Post by Yves on Mar 17, 2010 17:30:34 GMT -5
It was second recess at Stockholm Elementary, and Laura Littleton was throwing fist-fulls of pebbles at me.
“It wasn't me!” She said. Laura was a skinny, red-headed girl, with a pinched face and a penchant for saying all kinds of ridiculous things. I thought she looked like a rat, especially when she wrinkled her nose. She wrinkled her nose a lot.
“Oh yeah?” I said. “Well who was it?” I'd been sitting on a rock trying to read The Scarlet Letter. It was a very difficult book, even for an advanced reader like me, and I had to concentrate very carefully to follow the story, so I hadn't seen Laura throw the gravel... But I knew it had to be her, because she was the only other kid in my part of the field.
She screwed up her face, folding her arms. Rat-girl again. “I dunnoooo. I just know it wasn't me! Geez! You always blame stuff on me, Edelin. Y'know, my mom says that people blame each other for their problems when they're too little to take care of it themselves. Is that why you're always blamein' me, Ed?”
“No, I'm blaming you because you're throwing confusticated rocks at me while I'm reading. Stop denying it. It makes you look like an empty-headed lorrunx.”
“A what?”
“It's a synonym for idiot, Laura.”
“Shut up!” Laura's face went red, like my dad's did when he lifted the really big weights. I liked doing that to people back then—especially to people who threw pebbles at me.
People threw pebbles at me a lot, especially when I was reading. I think part of it was that I was reading The Scarlet Letter... But most of it was probably the empty-headed lorrunx stuff. And that my name was Edelin. No one in my class had heard of any boy named Edelin before they met me. Inside, the rocks made me feel like I'd swallowed a bunch of hot glue. I got sick and my throat burned, and my eyes got watery, and sometimes I'd want to run away. But on the outside, I just got angry and tried to make other people feel angry.
“Just shut up, Edelin! Only pin-heads use words like Lorrunx. You know what my sister says 'bout pin-heads? She says they just don't get how stuff works, like what clothes to wear or why not t'use big words, so they just end up blowin' their noses in the corner!”
I was about to ask what exactly was so bad about blowing your nose and why you shouldn't do it in the corner (even though I really knew what she meant)... but I didn't. I screamed instead, because a squirrel had jumped into my lap.
It was a tiny animal, with a nose doing twelve twitches to the second, with black eyes as wide and scared as the ones on scary-movie billboards. Its claws felt like really big, really sharp spider-legs.
“I said shut up!” said Laura. And she smacked my head.
“...Don't smack me, you git!”
The squirrel shot up my arm and made a dive for the pocket on my shirt.
Laura scowled. “Don't say git. I smacked ya 'cause your scaring the squirrel! Look at the thing!” I did. It'd found the Twizzler in the pocket.
“Well, for your information, Lor.... the squirrel just surprised me. I happen to be a profound rodent lover, and my family donates to the wildlife foundation, so don't you start the moral argument with me!”
“You're still scaring it...” Laura muttered. “...'sides, I have two pet gerbils. If that doesn't prove that I love rodents more than you...”
“Oh, shut up, you...”
I wasn't really all that upset about the animals. I was still thinking about the pin-head comment, and how it made me feel like taking that damn squirrel and thrashing it. And it wasn't just that. It was the way she did it every day, every way she could, always trying to hurt me, always throwing her rocks and her words and her looks, driving me further and further into the corner, more and more by myself.
“You're just a rat-faced, stupid, empty-headed little brat! You don't know anything about anything, especially stupid squirrels, and... and...”
But the squirrel got in the way again. It had finished that Twizzler, and now it'd started crawling all over my neck again, and it even got up on my face and started licking my nose! I don't know what it was eating—must've been something real tasty, because it was licking with what Nathaniel Hawthorne would've called a preternatural passion—but it shut me up real good and even got Laura laughing.
“And... and what's a gerbil anyway?” I finished once the squirrel had settled to... napping, I guess, on the crown of my head.
“Oh... they're rodents,” Laura sighed, once she finished giggling. She sounded real tired all of the sudden—like the whole fight hadn't even happened, and she'd been running all that time instead. She started petting the squirrel. I hoped it would bite her.
“I think I know about rodents, Lor.”
“Well, I s'pose ya just don't know 'bout gerbils, Ed. Ain't this squirrel nice? I've never seen one act like this before...” She scooped it up in her hands.
“If there was such a thing as a gerbil, I'd know about it. I know all about rodents.”
“You don't know everything. But...”
I folded my arms. “I won't believe your nonsense 'til I see them myself!”
“Well...” Laura curled up her nose—again. “I... guess, if you wanted to, you could come over t'my house t'see 'em. Frank and George... They're my gerbil's names by the way... they like new people, y'know. Then you'll know for sure that they're real... And then maybe we could make a playdate out of it.”
I blinked harder than I'd ever blinked before. Now that was unexpected. What happened to rat faced little brat? Wasn't she listening? I didn't like her.
