Becoming the Story (13 page)

She thought about the home she had left, but
could only summon vague images.

The House Blight was a thing of the past, a
distant memory, and all that mattered now was this, the cresting,
splashing, and pulling back, the wind in her face, the sand on her
feet.

The place she had called home was far away,
and she wondered if she would ever feel home here. But maybe all
she needed was a place to sleep, and walls.

Which walls surrounded her was
unimportant, as long as they stood. Outside, inside; what did the
words really mean?

At night she took comfort in the thickness
of the walls, the heaviness of the bricks. Until she began to hear
the rumors.

Sometimes, in this town, people said, the
ground collapses without warning. It is the heavy solid things that
are most in danger, the things that press and weigh that most
easily fall.

Giant signs, plastered everywhere,
proclaimed the new horror, a word she dared not
speak. 
Sinkhole? See the Sinkhole Guy!

She could not believe her bad fortune. A new
House Blight was upon her! Even when neighbors told her that
sinkholes only affected a few, she would not calm down.

She considered moving again. She even packed
a few boxes. She remembered her fear of the ceiling collapsing,
knew too well the treachery of shelters meant to protect.

Where could she go where she could rely on
surfaces to bear her weight or walls to hold the ceiling?

She thought about her sturdy new walls that
blocked the rain and wind, appearing so stable.

And she remembered the ocean, too, so near,
with all of its wild beauty, unpredictable, unsafe, but still
comforting in the rhythms it did have.

She sighed in resignation. Walls evaporate
sometimes, she thought, and the ground — it turns out — sometimes
disappears.

But for the time they were there you had to
trust them, the ground that might give way or a ceiling that might
fall. The timeless strength of walls and surfaces was an illusion.
But it was one you had to have.

She began to unpack the boxes she had filled
in her haste to escape the Sinkhole Blight. As she did, she thought
of the ocean, alive and constantly moving.

Meanwhile, her walls and floors stood still,
and she congratulated them for that.

“Catch the ball you idiots! See? Very
simple.” The boy tossed the ball into the air. “What goes up –see?
– goes down. When it goes
down
you hold out your arms and
you catch it. Like this.” He spat. “What were you two talking about
anyway?” He stared at blond headed Roxanne. “And keep your hands
free.
What are you holding, a
dandelion?”
He grabbed
the flower from Roxanne and snapped its stem in two.

The girls, Roxanne and Mila, both eleven,
looked at each other. Roxanne laughed behind her hand. Mila stared
at him in mild amusement. Matt glowered at Mila. “So? What are you
talking about? Tell me.”

“We are discussing the origins of the cosmos
and the meaning of life,” Mila said. “And why people like you have
no hope of ever finding it, or even coming close.”

Matt gaped at Mila. “Just
catch
the
kickball
when it comes your way!” Matt stomped off.

Laughing, Roxanne gave Mila a hug. “Good
going, Miles. That will teach him to interrupt. Now, back to what
really matters: Jeff or Shane? As I was saying, I like them. They
both like me. Which one?”

Mila shrugged. “Maybe try
eenie-meanie-minie-mo?”

Roxanne sighed, bent over, and plucked
another dandelion. “Life is
hard
,” she said. “
So
very
hard. Good thing I have you. I wish I could be more like you,
Miles. Smarter.” Roxanne sighed again. “You are
so
lucky to
not have any boys like you.”

This time Mila sighed. “Never thought of it
like that.”

The red ball was hurtling overhead, toward
them, tracing a perfect arc against a stretch of blue sky. They
both looked up and watched as it passed them. Mila watched it fall
and bounce a few times. Matt was back and glaring at them with
disgust as he grabbed the ball.

Mila looked amused as she watched Matt stomp
away, his head turned and staring at her. “True, life
is
hard, but sometimes the problem is with people, not life. Take
him
. He thinks that what happens in this game actually
matters
. But look over there, at
him.
He knows
better.”

Mila pointed to a boy at the second place
position. He was balancing the wooden rectangle of a base on his
head. A girl was shouting at him from across the field. “Put the
base down, you dummy.” The boy grinned and flicked his middle
finger.

