Sara, Book 3 (6 page)

C
HAPTER
11

S
ara sat restlessly on the edge of her bed. Her pretty room felt confining, like there wasn’t enough air. She opened her window
and sat on the large windowsill looking out into the backyard. The yard was covered with a blanket of bright-colored leaves.
Her eyes rested on the old tire swing her father had made several years ago by tying a rope through an old truck tire. It
made a great swing. Big enough for two if you didn’t mind being squished together. Sara hadn’t been in that swing since Seth
had built the tree house. The old tire swing had seemed so inferior to the fantastic new swinging rope Seth had hung in the
tree house; there was really no comparison to the thrill of the ride. But today, that old tire swing looked like a forgotten
old friend—and Sara was feeling pretty much the same way.

She slipped out of her window, something her mother had asked her a hundred times not to do, and pulled herself up into the
old tire. It wasn’t possible to swing very high because the tire kept spinning on the single rope it was tied to. But it was
fun to twirl ’round and ’round while moving back and forth. Rather mesmerizing. Sara closed her eyes to intensify the effect.
’Round and ’round, back and forth. ’Round and ’round, and back and forth.

Sara
.

Sara heard Solomon’s clear words from above.

She looked up into the tree, and sure enough, there sat Solomon, his feathers blowing gently in the wind.

“Oh hi, Solomon, I’m surprised to see you here.”

I’m surprised to find you here, Sara. You haven’t been in this old swing in a very long time.

“I know,” Sara said softly. “I just felt like it.”

Solomon sat quietly by. Sara twirled ’round and ’round.

They’re waiting for you in the tree house,
Solomon said.

“I don’t care.” Sara spun gently around in the swing.

Solomon was quiet. He never pushed Sara into talking if she wasn’t ready.

“Solomon, why didn’t Seth tell me he knew that Annette’s mother was dead? I mean, it’s not like he didn’t know I was interested.
I asked him straight out if he’d ever met her. And he lied to me, Solomon. I just can’t believe it. I thought we were friends.”

Seth had quite a struggle with that one, Sara.
Annette asked him not to tell anyone. And she specifically asked him not to tell you.

“So, he cared more about not hurting her feelings than he did about mine? That’s just great!”

Well, Sara, I guess that is one way of looking at it. Or you could say that he feels more secure in his friendship with you, and he felt that you’re standing on more stable footing right now than Annette is. In other words, he may have felt that Annette has quite a lot to deal with, right now.

A tear rolled down Sara’s cheek, and she wiped her face with her sleeve. “Well, why didn’t she want me to know?”

Well, Sara, I suspect it’s because she’s noticed that people behave differently toward her once they find out.
She doesn’t want people to feel sorry for her, Sara. She’s like you—a proud, hearty girl who truly prefers to feel happy.

Sara swallowed hard. She felt embarrassed about how she’d been feeling. It was bad enough that that overpowering feeling of
jealousy seemed to overtake her again and again; that is such an icky feeling. But now, mixed with that feeling jealousy,
she felt an equally uncomfortable feeling of guilt about feeling jealous—and now, a real feeling of sadness, and even more
guilty feelings, about poor Annette moved through her.

Another tear rolled down Sara’s cheek, as she thought about sweet Annette, buying frozen dinners by herself and eating store-bought
chocolate chip cookies.

You see, Sara, that is the very reason Annette didn’t want Seth to tell you about it. She has begun to rediscover how lovely life can be again. But each time a new friend finds out about her mother’s death, she has to go back and relive all that sadness again through their perspective. You can see why she might want to avoid that.

“Yes.” Sara wiped her nose and looked up at Solomon.

“Solomon, I don’t know what’s going on with me. I feel so awful.”

Solomon listened quietly, waiting for Sara to try to clarify what it was she wanted to know.

“I mean, it seems like ever since Annette got here, I’ve been feeling bad. I mean it’s not her fault, or anything. I just
. . .”

Well, Sara, I’m sure you will feel better soon; you are naturally such a happy girl. But it might be worth taking a little bit of time here to receive some benefit, or clarity, from all of this negative emotion.

Sara wiped her nose and looked at Solomon. She could feel a familiar calming reassurance coming from him. He had helped her
feel better so many times.

Remember, the first thing that a strong feeling or emotion is telling you is that this thing that you are thinking about really matters to you very much. The stronger the feeling, the more it matters. The second thing your emotions are telling you is whether, in this moment, you are a match to this important thing that you want.

Sara knew what Solomon meant about matches. She’d had many conversations with him about that. She remembered how Solomon had
explained about the
Law of Attraction,
and birds of a feather flocking together.

In other words, Sara, if you are experiencing a very strong feeling that does not feel good to you, like fear or anger or jealousy or guilt or blame . . . those feelings mean that you are thinking about something that matters very much to you—but that the thoughts that you are having are not a match to what you really want.

Sara listened.

However, when you are experiencing a very strong feeling that feels good to you, like love or appreciation or joy or eagerness . . . those feelings mean that you are thinking about something that matters very much to you—and in this moment, the thoughts that you are having ARE a match to what you really want.

