The Character

Prologue:
 
The Only One

    There is something really, really important about me that you should know right away. The thing is, it’s kind of a secret. I have lots of them. I always have. I probably always will. Sometimes, it’s even a secret from me. If I don’t think about it too much, sometimes I don’t even remember this one secret myself. But today, there was this cop that came to my school. She was talking to us about how important it is to stay in school. Like we have a choice or something. Anyway, the first thing she did was make everybody introduce themselves. She said she wanted us to tell her something about ourselves that she wouldn’t know just by looking at us. That’s what reminded me of this one secret. I didn’t tell her the secret, though, cause I didn’t want to. It makes me sound like a real loser. But I’ll tell it to you. Here it is: I only have one memory of my dad that is good. Just one. I have memories of stuff he’s bought me, and of things he did for me, but something bad usually always comes with something good. At least, it does for my dad and me. Except one time. It happened just a few days before he went away.

It was a really nice day. Daddy said it would be a shame if we didn’t get out and enjoy the weather. He said that we should go swimming at the lake. My mom worked the night before, though. She was tired and so she didn’t want to come. I didn’t really want to go if Mama wasn’t coming. I always get a little nervous and a little bit scared if it’s just me and Daddy. But I’m only ten. I couldn’t say no. And, besides, I really love to swim.
 
    I put my feet on the back of the front seat while Daddy was driving. It was comfortable. I thought he’d tell me to take my feet down, but he didn’t. He also let me choose what CD we listened to. I started getting happier about coming swimming as we were driving. I could tell that Daddy was in a good mood. When we got to the lake, though, and I saw that there weren’t a lot of people there, I got nervous again. I was going to have to get in the pool with just my bathing suit on. That’s kind of like being naked. And I really, really don’t like to be naked. Being naked reminds me of another secret.
 
    Daddy was real happy, though. He laid out our towel not too far from the water. He told me that he was going swimming and I could, too, if I wanted, or I could just sit and watch. He said I’d have to be really silly not to get in the water. I still couldn’t get past the idea of taking off my shirt and shorts. I don’t understand why you have to be in a bathing suit to get in the water: why can’t you wear even just a t-shirt?
 
    I sat down on the towel and watched the few people swimming. Daddy was diving under the water and then swimming a little bit away from the shore. There were two girls, a little bit younger than me, playing. They kept splashing each other and laughing. Their mom sat on a towel watching them, and I thought it was weird how she let them get in the water by themselves when they were younger than me. I’m ten and I know how to swim, and still my mom only lets me do that when she’s in a really, really good mood.
 
    Daddy held up one arm and waved me in.

“Come on, Anna, don’t be such a baby! The water feels great! You’re missing all the fun!”
 
    The water did look fun.
 
    I love the water.
 
    I just didn’t want to be naked.
 
    But no one was watching. I kept telling myself that I would have the bathing suit on, that I wasn’t really naked. I was really hot, too. The sun was right over my head, and I just knew that I was getting burned. The water would cool me off. There were other people here. That meant that I was probably safe. Daddy probably wouldn’t do anything as long as there were other people around. He never did anything when Mama was home.
 
    I looked to see if anyone was looking at me. I looked to see if Daddy was looking at me, but he was underwater again. I looked one more time to make sure that no one else was looking at me. Then I took my t-shirt off and undid my shorts. I managed to get out of them without having to stand up. Then I just took a deep, deep breath, pushed myself to my hands and stood. Then I took off.
 
     I don’t like to wait around. It is worse for me to “ease my way in” as Mama does. It’s better if I just get it over with. I’m like that with a lot of other things, too. Anyway, so I didn’t just stick my foot or toe in: I ran as far out into the water as I could, and then I went under. All at once. The water rushed over my face and then soaked my hair, making it all heavy and dark. The water was cool but it felt good.
 
    All of a sudden, something splashed me in the back. I turned around and Daddy was grinning. He had splashed me! I didn’t know what to do but he was smiling, and I remembered seeing the other girls splash each other. So I splashed him back. He started laughing.

“Bet you can’t get me now!” he called and took off swimming.

I splashed as hard as I could. The water went everywhere.
 
