messages to the office. Sara had seen from the very beginning that Mrs. Howard needed to get tough with him. A few detentions early on would have straightened him out.

Sara was dutifully copying the assignments on the board into her agenda when the last student, her desk mate Dana Frank, arrived ten seconds before the tardy bell. Chip on her shoulder firmly in place, Dana came dragging into class dressed head to toe in her signature gothic gear.

Frowning at no one in particular, Dana let her books crash to the desk and then wearily sank into the seat next to Sara. The contrast was obvious: Sara, in school-appropriate clothing, gazing serenely forward, waited for the day’s work to begin. Dana, big and bad and dressed in black, putting her spiky, red-haired head on her desk, waited for her hangover to ease up.

After the bell rang, Mrs. Howard got the class started with the daily proofreading exercise. Sara had found the appropriate paper right away in her red folder and had begun the assignment—as they were supposed to— before Mrs. Howard had to say anything. She kept her hand over her answers and looked surreptitiously at Dana. She had never actually caught Dana trying to copy from her, but she figured she must since her grades had been coming up lately.

Mrs. Howard was still reminding Alan to get started when Sara finished, first as usual. Her outcome was sure and she felt like going ahead and putting the 100% on her paper, but first they would have to endure the ordeal of checking their work. First Mrs. Howard called on Dylan Wyatt, (who should be in Special Ed but his mother got the teachers to bend the rules) and then three other of the stupidest kids in the class to come to the overhead to agonize over corrections so obvious she wanted to scream.  When they were finished checking (AT LAST), Sara took out a lavender marker and gave herself a big 100%. She filed her paper away for the next day’s travail.

She glanced furtively at Dana's paper. She must have cheated because a girl like her didn’t get everything right.

I’m glad I’m not like her, Sara prayed silently as she got out her journal for the day’s writing prompt: TELL ABOUT A HAPPY INCIDENT FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD.

Sara wondered what Dana would possibly have to write about. She hoped she’d be able to get glimpse of her entry today. What new problem would she be whining about to Mrs. Howard? Mrs. Howard always wrote such sickeningly sweet things, such optimistic things in her letters to Dana. I KNOW YOU CAN SUCCEED (with a smiley face) or GOOD JOB ON YOUR ESSAY!! (with two smiley faces) or I REALLY LIKE THAT POEM YOU SENT ME (with three smiley faces).

She probably had no idea that Dana was failing math and science. She had to know that Dana was in the Alternative Room all last week, but did she know it was for punching two girls during lunch recess? Mrs. Howard let Dana turn in late work even though it was clearly against the handbook rules. Since she was new to the district, she probably had no idea of the rumors about Dana’s dad that had been floating around ever since 4^th grade.

Of course she wrote nice things in her journal too. But maybe there should be a special stamp or sticker that could be for kids that REALLY WERE GOOD. That way, students could sort through the blah, blah, blah, and know for sure who was best.

Sara turned her mind back to choosing a happy incident and finally settled on the surprise visit her aunt had paid her when she was nine. Aunt Susie had come breezing in from Paris, bringing stories, excitement, and a beautiful doll just for her.

She stole a glance at Dana’s journal. It was opened out flat, but she couldn’t see what Dana was writing. But she could read with no effort the response Mrs. Howard had made to Dana’s entry last week. GOOD THINKING! KEEP IT UP! Dana was still ferociously pondering the page, apparently stuck for something to write, when Sara finished her journal and Mrs. Howard called the class to attention.

“It’s book discussion time. Today, for fun, let’s move our desks into a circle.”

There was mild pandemonium while everyone eagerly complied. It took a while for the students to get settled down, but then they got right into a discussion of chapter eleven of the book they were reading, The Giver, about the “release” of a nameless little boy, number 34, because he wouldn’t sleep through the night.

“What implications for our world does this bring to mind?” Mrs. Howard asked after they had talked about the events of the chapter. She looked expectantly at Sara. As usual, Sara thought. She wants me to say killing is wrong. She sat, calmly gazing forward, determined to wait out Mrs. Howard. Someone else would eventually say something. Of course Alan blurted out something like maybe the little boy didn’t really die, maybe he really did just go somewhere else. That silly comment took the pressure off Sara for a while, and then Patrick made one of his outrageously provocative statements that no one knew whether or not to take seriously: Maybe the kid deserved to die to make room for better people to take his place. Mrs. Howard never seemed to get mad when Patrick (and sometimes Matt) said weird stuff like that, even though Sarah knew for a fact that she strongly disagreed with them. She just smiled patiently, as usual, and asked what someone else thought.

And then Dana, who had been slouching in her seat blurted, “My mom told me if I got pregnant she’d make me have an abortion.”

Sara frowned. Where on earth did that idea come from and what did it have to do with the story?

Mrs. Howard turned to Dana and said calmly. “What do you mean, Dana? What does abortion have to do with our story?”

“They killed the little kid. We don’t have that—yet—but we murder billions of little babies every year. It’s murder, even if it’s done before the kid’s born. The creeps who do it should be taken out and shot.”

