Maizon at Blue Hill (11 page)

“Sandy?” I asked a few minutes later, when she was sitting down at her desk and staring at the cover of her composition book.

“Huh?”

“What do you want to be
if
you grow up?”

Sandy laughed. “An epidemiologist.”

“You're going to medical school?”

Sandy shrugged. “Maybe a wife first. Medical school is a lot of money.”

“Wifery's a lot of
years
!”

“Nah.” Sandy giggled. “A lot of marriages don't last. Then I could collect alimony, which will pay my way through med school. What about you?”

I leaned on my fist and gazed out the window. “I used to want to be a writer. But my friend Margaret aced that. She won an all-city poetry contest. I don't think that's what I want to be anymore. Now I'm leaning toward being a counselor of some kind. Something where I help people fit in—maybe a shrink.”

“A shrink, wow!” Sandy breathed. “I never even thought of that. My mom has a shrink. I never thought of people aspiring to be shrinks. I guess they do, though. That's medical school too.”

“School doesn't scare me....”

“Do I know that!”

“A shrink,” I said again, almost to myself. “I think I'd like that.”

“You'd be good, Maizon,” Sandy said. “When you're not crabby, you have a mellow spirit. It's kind of relaxing. Like sometimes, when I come in from a hard workout or a hard class and I see you sitting there studying, and the room is warm and quiet, it just makes me feel good.”

“Thanks,” I said, really meaning it.

“I'll miss that about you, Maizon,” Sandy said softly.

“You haven't told anyone, have you?” One night, after a hockey game, I had sworn Sandy to secrecy, then confessed that I was thinking of leaving Blue Hill.

“I haven't breathed a word. But if I come back from Thanksgiving and see your stuff laid out on the bed, I'll be happy as a nursing kitten.”

I smiled and shrugged. “I doubt it. But I'll write you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sandy said, cracking her comp book. “That's what they all say.”

“You want to take a study break and walk me to the store?”

 

Sandy slammed her comp book closed as quickly as she had opened it. We pulled our field hockey sweatshirts over our heads and signed out with Ms. Bender, who smiled and nodded knowingly when we said we were taking a walk. A walk, to any Chameleon, meant a trip to Dom's Candy Store.

Sandy and I walked slowly down High Street, hunched into our heavy sweatshirts against the cool air, our hands deep in the pockets. High Street was silent as a stone, the huge houses sitting far back and empty looking, surrounded by the brightly colored trees.

“So much money,” Sandy said, almost whispering. She was staring at the houses. Mercedeses and BMWs were parked in front of some of the garages. We passed a house with two small boys playing on the front lawn. They stopped playing when they saw us and stared at me with their mouths kind of opened. I made a face at them, pulling my ears away from my head and crossing my eyes. Sandy laughed. One of the boys smiled a little, but the other looked like he was about to cry. We hurried past them, giggling.

“That's my house!” I said, pointing to a huge three-story house painted white with lavender trimming.

Sandy looked around quickly, then ran a little ahead of me and pointed to a brick house with smoke coming from the chimney and a tire swing in the front yard. “That's mine!” she yelled.

We skipped up the street. “My car, Sandy,” I said, when a navy-blue BMW drove past us.

Sandy frowned. “I was going to claim it!”

“If you're slow, you blow.”

“I was slew, so I blew.” Sandy giggled.

We played my house, my car all the way to Dom‘s, where Sandy bought two packs of M&Ms and some licorice. Dom must have had a hundred glass jars with every kind of candy you could ever imagine. I wanted to buy a handful of the tiny silver balls, but they hurt my teeth. I walked slowly back and forth, touching one jar after another, while Sandy waited, exaggerating impatience. She tapped her foot and looked up at the ceiling like she would end up in a dead faint or something if I didn't decide soon.

I finally settled on two Hershey Bars, one with almonds and one without and some chocolate kisses. “You getting your period or something?” Sandy whispered while,I was paying.