    Then Daddy dove underwater. It wasn’t real clear, and I lost sight of him. The next thing I knew, something had me by the ankles. I only had a second to figure that out before I was jerked under the water. Luckily, I grabbed my nose and closed my eyes a second before the water rushed up my face. When I came back up, Daddy was still laughing.
 
    “Got you. Now, it’s your turn to try and dunk me.”
 
    I wasn’t sure about this. This could so easily turn out really bad for me. But he was laughing. He didn’t seem serious, like he did when something bad was going to happen. And if I told him that I didn’t want to play, he’d get mad. So I started swimming after him. I knew I wouldn’t be able to chase him, but swimming was fun. I liked the way my arms pushed the water out of my way every time they hit the water in a stroke. Swimming hard and pushing my legs real hard made me feel like I was doing something. It made me feel kind of like I was free.
 
    Me and Daddy splashed each other for a long time.

Then he said, “Do you want me to throw you from my shoulders? It’s real fun.”
 
    Daddy is hard to say no to.
 
    Besides, I didn’t really like saying it, but I was having fun. The reason I didn’t like saying it was cause I don’t really like saying that any time with Daddy was fun. It makes me feel…well, just…bad. Like I’m a bad person or something. But I was having fun. I could feel my heart beating real fast, and a couple of times I even laughed out loud—when I got to splash him or he let me push him under the water. One time, when he popped back up, he tipped his head way back to the sky and squirted out a beam of water in the air. He said he was a whale. That was funny, so I laughed. My grandma once said that no one could meet my dad and not like him. When he’s being nice, that’s about right.
 
    He bent down and helped me get on his shoulders. He had to hold my ankles, but he just held my ankles and then he told me to stand up. On top of his shoulders! I was real nervous about that, cause I thought I might fall or something and get hurt. But it was kind of exciting, too. And cool. So he took my hands and I did it: I stood up on his shoulders. Then he told me to jump off, over his head, when he counted to three.
 
    I hit the water hard, but it didn’t hurt. When I came up, I was smiling. He was too.

“Like that?” he asked.
 
    “Again,” I said.

He laughed.

***** ***** *****

    When we got out of the water, Daddy said he had a surprise for me. He told me to wait on the towel. He went back to the car and he came back with Mama’s picnic basket. It was wicker and it was real big. I loved Mama’s picnic basket. Daddy said he thought we might get hungry, so he’d packed us a lunch.
 
    I was glad: I was really hungry. And he packed my favorite sandwich: peanut butter and honey. He also packed my favorite kind of chips: Doritos. He even packed me an apple and a Coke, too. We didn’t have ice, but that was okay. It was still cold from when it’d been in the fridge at home. Daddy and me sat on the towel and ate our lunch. We didn’t talk a whole lot, but that was okay. I started to take a bite out of my peanut butter and honey sandwich when I saw this little girl and her dad trying to find a spot to put down their towels. They were just getting to the lake. They were holding hands. Usually, whenever I saw kids with their dads, I got sad. But I wasn’t sad then. In fact, I felt almost just like that little girl.
 
    It was a good day. I was so glad that I went swimming with him. I’m even more glad about it now, though. If I had stayed home instead, I wouldn’t have one single good memory of Daddy.

1
 
Memories

“They call it ‘balls.’ You know, they’ll say things like ‘You’ve got no balls, man.’ Well, my sister says that’s what they’re talking about: their, you know…”

“No way.”

“You mean they have two of them? I thought it was just one.”

“There’s just one that gets, you know, hard. I think. I don’t know. But all guys have two of them.”

“What’s the other one for?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me that.”

“What I don’t get is why they call them balls. I mean, it’s not round, it’s long, right?”

“That is so weird.”

“How does your sister know all this anyway? I don’t think it’s right. I think she was making it up.”

“No. She’s, you know, done it.”

“No way.”

“Way. She’s seventeen.”

“You’ll have to ask her some more questions then.”

“For real.”

They finally leave.

They were dressed a long time ago and were still hanging around so they could talk about the hard thing. I felt really sick to my stomach. I swear, they are like aliens to me. Girls, I mean. I know I’m a girl, too, but whenever I’m around other girls, I sure don’t feel like one. I feel more like an ant than a girl. They talk about boys and the hard thing as if it’s a good thing. I bet that girl’s sister wouldn’t call it a good thing—not if she really has done it. They talk about it as though they’d be happy to see one in real life. I bet they would laugh if a boy pulled his pants down.