“See?” Mila said. “He plays the game, but he
doesn’t
care
about it. He just wants to make everyone mad.
No loyalty. A mercenary type, for sure. Trust me. I can spot
them.”

“I never liked him,” Roxanne said.

“
No
one likes him. But I like him
better than Matt, who is a prisoner of his desires. Matt bases his
happiness on something beyond his control. He can catch the ball
and tag, but he is part of a team, so he can never control every
player. Like us, for example.” Mila shook her head. “All he can do
is yell at us and act like a tyrant.”

“Yeah,” Roxanne said. “He is
such
a
jerk. It would be
so
easy not to choose him, if he liked me.
He really needs to lighten up. Someone needs to tell him what a
stupid game this is, so he can stop hating life.”

Mila nodded. “What difference does it make
who wins? After the game is all over, we go back to class, listen
to more lectures, then we go home. No matter what, life goes on the
same. The game
only
matters if you tell yourself it
does.”

“You are
so
wise, Mila.” Roxanne
shook her head and sighed. “But you get too deep for me sometimes.
I only want to know what boy to like. Shane has these dreamy eyes.
But he is always calling me a dumb blond. Jeff only ever says nice
things. But he has big ears, and I think his mom picks out his
clothes for him.”

“Roxanne,
always
choose nice. Believe
me. Besides, be happy you even have a choice. Not everyone does. In
fact, some people say no one does. I read somewhere that freedom is
a paradox.”

Roxanne blinked. “A para-huh?”

“A paradox. Something true that seems to
contradict itself. Every time you
use
your freedom, you
become less free. Every time you make a choice, other choices go
away. If you choose Shane, then you lose Jeff.
Every
time
you make a decision, you close other doors.”

“Really?” Roxanne crinkled her forehead.
“What kinds of doors?”

“Not real doors, Roxy. But take this game.
Everyone
calls this play. You would think play would be
something you did because you wanted to do it. But here we are,
forced to stand here in this dumb field. There are even rules for
how we should
feel.
We are supposed to pretend we care who
wins. And all the time, the teacher is right there, overseeing
everything. Do you see any freedom here, any at all?”

Roxanne scanned the field, then turned to
Mila. “I think that fly on your nose might be free.”

Mila opened her eyes wide and slapped at her
nose. “What fly?”

“Psyche,” Roxanne laughed.

“Well,” Mila blinked at Roxanne a couple of
times, “believe me, if that fly was real, it would be
so
much freer than we are.” She glared at Matt. “Our only
shred
of freedom, our one human dignity, is to
ignore
the ball
when it flies past us, and even that is under siege.”

Roxanne chewed the end of a dandelion stem.
“Sometimes I wish I was
less
free. No more worries. Someone
could tell me, pick Jeff or pick Shane. And I would, no
regrets.”

“So true,” Mila said. “Freedom is costly.
When you get older, it only gets worse. You have more power, so if
you make bad decisions, they can ruin your whole life. You have to
choose who to marry and where to live and what job to take. Every
time you make a choice, all your other choices go away.”

“Sounds awful,” Roxanne said. “Why would
anyone
want freedom? Hey, I know. From now on, maybe
you
can make
all
my decisions for me. I trust you,
Miles. You have a good
brain
. Just tell me which boy to pick
and I will.”

“Infield!” Matthew screamed and gestured to
the kids crossing from one end of the field to the other. He stood
in front of them. “Are you bimbos going to move, or are you joining
the other team? If you are, do it now.”

Mila sighed. “I guess we have to continue
this talk over there. The teacher is glaring at us. I wonder if
life ever gets any better, or if there will always be someone to
boss us around and tell us where to go.”

Roxanne and Mila strolled to the opposite
end of the field and leaned against the inner curve of a metal
fence.

“So tell me,” Roxanne said. “Which one?
Pretend-like. You are my all-knowing master and I am your humble
slave. Who do you pick for me, my master? Shane or Jeff?”

“Roxy…”

“Alphabetical order!” The teacher said.
“Everyone line up.” The teacher paced up and down the line. “If
your name starts with “A,” go to the
front
of the line.
Roxanne, move it! Mila, to the back.”