But a playdate might be fun.
“...Why would I want to do that?” I muttered. But you want to go! “I already know gerbils aren't real... And besides, you're always hurling stones at me and stealing my books and calling me Princess, and... other... stuff... You're... You're a louse!” But she seemed nice today... sort of... But why would she ask you over? Maybe it was trick. Maybe she just wanted to throw rocks at me at her house. “You don't even like me, Laura! You despise me. Why don't you just ask one of your own friends over? Why ask your nemesis?”
“I don't know what a nemesis or a louse is,” she sighed, “But... think for a minute, wouldja? If I had lotsa friends, would I spend all my time talkin' to you?”
“Well...”
“No, Ed, I wouldn't. I wouldn't spend ten seconds on ya. I'd play with my friends and have races and play hopscotch and wall-ball, and I'd invite them to see Frank and George, and we could sit together on my bed and draw pictures.” Laura's face was very red now, but it made me scared instead of happy, and her voice sounded broken, like the glass that kept her voice smooth had shattered and kept scraping against her throat.
“But I can't, 'cause people don't like me and won't be my friend, just like you, 'cause my nose is too pinched and I can't win any of the games with them, and I'm not smart like you, and I like to throw pebbles and steal stuff and laugh at people... Like you said, I'm just a stupid jerk, Ed!” Laura started shouting, and it made the squirrel jump right of her hands. It scampered across the grass and into a tree, where it disappeared. Laura looked like she was about to cry.
I put my hands in my pockets.
“I can come see the gerbils, if you want...” I said.
“Don't bother!”
But I did bother. I bothered Laura quite a lot, actually. It took five phone-calls that night, but I finally got her mom, and then her mom finally got her to talk to me, and then I said I was sorry. I don't think she took it real well, because she hung up on me, but the next day when she saw me, she said that she was sorry—not just for shouting at me, but for the pebbles, which she did throw. And then she asked me if I still wanted to play with her gerbils.
After that, Laura and I started to develop what my Mom called a mutual understanding. That is, I understood that Laura wouldn't call me names unless they were really, really funny, and I wouldn't call her an empty-headed anything. We also understood that it was OK to call each other at 8 but not at 9, and that we really wanted to call each other at 4 because it was fun to talk about gerbils and squirrels and the kinds of music we liked and... all kinds of stuff!
She doesn't throw rocks at me anymore, either. Well, not much. She says she's working on it. Mom says old habits die hard, but since she's trying, I should keep being her friend.
I guess we are friends, aren't we? Who'd have thought... Me and Laura.
And all God had to do was send a curious little squirrel.
“It wasn't me!” She said. Laura was a skinny, red-headed girl, with a pinched face and a penchant for saying all kinds of ridiculous things. I thought she looked like a rat, especially when she wrinkled her nose. She wrinkled her nose a lot.
“Oh yeah?” I said. “Well who was it?” I'd been sitting on a rock trying to read The Scarlet Letter. It was a very difficult book, even for an advanced reader like me, and I had to concentrate very carefully to follow the story, so I hadn't seen Laura throw the gravel... But I knew it had to be her, because she was the only other kid in my part of the field.
She screwed up her face, folding her arms. Rat-girl again. “I dunnoooo. I just know it wasn't me! Geez! You always blame stuff on me, Edelin. Y'know, my mom says that people blame each other for their problems when they're too little to take care of it themselves. Is that why you're always blamein' me, Ed?”
“No, I'm blaming you because you're throwing confusticated rocks at me while I'm reading. Stop denying it. It makes you look like an empty-headed lorrunx.”
“A what?”
“It's a synonym for idiot, Laura.”
“Shut up!” Laura's face went red, like my dad's did when he lifted the really big weights. I liked doing that to people back then—especially to people who threw pebbles at me.
People threw pebbles at me a lot, especially when I was reading. I think part of it was that I was reading The Scarlet Letter... But most of it was probably the empty-headed lorrunx stuff. And that my name was Edelin. No one in my class had heard of any boy named Edelin before they met me. Inside, the rocks made me feel like I'd swallowed a bunch of hot glue. I got sick and my throat burned, and my eyes got watery, and sometimes I'd want to run away. But on the outside, I just got angry and tried to make other people feel angry.
“Just shut up, Edelin! Only pin-heads use words like Lorrunx. You know what my sister says 'bout pin-heads? She says they just don't get how stuff works, like what clothes to wear or why not t'use big words, so they just end up blowin' their noses in the corner!”
I was about to ask what exactly was so bad about blowing your nose and why you shouldn't do it in the corner (even though I really knew what she meant)... but I didn't. I screamed instead, because a squirrel had jumped into my lap.
It was a tiny animal, with a nose doing twelve twitches to the second, with black eyes as wide and scared as the ones on scary-movie billboards. Its claws felt like really big, really sharp spider-legs.
“I said shut up!” said Laura. And she smacked my head.
“...Don't smack me, you git!”
The squirrel shot up my arm and made a dive for the pocket on my shirt.