Not me.

Hearing them talk about it makes me feel, well, like I said, like a bug. I’m not normal. I don’t feel things that girls are supposed to feel. Not only about this sort of stuff, but other stuff, too. Like, the girls in my class, most of them care a lot about what they wear. Not me. I could wear the same thing five days in a row and be perfectly fine. I probably would, if I could get past my mother.

I stuffed my foot into my teeny shoe, grabbed my book bag, and headed out of the locker room. It was time for class again. ’Cept, even as I was walking to class, I kept thinking about what the girls were talking about. I walked into class, and I sat down at the desk that’s closest to the door. Sometimes this desk is already taken when I get back from the locker room, but not today. I am glad. I like sitting next to the door.

In my head, I saw a picture of Daddy.

I took my pencil out and opened up the story notebook. I didn’t really know what to write, though. So I started doodling. Then I remembered that I’d never written it down. I still had a few minutes before Mrs. Keller started class. I bend my head and start writing.

***** ***** *****

I was seven.

And I remember.

Some people say that you forget stuff that happened to you when you were a little kid. Mama says that she don’t remember nothing before she was about eleven. I guess that’s just another way that I’m different than all the other girls. Maybe that’s why they seem like aliens to me. Or maybe I’m the alien.

Anyway, about forgetting.

Daddy said I would. Forget, that is. That first time, he said I’d forget. But that was three years ago, and I ain’t forgot. Maybe I have to grow up first. Maybe that’s the trick. When you grow up, maybe you forget about stuff that happened when you was little. I don’t know what I think about that. It might be nice. To forget. Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to wake up and not remember. But, it’s kind of scary, too. I don’t really want to forget. I mean, what if I forgot and then it happened to me again the same day I forgot? That would mean I’d have to be as scared as I was the first time all over again. That would mean I’d have to freak out all over again. I think I like it better the way it is now: at least I know about it all. At least I don’t get as scared as I did then. At least it’s normal.

It was a rainy day, that day I learned about the hard thing. It was also my first day as a second grade student. It was a big day. All I remember about that day at school was the dress I wore. It was white with red daisies all over it. There is a picture of me standing in front of the school, wearing that dress and holding my lunchbox, that Mama took. I remember her giving me a big hug before she took the picture and another big hug after she took the picture. I don’t like looking at that picture cause it hurts. I looked happy. I had bangs then. They were short. The rest of my hair hung down straight as a board behind my back. I looked like a good kid. That’s why looking at the picture hurts. I looked like a good kid. I’ve always wanted to be a good kid. I looked even a little bit normal. I’ve always wanted to be normal, too. The thing is, I’m not good, and I’m not normal. At least not anymore.

There were two girls in my class. One was named Amanda and the other Rain. When we went out to play on the playground that day, they both wanted to play with me. I was sitting on the swings and I remember feeling happy. I was happy cause Rain and Amanda wanted to play with me. They wanted to play different things, though. They started getting angry at each other and I felt proud. They were fighting over me. I am ten now, and that’s never happened to me since. No one ever wants to play with me now. But they did then. Before I changed. Before I got bad. Amanda is still in my class now but she isn’t my friend anymore. I don’t know why. She just kind of stopped playing with me. Or maybe I stopped playing with her. I don’t remember anymore. All I know is that we don’t talk or hang out on the playground like we did in second grade. Rain moved to a different school. I don’t even know where she is anymore. If Mama’s right about how you forget stuff as you grow, then she probably don’t even remember me anymore. But I remember her. She was one of the only people who ever wanted to play with me.

That’s what I told Mama about when I got home. I told her about playing on the playground with Rain and Amanda. I told her how much fun that was. She said that she was glad that I had some friends. Daddy said he was, too. He wanted me to come sit with him and tell him about school while Mama cooked dinner. I was happy, so I did. I sat down in front of him in the living room. That’s when he started playing with my hair. It didn’t bother me. It didn’t hurt, either. And I didn’t feel bad. He was just playing with my hair. He said it was soft. He said it was pretty. That made me happy, too.

“Anna? Anna, are you paying attention? You need to get out your Social Studies book now.”