“What?”

“Whenever my mother is getting her period, she eats like a pound of chocolate.”

“God! I hope not! I hope I never get it.”

We headed back down High Street.

“Maybe someday I'd like to have it,” Sandy said. “You know, just to see what it's like.”

“Well, eat your chocolate, Sandy. Maybe then it'll come!”

We laughed, munching as we walked, searching High Street again for cars and houses we might have missed on our way. There were a lot of beautiful houses. But they weren't on Madison Street.

Sandy started skipping and I followed behind her. She started singing loudly and after she had repeated each verse twice, I picked up the song and started singing along:

As we skipped along, I realized there was something different about this. The song was different, and so was the place and Sandy. It was “nice” different, even a little fun, even though the emptiness was still there. But this is what Grandma wanted for me, and now I understood. I would keep in touch with Sandy. I wanted to remember her and the few months we shared a room. But I realized I would never tell Margaret about Sandy, even though I'd teach her the song. Sandy would remain a part of me here, of Blue Hill, of sharing with strangers. A part of me that didn't belong to Madison Street anymore or anyone living there.

21

T
wo days before Thanksgiving break, Ms. Bender and Miss Norman stopped by. Sandy was at a cross-country meet in another part of Connecticut. I was sitting at my desk, where I had been staring off into nothing, thinking about home for a lot of the afternoon.

“Some quarter, Maizon,” Ms. Bender said, sitting at the foot of my bed. Miss Norman sat down on Sandy's bed. “All As.”

“Two A-pluses,” I corrected. “History and English.”

They both nodded and smiled. Ms. Bender eyed my suitcase and trunk. Then she looked over and saw my uniform swaying alone in the empty closet.

“You seem to be taking a lot for such a short vacation,” Miss Norman said.

“A whole lot,” Ms. Bender said.

I stared at the floor. Would they think I had betrayed them?

“You have something to tell us, Maizon?” Miss Norman asked quietly.

“I'm leaving,” I said, lifting my head to look at her. “I don't want to come back here.”

Miss Norman nodded. “Mrs. Dexter told us you were considering it. We hoped you'd decide not to.”

I shook my head. “I don't belong here.”

“What will you do?” Ms. Bender asked. I thought about what Charli had told me the first day we met. About Ms. Bender waking up to find her husband had left her. Ms. Bender must have understood emptiness—and the hollowness that replaces the solid places in your life. I looked at her now.

“I'm going to try to find a place where I can fit in being both black and smart. There has to be a place somewhere, right?”

Miss Norman rose and walked over to me, then crouched down so that we were eye-level. “You'll find it, Maizon,” she said. She ran her fingers through her hair. “I'm sorry it couldn't be Blue Hill. I was hoping you'd stay.”

I shrugged and sniffed. Already my eyes were puffy and red from hours of crying. Not wanting the tears to start up again in front of them, I squeezed my eyes shut for a second until the tears had passed.

“I'm sure you'll find a place for yourself, Maizon. I'm not going to encourage you to stay here, because I can see how unhappy you are, and I can't say I promise you'll be happy if you stay here, because I don't know that.”

“I don't want to be a failure,” I cried. “Everyone is going to think I'm a failure.”

“You have too much ... too much of everything,” Miss Norman said, smiling, “to ever be anybody's failure. Even when you leave here, I know Blue Hill hasn't heard the last of you.”

“Have you told your grandmother?” Ms. Bender asked.

Hattie had answered the phone when I called Ms. Dell's house. For some reason, I had known that was where I'd find Margaret. There was so much static on the phone and I was so scared that I wanted to hang up right then. It seemed like forever before I heard Margaret's voice, sounding tiny and far away. I hadn't realized how much I missed her until I heard her voice through all the static saying “Hello?” Then a whole lot of surprise and relief came into her voice when she said “Maizon?” like she couldn't believe it was me at the other end of the phone. In that quick second, I knew for sure I was not returning to Blue Hill. The way she said my name was my invitation back to Madison Street. Talking to her, I could picture Hattie and Ms. Dell and Li‘l Jay in the background, waiting, ready to welcome me home where I belonged.