Negative emotion is not a bad thing, Sara. It helps you recognize what you are doing with your thoughts.
You don’t think it is wrong when your sensitive fingertips tell you that the stove is hot. That sensitivity saves your fingers from being damaged. And negative emotion is a similar indicator. It just lets you know that to stay focused longer upon this thought that doesn’t feel good really is not good for you.

Sara stretched her feet out to the ground and slid down out of the swing. She sat on the ground and put her face in her hands.
“Oh, Solomon, I know all of this. You’ve told me this, like, maybe a thousand times.”

Solomon smiled.
Well, not quite a thousand times, Sara.

“Oh, Solomon, Seth must think I’m awful. What should I do?”

There is really nothing to be done. Nothing has happened that needs to be fixed. Your friendship with Seth will be an eternally evolving thing, and nothing has changed to make it less in any way. I expect that the three of you will be the very best of friends.

Sara wiped her nose again and looked up at Solomon. “But Solomon, I liked things the way they were. I don’t want—”

I remember when you felt that very same way about our friendship, Sara. You didn’t want Seth to know about us.

Sara looked up at Solomon and wiped her nose again. She remembered that, too.

And yet, look at how nicely that is turning out, Sara. I haven’t noticed your feeling unhappy about you and I sharing our friendship with Seth.

Sara was quiet. Solomon was right about that. She felt no discomfort about Seth loving Solomon, and Solomon loving Seth. She
loved watching them interact with one another. She loved the delight that they brought to each other. Her relationship with
each of them was better because they now knew each other.

Sara, you have been a very healthy girl for a very long time.

“Yes!”

Can you imagine telling your mother, “Well, since I have been so healthy for so many years, I’ve decided to be sick for a few years to allow more people to be healthy”?

Sara laughed. “No, Solomon. That’s silly.”

Silly, because you understand that others are not sick because you are getting more than your share of wellness. You understand that your experience of wellness has nothing to do with theirs.

Sara smiled. “I get it.”

Sara, always remember that there is plenty of love to go around. Seth’s appreciation of Annette in no way detracts from his appreciation of you. In fact, if anything, it makes it more. Just look for the very best-feeling thoughts that you can find about your two dear friends.

Sara drew in a deep breath of fresh air. She felt so very much better. “Okay, Solomon. I’ll think about it. Thanks.”

Solomon lifted into the air and silently flew away.

C
HAPTER
12

T
he next day after school, Sara sat high in the tree house waiting for Seth and Annette to join her. She shifted from place
to place trying to get comfortable. She felt uneasy. She was still feeling embarrassed about her behavior the day before,
and she wasn’t quite sure what she would say when they got there.

She had been trying to find good-feeling thoughts about Seth and Annette, but her thoughts kept turning back to Annette and
her family. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like if her own wonderful mother were missing from their family. That thought
was just too awful to think about.

“Whew!” she exclaimed quietly to herself. “These thoughts do not feel good. I shouldn’t be thinking about this.”

“Anybody up there?”

Sara heard Annette’s voice calling from down below.

“Yes, I’m here,” Sara called back down, jumping to her feet and self-consciously pulling her shirt down, smoothing out the
rumples in it. She felt flustered, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been doing.

Sara saw Annette put a tin box in the bucket at the base of the tree. Then she stuffed her coat in around it and scurried
up the tree ladder.

“What’s in the box?”

“Oh, just some stuff I brought from home. Some things I wanted to show you.”

“Oh. Do you want to wait for Seth? He should be here any minute.”

“He’s not coming today,” Annette answered. “I saw him earlier, and he said he’d catch us tomorrow.”

Sara felt that bad feeling rising up within her again.
He probably hates me,
she thought.

“You are the best friend Seth has ever had, Sara!” Annette said clearly.

Startled, Sara looked at Annette. It was as if Annette knew what she was thinking.

“He said he’d been watching for you all day long, but for some reason, just hadn’t been able to find you, and he asked me
to be sure to tell you that he would see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks,” Sara said.

She felt much better.

Annette untied Seth’s rope and pulled the bucket up onto the platform.

“I’ll get that,” Sara said, standing up to secure the rope. Annette took her coat out of the bucket and spread it like a blanket
on the platform, and then she carefully placed the tin box in the center of her coat.

“How pretty that is,” Sara said, softly, getting down on her knees next to Annette to get a closer look.

Annette tugged on a chain that was around her neck, pulling up a pretty locket that Sara had never noticed before. She opened
the locket and retrieved a very small key, which she put into the tiny lock in the tin box.

Sara sat, waiting, feeling as if a remarkable treasure was about to be revealed to her. Annette’s movements seemed so precise,
as if she had practiced them a hundred times. She turned the tiny key in the lock, and the lid on the box sprang open. Sara
squealed, as her body spontaneously jumped back in surprise.

She felt embarrassed at her seeming disrespect for what seemed to be a ceremonial opening of this precious box, but Annette
didn’t seem to notice. She seemed removed from everything that was going on around her, while being completely absorbed by
whatever was in this pretty little box.

Sara sat back and took a deep breath, deliberately trying to relax.