Mrs. Keller was looking at me funny. I stopped writing and lifted my head. I remembered now that I was in school, but not the second grade. I was back in my regular classroom. I was supposed to be listening to the lesson. She might ask me a question if she thought I wasn’t paying attention. I shut the story notebook and reached into my desk. I pulled out the Social Studies workbook really fast, mumbling about how sorry I was. Mrs. Keller nodded and left me alone. My face was hot. I was really embarrassed. I hated being called out by the teacher. I hated the teacher talking to me at all in school. Being an ant for real wouldn’t be that bad in class. No one would be able to see me.

I looked down at the workbook. I tried to listen. I really, really did. But all I could think about was the first day of second grade.

***** ***** *****

I was too worried that I would get in trouble again if I opened the story notebook. Mrs. Keller might even ask to see what I was writing. That would be horrible. So I didn’t write any more about what I remembered at school. I walked home. Mama was in the kitchen. I like helping Mama cook. She asked me about my day.

“Did you have a test today?”

I shook my head.

“No. Tomorrow we have one.”

“I’ll help you study if you want, after dinner.”

I shrugged.

“Okay.”

“Here. Why don’t you wash these potatoes for me?”

Mama handed me the pot of potatoes, and I took them over to the sink. They were heavy. I was happy she was going to make fried potatoes. They were my favorite.

My mom and I are friends. That’s something else that’s different about me and the other girls in my class. Most of them talk about their moms as though they are always being told what to do and getting in trouble for not doing it. Mama doesn’t tell me not to do much. And when she does tell me to do something, I always do it right away. It’s about the only thing I am good at: obeying. I wish I looked more like her. She has this really pretty hair that comes down really long and these big eyes. Her skin is tanned, too. Me, I look like a ghost. The doctor says I don’t have enough iron, so Mama is always cooking stuff that has lots of iron in it. She even packs raisin boxes in my lunches for school.

I started to relax a little. I liked being home. I liked cooking. The potatoes were all washed now. I asked her if I could help her cut them, too.

“Hm. Okay. But you have to be careful—it’s a sharp knife.”

She gave me the knife, and I started to cut up the potatoes. There is something about cooking. I like how you take something that’s raw and you turn it into something that you can eat. I also like all the work. I like cutting and washing. I like stirring and measuring and mixing. And I really like boiling water. I think it’s really neat how bubbles start coming up out of the water when it gets hot. Sometimes, when I’m home by myself, I will put a pot of water on the stove and make it boil—just to watch it boil. When the bubbles get so big that it starts spilling over the sides of the pot, I fix it, but I think that part is cool. It reminds me of me. Sometimes it feels like there’s lots of bubbles under my skin. I know that one day the bubbles are going to burst out of me. I wonder what will happen then. Mama says that it makes her nervous. She knows I like watching the water boil so she won’t let me do it. She says that one day, I’m not going to be paying enough attention and I’m going to get burned by the water.

“Okay, kiddo, I think I can handle it from here. You can just go play for a while before supper. Do your homework.”

I handed her the last of the cut-up potatoes and headed out of the kitchen.

I walked through the living room where Daddy is sitting on the couch. He is reading the paper, and he has the TV turned on the news channel.

“Hey, peaches. Just saw the weather report. It’s going to be a little cool tomorrow. When you put out your clothes for school tonight, keep that in mind.”

“Yes, sir.”

I kept walking.

“Hey, Anna?”

I stopped.

“I like your hair. It’s cute in pigtails like that.”

“Thank you.”

But my teeth were ground together and my voice was soft.

I just wanted to get to my room now.

As soon as I did, I grabbed the story notebook and sat down on the floor, with my back leaning against the bed. I really wanted to write down all of what I remembered. It was the only way to get it out of my head.

***** ***** *****

Mama is a nurse. She just started being one. She was real excited when she got the piece of paper that said she could work in a hospital. She works at night and I stay at home with Daddy. Sometimes Daddy plays games with me. He’s real good at being the Tickle Monster. He likes to play that game. Sometimes he’ll grab me around my waist and pull me down. He thinks it’s funny. I don’t really like it as much as he does, but it’s okay. I do like making him happy. He played that game with me tonight. I didn’t want to go to bed so I asked him if he could chase me around the house. He said no, that big girls have to go to bed. Then he said something funny. He said, “Did you know that going to bed can be fun?”

