Ramona and Her Mother
Read Ramona and Her Mother Online
Authors: Beverly Cleary
EXCERPT FROM
RAMONA QUIMBY, AGE 8
A PRESENT FOR WILLA JEAN
“W
hen will they be here?” asked Ramona Quimby, who was supposed to be dusting the living room but instead was twirling around trying to make herself dizzy. She was much too excited to dust.
“In half an hour,” cried her mother from the kitchen, where she and Ramona's big sister Beatrice were opening and closing the refrigerator and oven doors, bumping into one another, forgetting where they had laid the pot holders, finding them and losing the measuring spoons.
The Quimbys were about to entertain their neighbors at a New Year's Day brunch to celebrate Mr. Quimby's finding a job at the ShopRite Market after being out of work for several months. Ramona liked the word
brunch
, half breakfast and half lunch, and secretly felt the family had cheated because they had eaten their real breakfast earlier. They needed their strength to get ready for the party.
“And Ramona,” said Mrs. Quimby as she hastily laid out silverware on the dining-room table, “be nice to Willa Jean, will you? Try to keep her out of everyone's hair.”
“Ramona, watch what you're doing!” said Mr. Quimby, who was laying a fire in the fireplace. “You almost knocked over the lamp.”
Ramona stopped twirling, staggered from dizziness, and made a face. Willa Jean, the messy little sister of her friend Howie Kemp, was sticky, crumby, into everything, and always had to have her own way.
“And behave yourself,” said Mr. Quimby. “Willa Jean is company.”
Not my company, thought Ramona, who saw quite enough of Willa Jean when she played at Howie's house. “If Howie can't come to the brunch because he has a cold, why can't Willa Jean stay home with their grandmother, too?” Ramona asked.
“I really don't know,” said Ramona's mother. “That isn't the way things worked out. When the Kemps asked if they could bring Willa Jean, I could hardly say no.”
I could, thought Ramona, deciding that since Willa Jean, welcome or not, was coming to the brunch, she had better prepare to defend her possessions. She went to her room, where she swept her best crayons and drawing paper into a drawer and covered them with her pajamas. Her Christmas roller skates and favorite toys, battered stuffed animals that she rarely played with but still loved, went into the corner of her closet. There she hid them under her bathrobe and shut the door tight.
But what could she find to amuse Willa Jean? If Willa Jean did not have something to play with, she would run tattling to the grown-ups. “Ramona hid her toys!” Ramona laid a stuffed snake on her bed, then doubted if even Willa Jean could love a stuffed snake.
What Ramona needed was a present for Willa Jean, a present wrapped and tied with a good hard knot, a present that would take a long time to unwrap. Next to receiving presents, Ramona liked to give presents, and if she gave Willa Jean a present today, she would not only have the fun of giving, but of knowing the grown-ups would think, Isn't Ramona kind, isn't she generous to give Willa Jean a present? And so soon after Christmas, too. They would look at Ramona in her new red-and-green-plaid slacks and red turtleneck sweater and say, Ramona is one of Santa's helpers, a regular little Christmas elf.
Ramona smiled at herself in the mirror and was pleased. Two of her most important teeth were only halfway in, which made her look like a jack-o'-lantern, but she did not mind. If she had grown-up teeth, the rest of her face would catch up someday.
Over her shoulder she saw reflected in the mirror a half-empty box of Kleenex on the floor beside her bed. Kleenex! That was the answer to a present for Willa Jean. She ran into the kitchen, where Beezus was beating muffin batter while her father fried sausages and her mother struggled to unmold a large gelatine salad onto a plate covered with lettuce.
“A present is a good idea,” agreed Mrs. Quimby when Ramona asked permission, “but a box of Kleenex doesn't seem like much of a present.” She shook the mold. The salad refused to slide out. Her face was flushed and she glanced at the clock on the stove.
Ramona was insistent. “Willa Jean would like it. I know she would.” There was no time for explaining what Willa Jean was to do with the Kleenex.
Mrs. Quimby was having her problems with the stubborn salad. “All right,” she consented. “There's an extra box in the bathroom cupboard.” The salad slid slowly from the mold and rested, green and shimmering, on the lettuce.
