Mockingbird (10 page)

Mrs. Johnson lets me sit in the classroom instead of going to recess. She gives me paper so I can draw. I decide to draw a picture for Mrs. Brook of some stuffed animals looking at the Facial Expressions Chart because I have that chart memorized.

Mrs. Johnson says I should write a letter to Mrs. Brook to go with my drawing. I sigh because I’d rather draw but Mrs. Johnson Looks At The Person hard so I write the letter even though I’m much better at drawing than writing and Mrs. Johnson should know that by now.

CHAPTER 22

DRAWINGS

DAD SAYS WE’RE GOING TO A FUN raiser for the families of the people who were shot. He says it’s being given by people who care about us and want to help us and even though I don’t like crowds we still have to go because we have to show we appreciate what they’re doing for us and we should act like we appreciate it and like we want to be there even if we don’t because no one has to do a fun raiser but they’re doing it anyway.

I want to go,
I tell him,
so you can stop making excuses.
A fun raiser sounds like a good thing.

He stops talking. He tilts his head like he doesn’t Get It. I don’t know why.

What kind of fun things will there be?
I ask.

He shrugs
. I think there’s a silent auction and a raffle and I’m not sure what else.

Cait-LIN,
he says in his warning voice.

Okay okay
.

 

 

The fun raiser is in the Virginia Dare Middle School cafeteria. When we get out of the car near the cafeteria door Dad stops and stares at the school for a moment. He blinks a lot and swallows hard so the lump that sticks out of his throat keeps going in and out. Finally he takes a sharp breath before he pulls the door open.

The noise spills out and it smells like soggy spaghetti and the light makes me squint. Almost immediately bodies cover us like we are germs and they are the white blood cells sent to surround and destroy us. I think I will choke. I grab Dad’s hand. It’s big and hairy and sweaty but I Deal With It because otherwise I think I will be smothered.

This is my daughter Caitlin,
Dad says.

Hello Caitlin,
a voice says.
How are you?

I keep looking at the ground. Dad’s head comes down to my face.
Remember to Look At The Person and say something nice.

I don’t Look At The Person but I say nice stuff.
I’m ten. My birthday is next month. My favorite color is purple. My favorite game is Mario Kart but any video game is fine. My favorite video is
Bambi
except lately I don’t like it so much.

Oh . . . well . . . that’s nice,
the voice says, and the body moves away.

Dad says,
Not so much about yourself next time.

I try to tell him I’m being helpful because I’m giving people information about what I want for my birthday in case they want to buy me something but Dad introduces me to another person.

This time I Look At The Hat which at least is close to The Person. The Hat is the size of an umbrella and that gives me an idea of what to say.
When people say it’s raining cats and dogs it isn’t really. That just means it’s raining a lot. But it can rain frogs if they get sucked up in a storm and they plop down on top of your head. Also snow can be pink if red dirt dissolves in water that evaporates and—

Dad squeezes my shoulder. This means the conversation is over.

Another voice shouts
Hi Caitlin!
and a big hand comes into my Personal Space so I back up.

Say hello,
Dad says.

Look At The Person,
Dad reminds me.

I keep my head down but tilt it enough to see one of his ears.

Dad says,
Cait-LIN,
in his warning voice.

Say something nice,
Dad hisses.

When Dad hisses he is serious. He will not let me leave until I say something nice. I try to focus. I stare at the ear. What can I say that’s nice? Finally I realize and say it.
I don’t think you’re disgusting just because you have hair sticking out of your ear.

Dad pulls me away by both shoulders which means the conversation is over NOW.

I look around for Michael because his mother was shot like Devon so he should be at the fun raiser too. I know he’s Josh’s friend now and not mine but I don’t like all of these people so I wish I could at least see him. Suddenly a face is in front of mine and coffee breath goes up my nostrils and a voice says,
I have someone I bet you’d like to meet.

I bet she’s wrong.

She grabs the hand that isn’t holding Dad and I yank it away from her.

I’ll go with you,
Dad says.

We follow Coffee Breath Woman to an easel with a light on it and I stare at it.

I don’t know who or where Mr. Walters is but I do like the easel. There is a cartoon picture of a boy on it. He has a tiny body and a huge head. His mouth is grinning so much that his cheeks push his eyes up at the corners so even his eyes look happy like the photos of eyes that Mrs. Brook has shown me about a million times.

A man’s hand appears and adds tufts of sticky-outy hair to the giant head.

I laugh. Maybe this will be a fun raiser after all.

You like it?
a man’s voice says.

I nod. Normally I don’t talk to strangers but if he can draw like this he can’t be that strange.

I’m Charlie Walters the middle school art teacher,
the voice says.
Shall I do your picture?

I do my own pictures,
I tell him.