Annette’s delicate little fingers picked through the contents of the box. “This is my mother.” Annette handed the glossy picture
to Sara.

Sara didn’t look at Annette’s face as she reached out to take the picture and she wasn’t sure she really wanted to look at
the picture either. She had no idea what the appropriate response to any of this should be, and she really didn’t want to
do or say the wrong thing.

“That’s me with her.” Annette said, breaking the awkward silence.

Sara looked at the picture. It was a very worn and tattered picture with dog-eared corners and a big crack running right through
the middle of it. It was difficult to see the face of either the well-dressed lady or the little girl in the photo because
it had been taken from a distance, and the people in the photo appeared tiny. And, in a very young child’s handwriting, in
what looked to be crayon, were large printed letters: “ME AND MOMMY.”

“That’s the first picture that was taken with me and my mother. I wrote that on there when I was, like, four years old.” Annette
laughed. She took the picture from Sara and put it back in the box. Sara still didn’t say anything.

“This is us about a year later. My dad says my mom was always trying to get him to carry the camera and take pictures everywhere
we went, but he said he hardly ever did. He always said that people spend too much time looking back at what was and not enough
time enjoying what is. I think he’s sort of sorry, though, that he didn’t take more pictures.”

Sara looked at the picture. Again, it was impossible to see the faces of the lady or the little girl. There was a big fountain
in the picture with a woman sitting on the edge of it, while a little girl appeared to be walking around the edge.

“My dad said I loved that fountain. It was in the park near our house. He said I would get up on the edge of it and run around
and around and around, and no matter how long I was allowed to do it, I always cried when we had to leave.”

“This is all of us,” Annette said, handing Sara another picture.

“Wow,” Sara said, before she could stop herself. “That’s the prettiest picture I’ve ever seen.”

“My dad said my mother insisted that we have at least one family portrait. My dad never got close enough, in any pictures
that he took, to see anybody’s face. My mother used to say they might as well be strangers in the pictures, because no one
would ever be able to tell. But my dad said that the picture should tell a bigger story. That it should be about what’s happening,
not so much about who it’s happening to.”

“My mom liked this picture,” Annette said, handing Sara another one.

Sara looked at the beautiful faces in the photo. Annette’s mother was very beautiful—pretty, long, dark hair, like Annette’s,
and big, dark brown eyes. Annette’s father was very handsome, too. And her little sister was like a miniature version of Annette,
a very pretty little girl. “Annette, you have such a beautiful family.”

Sara stopped short, wishing that she hadn’t said that. She felt so sad that this beautiful family was no longer together.
Tears welled up in Sara’s eyes, and she looked the other way so Annette wouldn’t notice.

“Well, that’s the only professional picture we have. And just about the only one where you can see any of our faces. Oh, except
this one.” Annette pulled a newspaper clipping from the box with a picture of a little girl, who looked to be about three
years old, and a great big dog. It was a close-up picture of the faces of this odd pair. The dog was licking the little girl’s
face.

Annette laughed. “I wish I could remember this. My mother said we were walking in the park, and I had been eating an ice-cream
cone and had it all over my face. This big dog just walked right up to me and started licking my face. My mother said a photographer
from the newspaper was sitting on a bench nearby, eating his lunch, saw the whole thing, and took the picture. It was in the
newspaper the next day. My mother said she was so embarrassed. Finally, somebody got a close-up picture of her little girl’s
face—and a dog is licking food from it.”

Sara read the caption:
Little girl won’t wash her face so she gets a lickin’.
Both girls laughed.

“She said she could only hope no one she knew saw it. My dad loved it. He bought every newspaper he could find that day and
sent one to everyone he knew. He said that a picture should tell a story, and that was a story worth telling. He said: a picture
is worth a tho usand words .

” Annette sorted through the little box, pulling out picture after picture, quietly describing each one. Sara began to relax,
occasionally asking, “Who’s this? Where was this taken? Wow, is that your house?”

And then Annette closed the box and locked it again with the little key. The girls sat looking at the box. Sara felt as if
she’d been watching a movie that she didn’t want to end.

“So if your father were to take a picture of the two of us sitting here, what do you think it would look like?”

“Well,” Annette laughed, “first of all, he’d get as far away from us as he possibly could, like, maybe way high up in the
tree. And he’d try to get as much of the tree house in the picture as possible, with the bucket and pulley, and the swinging
rope, too, I imagine, and you and I would look like tiny little specks sitting down here on the platform.”

Sara laughed. It was fun to imagine the picture.

“And the caption would read,” Annette paused and looked right into Sara’s eyes: “And so, it
is
possible to be happy again.”

Thrill bumps bumped up all over Sara’s body. Tension that she didn’t even realize was still binding her lifted off, and she
sat there feeling as wonderful as she had ever felt in her life.

“Sara, I wanted you to understand that I’m really okay about all of this.” Annette looked at her watch. “Oh, I’ve got to get
going!” she exclaimed. “I had no idea we’d been here so long. Sara, let’s talk more tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Sara watched Annette hurry down the path. She felt so happy to have this dear new friend.