Roxanne frowned at Mila. “I hate my last
name being Atkins. I would much rather be a Zimmerman. Or at least
a Wells like you.”

“I have to say, I like being a Wells. I
almost never have to kick the ball.”

“Oh, Mila, I have to go, but I want to talk
some more. I hate separation. Almost as much as choosing boys.
Things like this are what make life so very hard.”

“There is a
way,”
Mila said, “to get
back.” She gave Roxanne a meaningful look.

Roxanne gave Mila a look of confusion before
she moved to the fourth place in line.

Meanwhile, Mila approached the boy Mark, who
had used second base for a hat. He was standing at the third place
in line. Mila whispered something in his ear. A shrewd expression
appeared on his face. Then he burst out laughing. “Ha,” he said.
“What is in it for me?” He gave her a challenging expression.

“Mila, move it!” the teacher said. “Go to
the back of the line
now
. Do you want detention?”

Ignoring her, Mila replied to the boy. “My
undying gratitude?”

He opened his palm. Mila sighed, drew
something shiny, a coin from her pocket, and put it on his palm. He
looked down at it with contempt. Mila drew out a couple of dollar
bills. “I only have 3 dollars, lunch money. Two up front, the rest
later.”

The teacher grabbed Mila by the upper arm
and drew her roughly away to the back of the line. Mila frowned and
watched the first kid approach home base.

The first play was a home run. But the next
player in line was Margo. Margo was overweight and not a good
runner, and got tagged quickly.

Mark stepped up to the base. He loosened his
shoulders and stretched his legs like a track runner. Finally he
stood absolutely still, as if meditating. But when the ball came
rolling toward him, he barely nudged the ball, and the toe of his
tennis shoe sent the ball veering to the right.

Mark stared at the ball for a long moment,
then took mincing, almost prim, steps toward first. He was tagged
halfway to the base amid a volley of boos. Returning, he grinned
proudly, bowed, and wave. A chorus of boos and taunts followed.

Roxanne looked at Mila and Mila met her
eyes. Roxanne lowered her head and stepped up to kick, and when the
server rolled the ball to her, she pulled her leg back far, swung
it forward, and then seemed inexplicably to lose her balance.
“Whoops,” she said. She gave the ball a half-hearted tap with the
toe of her sandal. She half walked, half ran toward first base.
“What are you doing?” Matthew screamed.
“Run
, you idiot
!
Run!”

Roxanne was tagged midway to first base. The
kids on her team booed, but laughter rang out from the other team.
As Roxanne returned, she buried her face in her hands.

“She did it on purpose,” Matt screamed at
the teacher. “She just did it so she could go back out there and
talk to Mila and pick dandelions. Do something!”

The teacher looked at Matt, then at Roxanne.
“Be a good sport, Matt,” the teacher said, and blew a whistle.
“Everyone change places.”

Back in the outfield, Mila looked at Roxanne
with new respect. “Well played, Roxy, my friend. I know how hard
that must have been. You could be
good
at this game if you
wanted to be. Sorry if put you in a bad position. You could have
said no.”

“Never,” Roxanne wiped her eyes with the
sleeve of her dress. “I like talking to you. Besides, I want your
answer. I
need
your answer. My
entire
future
happiness depends on it.”

“No, forget about boys, just for one second.
Do you
know
what we just did? Do you see the
beauty
?”
Mila shook her head. “I gave up my lunch money, and you made the
entire classroom hate you just to come back here. This is a
moral
victory,
Roxy. We have no choice but to stand
here and pretend to play ball, but we decided how we were going to
do it, here, right here, in the dandelion patch, where we belong.”
Mila looked around. “And such a beautiful day for it too.” Mila
gazed upward. Roxanne did too.

“Sometimes,” Mila said, “when I was little
and used to get lonely, I would go outside and lie down on the
grass and stare at the sky. I would imagine I could fall into it,
past all the blue and on into space, on and on. And maybe I would
fall on a planet where everyone thinks like I do, and where
everyone would understand me. Do you ever do that, Roxy? Ever get
the feeling you could just fall into all that blue and find nice
aliens who like you?”