Laura scowled. “Don't say git. I smacked ya 'cause your scaring the squirrel! Look at the thing!” I did. It'd found the Twizzler in the pocket.
“Well, for your information, Lor.... the squirrel just surprised me. I happen to be a profound rodent lover, and my family donates to the wildlife foundation, so don't you start the moral argument with me!”
“You're still scaring it...” Laura muttered. “...'sides, I have two pet gerbils. If that doesn't prove that I love rodents more than you...”
“Oh, shut up, you...”
I wasn't really all that upset about the animals. I was still thinking about the pin-head comment, and how it made me feel like taking that damn squirrel and thrashing it. And it wasn't just that. It was the way she did it every day, every way she could, always trying to hurt me, always throwing her rocks and her words and her looks, driving me further and further into the corner, more and more by myself.
“You're just a rat-faced, stupid, empty-headed little brat! You don't know anything about anything, especially stupid squirrels, and... and...”
But the squirrel got in the way again. It had finished that Twizzler, and now it'd started crawling all over my neck again, and it even got up on my face and started licking my nose! I don't know what it was eating—must've been something real tasty, because it was licking with what Nathaniel Hawthorne would've called a preternatural passion—but it shut me up real good and even got Laura laughing.
“And... and what's a gerbil anyway?” I finished once the squirrel had settled to... napping, I guess, on the crown of my head.
“Oh... they're rodents,” Laura sighed, once she finished giggling. She sounded real tired all of the sudden—like the whole fight hadn't even happened, and she'd been running all that time instead. She started petting the squirrel. I hoped it would bite her.
“I think I know about rodents, Lor.”
“Well, I s'pose ya just don't know 'bout gerbils, Ed. Ain't this squirrel nice? I've never seen one act like this before...” She scooped it up in her hands.
“If there was such a thing as a gerbil, I'd know about it. I know all about rodents.”
“You don't know everything. But...”
I folded my arms. “I won't believe your nonsense 'til I see them myself!”
“Well...” Laura curled up her nose—again. “I... guess, if you wanted to, you could come over t'my house t'see 'em. Frank and George... They're my gerbil's names by the way... they like new people, y'know. Then you'll know for sure that they're real... And then maybe we could make a playdate out of it.”
I blinked harder than I'd ever blinked before. Now that was unexpected. What happened to rat faced little brat? Wasn't she listening? I didn't like her.
But a playdate might be fun.
“...Why would I want to do that?” I muttered. But you want to go! “I already know gerbils aren't real... And besides, you're always hurling stones at me and stealing my books and calling me Princess, and... other... stuff... You're... You're a louse!” But she seemed nice today... sort of... But why would she ask you over? Maybe it was trick. Maybe she just wanted to throw rocks at me at her house. “You don't even like me, Laura! You despise me. Why don't you just ask one of your own friends over? Why ask your nemesis?”
“I don't know what a nemesis or a louse is,” she sighed, “But... think for a minute, wouldja? If I had lotsa friends, would I spend all my time talkin' to you?”
“Well...”
“No, Ed, I wouldn't. I wouldn't spend ten seconds on ya. I'd play with my friends and have races and play hopscotch and wall-ball, and I'd invite them to see Frank and George, and we could sit together on my bed and draw pictures.” Laura's face was very red now, but it made me scared instead of happy, and her voice sounded broken, like the glass that kept her voice smooth had shattered and kept scraping against her throat.
“But I can't, 'cause people don't like me and won't be my friend, just like you, 'cause my nose is too pinched and I can't win any of the games with them, and I'm not smart like you, and I like to throw pebbles and steal stuff and laugh at people... Like you said, I'm just a stupid jerk, Ed!” Laura started shouting, and it made the squirrel jump right of her hands. It scampered across the grass and into a tree, where it disappeared. Laura looked like she was about to cry.
I put my hands in my pockets.
“I can come see the gerbils, if you want...” I said.
“Don't bother!”
But I did bother. I bothered Laura quite a lot, actually. It took five phone-calls that night, but I finally got her mom, and then her mom finally got her to talk to me, and then I said I was sorry. I don't think she took it real well, because she hung up on me, but the next day when she saw me, she said that she was sorry—not just for shouting at me, but for the pebbles, which she did throw. And then she asked me if I still wanted to play with her gerbils.
After that, Laura and I started to develop what my Mom called a mutual understanding. That is, I understood that Laura wouldn't call me names unless they were really, really funny, and I wouldn't call her an empty-headed anything. We also understood that it was OK to call each other at 8 but not at 9, and that we really wanted to call each other at 4 because it was fun to talk about gerbils and squirrels and the kinds of music we liked and... all kinds of stuff!
She doesn't throw rocks at me anymore, either. Well, not much. She says she's working on it. Mom says old habits die hard, but since she's trying, I should keep being her friend.
I guess we are friends, aren't we? Who'd have thought... Me and Laura.
And all God had to do was send a curious little squirrel.