Sara snickered and waited for Mrs. Howard to reprimand Dana for such a violent, sinful suggestion.

But Mrs. Howard actually contemplated the suggestion seriously. “That would be murder as well, Dana.” Then she smiled and said, “So what you’re saying is our culture has become as corrupted as The Giver’s, that our abortions are just as wrong as their “releases?”

She said, “Yeah,” and Sara knew Dana had scored big time with Mrs. Howard.

It was nearly time for the bell to ring, and as usual Mrs. Howard rushed to take care of last minute business.  She began to distribute the progress reports that she had printed out for the class, taking an inordinate amount of time, it seemed to Sara, to locate each student, presumably because of the unfamiliar seating arrangement. If it was so difficult for her why didn’t she just let some of the better students help her pass out the grade sheets. Maybe it would do slackers like Keith good to feel ashamed for them to see his dismal grades.

Reaching over to hand Joe his grade sheet, Mrs. Howard accidentally caught her sandal on Dylan’s foot. (If it had been Alan’s everyone would have known it was on purpose.) She wobbled backward and fell, bumping her head on the wall on her way down.

The class was stunned into silence. Sara’s face turned pink. How embarrassing for the class! Mrs. Howard looked and sounded, she couldn’t help thinking, like a downed cow, as she sat there in her black and white dress rubbing her head and moaning.

Then Dana was there, kneeling beside her to pick up the papers that had scattered when she fell. “Are you all right, Mrs. Howard?” Extending a powerful arm she said, “Here let me help you up.”

Then, at last, other students called out, “Yeah, are you all right, Mrs. Howard?”

“I can’t believe not one of you tried to help,” Dana said, shooting daggers at her classmates.

“That’s all right, Dana. Thanks for your help. Hey, I’m just glad no one laughed at me. It must have looked pretty funny.”

“Well, I guess you didn’t hear Dylan,” Keith said helpfully.

“Shut up, stupid,” Dana whispered fiercely.

“Well, I was looking for you, Dana,” Mrs. Howard said, grinning. She handed Dana her progress report and went on to distribute the few remaining ones.

When Dana got back to her seat, Sara saw that she had a D+. At least she’s not failing this time. She could just make out the hand-written comment Mrs. Howard had added: “CONGRATULATIONS, DANA. I’M NOMINATING YOU FOR “MOST IMPROVED STUDENT.”

Sara was the last to receive her progress report. She laid it out flat on her desk and smiled contentedly at the big, bold A+. But then her eyes were drawn to the comment at the bottom of the page. Gasping, she looked up at Mrs. Howard, whose eyes held a sad pity.

The note read, “SARA, I’VE CALLED YOUR PARENTS FOR A CONFERENCE.”

Bertha Gets a New Look

Bertha Gets a New Look

by Deborah Heal

Submitted to Writer's Digest Short Short Story Contest

Nov. 30, 2011

1500 word minimum

 

The sun beat down and the heat radiated up from the 40-acre field  where Bertha steered a tractor between windrows of fragrant hay. Down one row and up the next she jolted, carefully keeping the baler aligned. The rhythm was soporific, the diesel fumes a sedative, and Bertha slouched, only bestirring herself when she came to the end of one row and had to throttle down, steer wide, and swing around to the next. Behind her, bale after bale of alfalfa ka-chunked from the chute onto the stubbly ground.

After the last bale she turned toward home and saw that a strange car was parked near the house. A woman in pristine white stood beside it laughing with Jim. The tractor skidded to a stop. Then, sweaty and grimy, Bertha  lumbered down from it, brushing hay dust out of her hair.

Jim finished smiling at the woman and then turned to his wife. “All done? I was just telling Mandy—Miss Crawford—that we don’t need any more insurance.”

The woman extended her slim, manicured hand. “Hello, Mrs. Jones.”

Bertha looked down at her own filthy hands. “Sorry, I’d better not.”

 “How do you ever manage that thing?”

“I’m used to it, I guess.”

Jim chuckled. “She’s my right hand man around here.”

“Well,” Bertha said. “I have to put the tractor away.”

“Oh, don’t bother, Hon. You’ll need it first thing tomorrow. You go on in,” he said kindly.

Bertha trudged to the house, wondering what she would fix for supper.

 

She closed her gritty eyelids and tried to sleep.  “What were you laughing about?” she said suddenly.

Beside her Jim startled. “What?”

“With that insurance woman?”

“Oh. Don’t remember.”

“Wasn’t she a sight in her little white suit!”

Jim turned, pulling the sheet up over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said, a grin in his voice. “She can put her shoes under my bed anytime.”

 

The rain came after they finished with the hay, giving her a valid excuse to stay inside. But Jim needed help vaccinating baby pigs. Then he needed a tractor part from town, which she didn’t mind because she wanted to pick up a few things from the BuyRite anyway. It only took her a minute to grab the groceries, but centuries waiting in the checkout. The model on Cosmopolitan looked the same as last month’s—same improbably perky boobs and sulky expression. Headlines from the tabloids screamed at her: “How to Lose Twenty Pounds and Eat What You Want” and “Twenty Tricks to Keeping Your Man’s Interest.” 