I didn’t know that.

He nodded and his eyes got real big.

“It’s a game. And it’s real fun. Grown-ups play it all the time. But…I don’t know if you’re old enough. You know what, maybe we should just wait until you’re bigger.”

“No! I’m big enough. I’m in the second grade. Show me the game!”

“Well…”

He put his hand on his chin, like he was thinking about it. Sometimes that meant he’d let me do what I want. Sometimes it meant he wouldn’t. I wished I could have figured out which one it was now. I really wanted to play the game. I didn’t believe that bedtime could be fun. Finally, he put his hands on his hips.

“Alright. But here’s the thing. It’s real, real important. Mamas don’t like little girls playing this game. It makes them get mad if they find out because they want little girls to be asleep. Do you want to go to sleep?”

I shook my head.

“No.”

“Then you have to promise you won’t tell your mama about the game. She’ll get mad and bedtime won’t be fun anymore.”

“Okay. I won’t tell.”

“That’s my girl. You’re such a special girl. Go on to your room and put on your gown.”

“But—”

I thought he was going to make me go to bed.

“Just do it. It’s part of the fun.”

“Okay.”

So I went to my room. Mama always put out my gown for me before she left for work. She lays it on my bed. Tonight, she left the red gown with the white hearts on it. I like it. It has long sleeves so I stay warm when I wear it. I put it on. I started to walk out of my room to go find Daddy, but before I could he opened the door. He looked funny—he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I started laughing. Daddy was always supposed to wear a shirt.

“Oh, it’s funny, huh?”

He leaned down and picked me up. He took me to the bed and dropped me on it. But he got on the bed, too, and laid down beside me. Then he moved his hand down and under my gown. My smile dropped a little. I didn’t understand. He moved his hand up until he touched my chest.

“You are really soft. I’m proud of you for being ready for the big girl game,” he said.

When I felt him touch my star panties, I tried to move away from him but he held me so I couldn’t move.

“You gotta be still.”

Then he took his hand away and I felt better. I started to sit up, but he shook his head and told me to stay laid down. So I did.

“I—I don’t want to play this game.”

“Oh, sure you do. You just be still.”

He took off his pants and his underwear.

I felt really nervous now. I wasn’t sure at all about this. Mama says I’m not allowed to go into the bathroom if a grown-up is in one. She says I’m not allowed to come in her room if she or Daddy isn’t dressed. I didn’t think I was supposed to see Daddy without clothes on. And his hand was hurting me. I just wanted it to stop. It wasn’t a game anymore. I just wanted to go to sleep.

He wanted me to stay still but I couldn’t. I kept moving. I was crying, too. He said I was not being a good girl. I didn’t have anywhere to put my hands so I put them on his arms. His arms are hairy and big. He was breathing funny now—real hard. I felt it on my face. I tried to turn my head, but there was nothing else to see but him. I was really scared now. I really wanted him to go away. I tried pushing on him. I asked him to stop, but he didn’t. He didn’t stop. Then he took one of my hands and pulled it down. It touched something hard, really hard. And big, too. I didn’t know what it was. It made me cry even harder. Daddy made a funny sound and the next thing that happened was something sticks me—it sticks me hard, where I pee pee. I screamed, but Daddy took one hand and put it over my mouth. He said something, but I couldn’t hear what he said. My head felt really bad now. My body did, too.

I looked up and saw a crack in the ceiling. It made me cry even more. I think I’d just cracked.

The sticking thing comes out now, and Daddy gets off me. I was shaking real bad. I was still crying, too. I didn’t know what had just happened. I was so scared. Daddy leaves the room. I tried to roll over and when I did, I noticed something. Blood. It wasn’t a lot of blood, but it was blood. And it was on my legs. I screamed out and started crying real loud. I was hurt. I was bleeding. I was probably going to die now. I wanted my mama. I screamed that out, as loud as I could.

“Mama! I want Mama!”

The door opened. But it wasn’t Mama. It was Daddy again.

“Anna, what did I tell you? Mama cannot know about this. She’ll get mad at you. If she gets mad at you, I’ll have to get on to you. It’ll be even worse than this was. This wasn’t so bad. You’ll forget all about it. But if you aren’t a good girl, it will have to get worse. Are you going to make Mama mad?”

