Meeting Miss 405 (8 page)

When Mom moves her hand from her chair to mine, I put my fingers on hers and stroke and stroke and stroke.

Mr. Howarth said I could show and tell about calligraphy in the last art class of the term. So I work on my presentation after school every day. I make sure each word is perfect. Like all those books that made Miss Stella famous. She showed me pictures of some of them. One of them took almost two years!

Mom came home last weekend for a visit. Dad said he needed to spend some time alone with her, so I had lots of time at Miss Stella's to write in my new book and learn some new flourishes and practice my report.

While Mom was here, it was not quite like normal. But it feels like it might be soon.

Maybe I knew this stuff already, but this is what I wrote in my new notebook about some of the things I noticed this weekend:

Dad puts his hand on the back of Mom's neck when they talk in the kitchen before dinner
.

Mom flicks her fingers against her leg when it gets quiet for a minute
.

When Dad talks about something that might happen soon, Mom just smiles and then looks somewhere else. Or changes the subject
.

Although Mom was home, everything felt the same as when she was gone. I still miss her, even when she is at home
.

There are dust bunnies under the couch that I see when I lie on the floor reading
.

The lamp I broke when Dad swung me around still works, but the crack shows
.

Mom did not notice either of these things
.

I was happy to be at Miss Stella's
.

Her wrinkles are beautiful
.

The morning I am to give my report, I read it to Dad first.

“You were word perfect. You will be a hit,” he says afterwards. Then he makes my breakfast. I have told him all about what Super-Concentrated Miss Stella told me about mindfulness. I think he understands now that doing two things at once is not always necessary.

My egg is perfect today. The toast is still in rectangles, but it does not really matter.

I am nervous when I pick up Parveen. “I will be rooting for you,” she says.

Of course she will. She is a Trusted Other.

Art is first class of the day, and Mr. Howarth says that we will start with my report about calligraphy before we work on our collages. When everyone is settled, he steps aside so I can stand next to his desk.

Then I take a deep breath and begin.

All about my famous sitter and calligraphy

By Tansy Hill

While my mom is away at a clinic being treated for depression, I got a new sitter
.

I stare very hard at my paper so I can't look at Devin and Ryan.

Her name is Miss Stella Vickers. And she is famous. She is a famous calligrapher. Even the Queen has one of her books
.

I hear Erin Warren at the front whisper, “The Queen!” But I keep reading.

Calligraphy is like handwriting. But it is more special and lots harder to do
.

Miss Stella said it was started hundreds of years ago in Turkey. And China
.

Miss Stella is teaching me to do it too. You don't use a computer. You need to use a special pen like this
.

I hand one to Mr. Howarth to pass around.

I have to be super-concentrated when I do it so it turns out just right
.

Like this
.

I take the white envelope from behind my report and hold it up high so everyone can see. It says in big letters
A letter to Mom—for her eyes only. From Tansy
.

Each word is perfect. Underneath are two different flourishes Miss Stella taught me.

This is a special letter for my mother who has been away for weeks and weeks
.

I still have not given the letter to Mom yet. Dad says I will know when the time is right.

I tried to tell my mom everything that has been going on while she has been away. But not enough to worry her
.

Calligraphy is hard to do, like lots of things. But if you are super-concentrated like me and Miss Stella, you will find it easier to do
.

I pick up my book from Mr. Howarth's desk and hold it open so everyone can see the title page.

This is the book Miss Stella made me. It is very special. It is one of a kind
.

It is my own calligraphy book
.

Maybe when I am as famous as Miss Stella, I will teach the kids I babysit how to do calligraphy
.

If you ask me later, I can show you too
.

I am all out of breath when I finish. When I look up, Parveen claps so hard her braid swings. Then Mr. Howarth applauds too, and everyone in the class joins in.

Devin and Ryan look at each other. Since I gave Devin the pea butter sandwich and the cookie manufactured in a nut-free facility, he stays away from me. Like he is scared of me, maybe.

Perhaps Mr. Howarth gave Devin and Ryan a good talking to. I think Miss Stella was right that it is his job to stop the bullies. I feel better now I have told him about it.

These days I hardly ever think about being allergic because, as Dad says, I don't have time to worry about everything.

“That was an excellent report,” Mr. Howarth says again at the end of the day. There's still gunky collage glue all over my fingers, and I'm trying to pick it off. “Thank you for telling us about your famous Miss Vickers,” he says.

“I call her Miss Stella,” I tell him. “But you're welcome.”

Parveen is standing by the lockers, waiting to walk home with me.

“And I hope your mother gets better soon,” says Mr. Howarth. He pats my arm and heads for the staff room.

I look at the papers in my hand. It took forever to write my report in perfect calligraphy. I am going to save it for Mom to read, when she is up to it. Until then, I will keep it safe with the letter in the back of my special calligraphy book.

Parveen and I walk home together as far as the corner. Now that
Bebe-ji
knows Miss Stella has not actually
met the Queen, maybe Parveen will not be able to come to my house again.

I pull the key from around my neck and open the front door. My hand does not go to the intercom anymore unless I want it to.

A little yellow stickie flaps from my door, so I head down the hallway to Miss Stella's apartment.

Only three more days before Dad takes me to spend the summer at Grandpa's. I wonder what the summer will be like now that Mom is almost well.

What will it be like without Miss Stella?

I know she will be here waiting for me on her jungly balcony when I come back. Meanwhile, we can write the most beautiful letters to each other. Word by word. One letter at a time.

I will be super-concentrated as I write each one.

But right now, I knock on the door of apartment 405 and waggle my fingers over the peephole so Miss Stella knows it is me.

Lois Peterson
wrote short stories and articles for adults for twenty years before turning to writing for kids. Recently retired from her job in a library, she lives in Surrey, British Columbia, where she writes, reads and teaches creative writing to adults, teens and children. Check out her website at
www.loispeterson.net
.