By the time Ramona had wrapped a large box of Kleenex in leftover Christmas paper, the guests had begun to arrive. First came the Hugginses and McCarthys and little Mrs. Swink in a bright-green pants suit. Umbrellas were leaned outside the front door, coats taken into the bedroom, and the usual grown-up remarks exchanged. “Happy New Year!” “Good to see you!” “We thought we would have to swim over, it's raining so hard.” “Do you think this rain will ever stop?” “Who says it's raining?” “This is good old Oregon sunshine!” Ramona felt she had heard that joke one million times, and she was only in the second grade.
Then Mr. Huggins said to Ramona's father, “Congratulations! I hear you have a new job.”
“That's right,” said Mr. Quimby. “Starts tomorrow.”
“Great,” said Mr. Huggins, and Ramona silently agreed. Having a father without a job had been hard on the whole family.
Then Mrs. Swink smiled at Ramona and said, “My, Juanita, you're getting to be a big girl. How old are you? I can't keep track.”
Should Ramona tell Mrs. Swink her name was not Juanita? No, Mrs. Swink was very old and should be treated with courtesy. Last year Ramona would have spoken up and said, My name is not Juanita, it's Ramona. Not this year. The room fell silent as Ramona answered, “I'm seven and a half right now.” She was proud of herself for speaking so politely.
There was soft laughter from the grown-ups, which embarrassed Ramona. Why did they have to laugh? She
was
seven and a half right now. She would not be seven and a half forever.
Then the Grumbies arrived, followed by Howie's mother and father, the Kemps, and of course Willa Jean. Although Willa Jean was perfectly capable of walking, her father was carrying her so she would not get her little white shoes and socks wet. Willa Jean in turn was carrying a big stuffed bear. When Mr. Kemp set his daughter down, her mother peeled off her coat, one arm at a time so Willa Jean would not have to let go of her bear.
There stood usually messy Willa Jean in a pink dress with tiny flowers embroidered on the collar. Her curly blond hair, freshly washed, stood out like a halo. Her blue eyes were the color of the plastic handle on Ramona's toothbrush. When she smiled, she showed her pearly little baby teeth. Willa Jean was not messy at all.
Ramona in her corduroy slacks and turtleneck sweater suddenly felt big and awkward beside her little guest and embarrassed to have jack-o'-lantern teeth.
And the things those grown-ups said to Willa Jean! “Why, hello there, sweetheart!” “My, don't you look like a little angel!” “Bless your little heart. Did Santa bring you the great big bear?” Willa Jean smiled and hugged her bear. Ramona noticed she had lace ruffles sewn to the seat of her underpants.
“What is your bear's name, dear?” asked Mrs. Swink.
“Woger,” answered Willa Jean.
Mrs. Kemp smiled as if Willa Jean had said something clever and explained, “She named her bear Roger after the milkman.”
Mrs. Quimby said with amusement, “I remember when Ramona named one of her dolls Chevrolet after the car.” Everyone laughed.
She didn't have to go and tell that, thought Ramona, feeling that her mother had betrayed her by telling, as if it were funny, something she had done a long time ago. She still thought Chevrolet was a beautiful name, even though she was old enough to know that dolls were not usually named after cars.
“See my bear?” Willa Jean held Woger up for Ramona to admire. Because everyone was watching, Ramona said politely, “He's a nice bear.” And he was a nice bear, the nicest bear Ramona had ever seen. He was big and soft with a kindly look on his furry face andâthis was the best partâeach of his four big paws had five furry toes. You could count them, five on each paw. Even though Ramona felt she should be outgrowing bears, she longed to hold that bear, to put her arms around him, hug him close and love him. “Would you like me to hold the bear for you?” she asked.
“No,” said Willa Jean.
“Ramona,” whispered Mrs. Quimby, “take Willa Jean into the kitchen and sit her at the table so she won't spill orange juice on the carpet.” Ramona gave her mother a balky look, which was returned with her mother's you-do-it-or-you'll-catch-it look. Mrs. Quimby was not at her best when about to serve a meal to a living room full of guests.