I shook my head. I started scooting back cause he was walking up toward the bed. I wished he wouldn’t do that. I didn’t want him to come to the bed anymore.

“I’m just going to clean you up. That’s all.”

He had a washcloth in his hand. He put it between my legs. That made me jump. I could feel his hand even though he had the washcloth there.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I said.

I just wanted him to leave. He told me to take my gown off and he’d give me a new one. I did, and I cried when I saw that it had blood on it. He gave me a new gown. Then he smiled at me as he watched me put it on.

“You’re not a baby anymore, Anna. You’re a big girl now. Daddy’s girl. You remember that.”

It was a long time before I went to sleep.

2
 
The Introduction

    All sound is made from vibrations. When we first learned that in science class at school, I almost laughed out loud. I mean, when I think of something vibrating, I don’t think of sound, I think of something shaking. But Mrs. Keller, our teacher, made us put our fingers over our throats and say something. I just said my name but when I did, I could feel my throat vibrating. It was really weird. I went home and started playing with my music stuff, trying to see if it was really true or not. I have this little guitar. It’s nothing big or fancy, but it has strings on it and my mom says it’s still in tune. So I strummed it a little and when I did, I noticed how the strings were kind of pulled back and then released so that they kind of hit another one. I saw how strumming the strings made it vibrate. I thought that was so cool. I thought about the music I hear on the radio and on my CDs. I thought in one song there must be thousands of vibrations. If a vibration caused noise, how did the musicians control the sound to make it sound like a song? I’m a dork. I walked around most of the day with my fingers on my throat, feeling it vibrate every time I said anything. Then I started thinking about the skating rink and all the music played there. Music that was always so loud. Kids that were loud. Popcorn popping at the concession stand. Skates sliding along the floor. Must be millions of vibrations in such a busy place. It makes sense why when it’s real loud my insides start to feel shaken up.

***** ***** *****

    The small table sits in the corner of the dark skating rink. On the table my mom has put the four presents. They are wrapped in pretty red wrapping paper. There are red paper plates and napkins, too. The birthday cake is my favorite kind—chocolate with chocolate icing. It has ten candles on it. Daddy has just gone to order a pizza. He is ordering a large one. We won’t ever eat all of it. There are lots of people here at the skating rink. There are lots of kids, too, but I don’t know any of them. I make sure not to say anything about that to Mama. I just try to get my brown rental skates on as fast as I can. I just want to get out on the skating rink to skate. We almost never come skating.

Mama looks at her watch again. She pushes her hair back off her face and glances towards the front door. She still thinks that a couple of kids from my school might show up. It would make her happy if even one came. It would make me happy, too, but I know it’s not going to happen. I stand up. The skates are real tight and I’m a little shaky on them. I put my hand on the table to steady myself. As sort of a test, I push my left foot out a little and then bring it back. I slowly take my hand off the table and try it again. I don’t fall, so that’s good.
 
    “You going on out?” Mama asks.

I nod.

    “Okay, hon.”
 
    As I slowly skate towards the rink, I feel like an idiot. I like skating, but I’m not good at it. I am sure there are other kids here looking at me. I am ten today. I should be able to skate. It’s okay, though. It is my birthday, and I am going to have fun. I finally reach the rink and step onto the slippery floor. People start whizzing past me. They are going super fast, and the neon lights that are flashing on the floor make it hard to stay focused. I crowd closer to the wall and sort of inch my way along. A little girl, like, way littler than me, skates in front of me and holds onto the wall. She is going about the same pace I am. Watching her in front of me, holding onto the wall, makes me feel even dumber. She’s, like, a little kid. I should be able to skate better than her. I wonder if I can pretend that I’m her sister or something and act like I’m helping her learn to skate. Then it wouldn’t seem weird that I am going so slow.