I shake my head.
He sees me every day. He doesn’t need a picture.

I Look At The Person. I look at the hand with his pencil. It’s just a charcoal pencil. Like mine.

He chuckles.
You don’t believe me?

I shake my head.

Draw me,
Dad says, and he sits on a little stool beyond the easel.

I watch the cartoon character grow from a potato head to a porcupine head to a Dad head. Mr. Walters puts the ears on the head first then a nose then a mouth. He squints at Dad for a while before he even draws the eyes. He is very careful with the eyes. He draws them in stages from the outside in. He doesn’t stop when he gets to the inside though. He takes a blue pencil and draws little colored dots and lines that make the eyes look deep and textured and full. And something else too. They look sad. I stare at Dad’s real eyes and I think I see the sad there too although it’s easier for me to see it in the picture. The picture doesn’t blink or look away.

You should do the Facial Expressions Chart at school,
I tell Mr. Walters.
You would do a much better job than the one we have now.

He nods once and smiles.
Thank you very much.
He pulls the sheet of paper off the easel and gives it to Dad and hands me a charcoal pencil.
Would you like to try drawing me now?

I Look At The Person. I stare into his eyes. His eyes look happy but not a mean laughy kind of happy.
Are you happy?

He is still holding his charcoal pencil out to me so I take it.

Mr. Walters gets up and walks over to the stool and sits down facing me.

Dad is standing behind me.
Go ahead. Draw Mr. Walters.

I stare at the huge blank paper in front of me. Usually I only have small pieces of paper.

I see a hand waving around the outside of the easel.
Yoo- hoo! You have to look over here.

I peek around the easel. It’s Mr. Walters.

So I do. I make a Mr. Potato Head. Then I add hair but only a little because Mr. Walters doesn’t have much. The nose is easy and so are the ears. The mouth is harder because usually I look at mouths when there are words coming out and right now there are none coming out of his. It’s flat. I do notice some curves and creases though so I put them in.

Feel free to use the colored pencils or pastels too,
he says.

I shake my head.
I don’t use colors. My drawings are black and white with no blurry stuff. It’s easier to see that way.
Blurry is good for stuffed-animaling but not for drawin
g.

Mr. Walters tilts his head like he doesn’t Get It but I don’t want to explain right now because I’m busy drawing.

Wow,
a voice behind me says.
That’s so awesome! Did you really draw that?

I put my arms over the picture to cover it up before turning around to see Emma from school.

Let’s see it,
she says.

I can’t do it if you’re watching,
I tell her.

A hand squeezes Emma’s shoulder. A woman’s voice says,
Let’s give her some space and we can come back when she’s done.

Emma makes a snorty sound but moves away.

Good. I’m still stuck on the eyes of my picture however and I stare at the paper.

You need to look at my eyes,
Mr. Walters says.

I sigh.
Are you related to Mrs. Brook?

Eyes are the windows to the soul,
Mr. Walters says.
If you look inside the eyes you can see so much about a person.

I Look At The Person including his eyes.
Really?

He smiles and nods.

But there is something wrong with his smile. I stare into his eyes. Maybe what’s wrong is his eyes. They don’t look happy like the photos of happy eyes Mrs. Brook has shown me. Maybe his smile is not big enough to push his eyes up at the corners like happy eyes are supposed to be.
Something’s wrong,
I tell him.

Ah,
he says as he nods.
Maybe you’re better at emotions than you think.

I think for a minute about what he means.
Oh. Because of Devon.

He nods.
I heard about that chest.
His voice is crackly.
It’s so hard.

He shrugs but sniffs too much to talk.

He Looks At The Person.
I think we all need to find Closure. It hurt the whole community. We’re all sad.
His eyes are so sad now they are starting to water.

I put the pencil down on the easel tray.
I don’t feel like drawing anymore.

He jumps up from the stool.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel sad.
He looks at the paper on the easel.
Wow. That is amazing. Don’t you want to give the eyes a try?

I shake my head.
I don’t think I can do a complete face yet.
Maybe later.

He pulls his eyeless picture off the easel and hands it to me.

 

 

After Dad is in bed I sneak into Devon’s room and tape Mr. Walters on the wall next to my picture of the eagle. This is the first picture of a face I’ve ever done. Even if it doesn’t have eyes.

CHAPTER 23

LOST

ON TUESDAY NIGHT I WALK INTO the kitchen and Dad is standing at the sink.

What’s for dinner?
I ask.

He turns around fast and his eyes are big which means surprise I think. Except why would he be surprised when he knows I live here?

What?
I say.

I’m sorry.
He turns back to the sink.
I was lost . . .

You’re in the kitchen,
I tell him.
It’s next to the living room. Then there’s the hall that goes to—