Finally, she heard those magic words, “Hi. Paper or Plastic?”

 

Jim was going to be so miffed that she had stopped for groceries. But even so, instead of hurrying home, instead of driving past the New You Salon and Fitness Center as usual, she found herself parking her truck and going in. It was ridiculous, of course. Salons were for town women who had nothing else to do. But the woman at the desk, although intimidatingly beautiful, was kind and helpful, and soon Bertha found herself, with trembling hands, signing a contract and a check. My share of the hay money, she thought.

In the fitness center men and women labored on the exercise machines, their grim determination reflected in the mirrored walls. Bertha stepped onto a treadmill and studied the instructions. After she had adjusted it to a safe pace, she looked up and saw herself in the mirror. How very thick she looked! Her T-shirt strained to cover her body’s landscape— her mountainous bosom and their foothills—what had once been a waist.

She turned away from her frowning reflection to look at the others. The woman running on the treadmill next to her had a butterfly tattoo on her arm. Bertha stared in fascination at the elegant curves of her breasts, buttocks, and calves. She saw a white-haired man pedaling a bicycle, a tiny woman lifting weights, a man whose underwear showed each time his shorts ballooned out.  

 Sweating and huffing, Bertha turned back to her monitor. Twenty-three minutes left. Still? Then finally, time was up. The butterfly woman was still running when she left on trembly legs.

 

Beside her Jim snored and Bertha sighed. He had been angry when she got home, but she offered no explanations of where she had been. He would find out soon enough when he saw the checkbook. A rerun of the day played in her head and she thought of the butterfly woman. She ran her hands over her body, pretending they had the magical ability to smooth the fat away until only sleek muscle over bone remained. She yawned and closed her eyes.

 

The continuing rain made outside work impossible, and she could not drum up enthusiasm for her inside chores. At 1:00 she dropped any pretense of working and drove to A New You, this time carrying a change of clothes in a plastic BuyRite bag.

Her legs and hips were stiff and sore, but she made herself get back on the treadmill, and soon she felt her muscles warming. No one spoke to her, but she entertained herself by imagining what their lives were like. The butterfly woman was there again, this time wearing a blue midriff T-shirt. Bertha could see that her stomach was brown and smooth and followed the contours of her ribs. Her husband probably adored her. The treadmill was still a struggle, but she saw it through to the end and afterward tried out some of the exercise machines.

In the locker room, a gaggle of chattering women from the water aerobics class was undressing. It was impossible to look anywhere without seeing a naked body. They seemed so free and natural about it. Bertha, however, undressed awkwardly under cover of her towel.

Her shower lasted over fifteen minutes, the longest of her life, because for once she didn’t have to worry about the well running dry. Because the pounding hot water felt so good on her tired muscles. But mostly because she hoped the women would be gone and she could dress in privacy.

But they were still there. Clutching her towel, she managed to dress while keeping her vitals covered. The butterfly woman nonchalantly dropped her towel, and Bertha saw that her left hip was adorned with a matching tattoo—and a roadmap of silvery stretch marks. Bertha watched surreptitiously as she stepped into a pair of tiny blue panties. One very old woman was removing her swim suit, a stiff, substantial thing. Gravity and time had taken their toll, draping her tiny skeleton in finely wrinkled skin. Bertha found her strangely appealing.

She carried her BuyRite bag to the long row of sinks and, looking in the mirror, saw that her face was blotchy and red, just as she expected. One woman was applying makeup, another drying her hair. She watched two middle-aged women with stylish haircuts and flashing gold jewelry undress behind her. They were laughing over some shared incident in total disregard of their nakedness. Bertha wished she could hear what they were saying, but the hair dryer beside her was too loud. She saw that the storyteller’s buttocks were dimpled, and her thighs large. Her laughing friend was pale and smooth, her rolls of belly fat much like Bertha’s own. Only after the story was over did they wrap themselves in white towels and start toward the showers.

Suddenly a new understanding clicked—almost audibly—in her head, and a surge of unexpected tenderness and acceptance toward her own gender gently flooded over her.  Why, they were beautiful, Bertha thought, all of them, even though they were surely too soft to put in a day’s work, and not pretty like the woman in the white linen suit. 

 

During the rest of her enrollment period at the New You Salon and Gym, Bertha tried every last service they offered. The stylists at the beauty shop trimmed her hair. Then noticing how self-conscious she was about her rough hands, they talked her into a manicure. Although her hands were still callused and meaty, her nails were shiny and pink. She liked them so well she agreed to a pedicure too. At the diet class on Tuesdays Bertha got to know some really nice people. Three of the women asked her to join them for lunch after class.

And finally Bertha got the courage, one quiet afternoon when the locker room was empty, to walk buck naked all the way to the whirlpool and step in. The sensuous and pleasurable feel of the pulsating water on her skin surprised her. “This ought to be illegal and is surely immoral,” she whispered with a nervous grin. On the way home she decided to go shopping. In the lingerie department at J.C. Penney’s she found silky blue panties for “statuesque women.” By haying time next year, she thought, Jim would be looking for a new right-hand man.