Even though it’s pretty obvious I stink at it, skating rinks have always been one of my favorite places. I like the energy. I like how there are always cool kids hanging out right alongside the misfits. Daddy brought me to one for the first time when I was, like, seven. I was slipping and sliding all over the place, but he held my hand so I didn’t fall all the way down too many times. He said we’d have to make it a habit, going skating together, and when I got real good, he said we’d have races. But before it could ever happen, we’d always have to move. Or Daddy would be on one of his anger streaks and Mama would have to bring me. Mama don’t get on the rink. I think she’s scared that she’ll fall and, you know, break a bone or something. “That would be a mess,” she says. “Who would drive you home?” I guess she has a point. Still, even though I haven’t really had a lot of time to get good at it, when Mama asked me where I wanted my birthday party to be, I knew it was the rink.

The music can drown everything else out, even my own voice. The music makes me forget all kinds of stuff. Even if it’s not music I really like a lot, I still like listening to it when I’m at the rink. Sometimes it’s nice to be shaken up inside so that I can’t think. Sometimes not thinking is better than knowing everything. Besides, I thought that a few of the kids would want to come skating enough that they might show up, even though it is my birthday. I’m really not too smart. I mean, after all, only about three kids at school even know who I am. But me and Mama always try to do that—schedule the birthday party at a place we think kids would like to come. It never works.

I was finally coming back around to where I started. Daddy waved me over. It was time for cake and pizza. I’ll get to open presents. I step off the rink and skate towards my parents. The four birthday presents, the cake sitting in front of the pizza, the paper plates, napkins and cups—it was for me. The only people who would sing “happy birthday” to me were my parents. There might be someone here from my school who would see. It was hard to listen to the music or feel excited when I felt like such a baby. I felt my heart drop to my feet. Having a birthday party at a skating rink was a dumb idea.

***** ***** *****

    I really like the maple tree in our backyard. It’s not like we have a fancy house or anything, cause we don’t. It’s not like we have a fancy backyard, cause we don’t. In fact, that’s kind of why I like the maple tree: it is one of the only fancy things I can say for sure we do have. It’s really nice to sit under it. I like to read a lot and I like to do it sitting under my maple tree. Right now, I’m reading The Reluctant Dragon. The librarian at my school told me it would be good. I wasn’t so sure. I mean, it was about a dragon. Maybe I don’t play baby dolls and tea parties anymore but I’m not exactly into G.I. Joes and dragons, either. But I didn’t know what else to read since I’ve already gone through the whole list of recommended books for my grade this year. So I got it. And it is pretty good. It’s about this dragon who doesn’t want to scare kids, or breathe fire or, you know, do any of the dragon-like stuff he’s supposed to do. Nobody gets this dragon at all. That is something I know all about. The cool part is that, in the book, there’s this boy who tries to make the dragon his friend. That’s more than I can say about pretty much any of the kids in my class.

Anyway, that’s what I came out here to do. Read. I have the book opened and everything but I can’t concentrate on it too good. My mind keeps wandering back to the skating rink. It was embarrassing but I am glad that I got to go skating. Daddy actually got on the rink with me after we ate pizza and had cake. A couple of people stopped by to tell me happy birthday, too, when they saw all the party stuff Mama had set up. I liked all my presents.
 
    I give up on reading.
 
    I bet Daddy would let me walk to the park for a while. It’s right at the end of our street. I do it all the time, and there’s still plenty of time before dark. I really need to do something to help me think about something else.

***** ***** *****

There are tons of kids at the park. You’d think that I would not like this, since I don’t have any friends. Actually, though, I like watching kids my age, but only if I don’t really know them. If I don’t know them, they won’t think that my watching them means I want to be like them or anything dumb like that. Cause I don’t. Still, it’s sort of interesting to see what they talk about and what kinds of games they play. I don’t like the same things they do, and it’s weird hearing them talk about how they’ve got crushes on guys or about the latest Harry Potter movie. I’ve read the books and didn’t care enough about it to see the movie. I for real could not talk about Harry Potter for as long as the other girls I know do. But at least watching them and listening to them makes me feel like I know what’s going on, anyway. I’m not a complete idiot when someone says something cool to me.

I like the park. It has a pond where about ten ducks swim. It’s very pretty. There are these iron benches that are so close to the water I can actually feed the ducks and sit at the same time. Lots of really small kids sit on the ledge to throw in bits of bread. I always get nervous watching them. I just know that one day I’m going to watch some two-year-old fall into that nasty water. They really need to put up a rail. I mean, it says a lot if a ten-year-old is worried about little kids falling, right?
 