But still, I lied to Margaret. I told her the girls hated me here, that no one spoke to me. Even with her right there on the phone, I couldn't tell her the truth. All the static got in the way, and the picture of everybody's expectant faces. Even though I knew they'd take me back no matter what, I felt like I needed to give them a good explanation, something really big. But when I heard the way Margaret believed my lies, I started crying, hard. I hadn't wanted to lie to her, but the truth was even harder to tell and I was so afraid she wouldn't understand that it was me who had isolated myself off from everyone and everything because I didn't belong to any of it.

I'd have to tell Margaret the truth one day, I knew that. But there was time. Now that I was going home, there'd be lots and lots of time for everything.

“I spoke to Grandma last night too,” I said to Ms. Bender and Miss Norman now. “She says to come home and we'll take it from there. She said she doesn't want me to be unhappy. She told me she realizes now that it's too soon for me to be away from her—to be away from home.” I swallowed, staring at my fingernails. “Grandma thought Blue Hill was going to be the best thing for me. I used to think my grandma knew everything about what's good and not so good for me. But I think I made her see that I know what's right for me sometimes. Home is. Home's where I should be for now. I mean, there's going to be plenty of time for me to go away. There's college. There's my whole life.”

“Then it's settled,” Ms. Bender said, rising. “I'll pick you up and get you to the noon train.”

I looked up then, feeling relief snatch me up and gently set me down again. This hadn't been so hard after all. It was only the beginning of leaving, but still, I had done it. Almost by myself. And Margaret had been there for me too. Just like she always had.

“I really hate to lose you, Maizon.”

Miss Norman rose and patted my shoulder. “I saw you as a point guard ... starting.”

I smiled and wiped my eyes.

“I guess I should say thank you now,” I said. “To both of you.”

I rose and hugged them both. Miss Norman held me away from her and looked at me a moment. Then she smiled and winked.

“You're going to be fine, Maizon,” she promised. “Just fine.”

They left and I went back to my desk, leaned on my elbows and stared out the window. I felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off my chest and now I could stumble and float to the next place in my life.

Marie, Charli, and Sheila were walking toward the main hall, arm-in-arm-in-arm as they slip-slided across the now-icy field, wearing thick Blue Hill jackets.

I stared at them. I would miss Charli the most, with her dark shades and easy way. I wondered if Sheila would really go to Spelman and if Marie would change her mind about Ivy League. I wondered if Sandy would forget me or if the girls in my English class would forget Pecola or remember me when they thought of her the way I remembered Margaret's father when I tried to think of my own. I wondered what would happen to Pauli—if she would one day wake up and find herself lost.

“You must have lived another life a long, long time ago,” Ms. Dell said to me once. “You're older than your years.”

Sitting there, I thought about Ms. Dell's words, and for the first time, they rang true to me. Maybe my gift was that I had lived somewhere a long time before this. Maybe that's where my knowledge came from. Maybe my knowing was my gift the way Ms. Dell's clairvoyance was hers.

I watched the groups of girls walk across the field, bundled up against the cold and the darkening, clouded-over sky. A sadness came over me suddenly. Did I still belong to Madison Street, to Margaret's stoop and Ms. Dell and Hattie's singing?

When I got home, I'd tell them all about Blue Hill and the leaves turning from green to red and gold. I'd tell them about the rhododendrons, about Charli with her gossip and shades, about how boy-crazy the girls here are. Then maybe I'd tell them about that day at the debate club meeting, about Ms. Bender's husband, about the short walk I took with Pauli across the field. And we'd sit on Margaret's stoop watching it snow, waiting for the Thanksgiving turkey to finish cooking. Then, later on, we'd sit there again, waiting for Christmas, then New Year's to come.