    I’m almost there, almost to my bench, when I hear someone laughing. It sounds real different than anyone else’s laugh. It sounds pretty. I look over and there’s this guy sitting under a tree. He’s got his leg bent and his elbow is on his knee. He’s got a book open and he is really laughing now. I can’t tell for sure, but I think maybe even his eyes are closed, he’s laughing so hard. I can’t tell what the book he’s reading is. I wish I could. It must be good. I smile a little and remember to keep walking. I like it when I see other people who like books a lot like me. It’s cool.

There he goes again, laughing real loud. I turn my head to see and this time he looks right at me. I can’t really see his face too good but he has an awesome smile, it’s real big. I bet the girls in my class would talk about him a lot, like they talk about Clay Hughes, the cutest boy in the whole school.
 
    I am finally at the bench. There are a couple of ducks right in front of me, too. I like that. Mama always says, “you really like the park, Anna” but not even she understands how much I love it here. Pretty much nobody understands me real good. I like watching stuff happen to strangers. I like being able to hear nothing. I like being able to not think too much. Most of all, I like the ducks. They are great when they stick their whole heads under the water, trying to get a piece of bread. Sometimes one of them will even fight a little with another, trying to claim a piece. They swim together, but other than that they pretty much do their own thing. Kind of like my family. We swim together, but that’s pretty much about it.
 
    Suddenly, there’s the guy next to me. He holds his book and is smiling again.
 
    “Hi there,” he says, sitting down next to me.

I just raise my eyebrows and say nothing. It’s cool to say nothing.
 
    “I like the ducks. Don’t you?”

Mama has told me ten thousand two hundred and forty-three times not to talk to strangers.
 
    So I stay quiet again and just look at the ducks. I’m wondering if maybe he’s a weirdo or something and if I should get up and leave. Before I can do that, he holds the book up, waving it.

“This is an awesome book. It’s real funny. Even for grown-ups like me.”
 
    I don’t turn my head all the way, just enough for me to be able to read the title of the book: The Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I haven’t heard of it.

“It’s about this kid who keeps a diary. He’s real funny. You wanna look at it for a sec?”
 
    Curiosity got the best of me. I love books. I shrugged one shoulder and took the book. I opened it up and when I read about how the kid said that you had to be careful about which seat you sat down in on the first day of class, lest it become your assigned spot, I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I had had teachers who did that: made the first seat you sat down in your seat for the year. When I laughed, I looked back up at the guy, who had sat down next to me. He was looking at the ducks. He was real tanned and he had real dark hair. He was huge, too: way taller than Daddy.
 
    “Pretty funny, huh?” he asked, without looking at me.
 
    “Yeah. I guess.”
 
    “You like to read?”
 
    I nod.
 
    “Me too. I like to tell stories, though, even better.”

This time, he did look at me. His eyes were so pretty, real blue.
 
    “What kind of stories?”

I couldn’t help myself. If he had good stories to tell, I’d be willing to listen.
 
    “Well, all sorts of ’em, really. You wanna hear one?”
 
    I shrugged, looking back at the ducks, trying to look like I didn’t care.
 
    “When I was a kid, we used to have this pond that was behind our house. Not right behind it, though. You had to walk along this little pathway through some woods to get to it. The pathway led you through a thicket of hundreds of thousand-year-old trees, trees so tall that they blocked a lot of the sunlight during the day and it was black as night after sunset. One night, long after suppertime, when I should have been in bed, I thought I’d go to the pond. This was a really dumb idea. I could have easily gotten lost and if I’d fallen and gotten hurt, I don’t know if I’d ever have been found. But, of course, kids don’t think about those things. I just knew I could do it by myself.”

“How old were you?”
 
    He lifted a shoulder and tipped his head.

“Don’t remember. Just young. Anyway, I snuck out my window and started walking down the path to the pond. Now, over the years, the path had grown worn. It wasn’t like I was walking without a trail—there was a faded patch of grass that obviously had been walked on a lot. It was going to be my map. I kept walking, looking down at the trail the whole time. I was kind of nervous and a little bit scared, too. The woods behind our house was home to all sorts of different animals. We’d heard animals that we’d never seen, we thought there might even be a few bears out there somewhere. We knew there were deer—they came right up to our backyard, practically. We knew there were skunks, opossums, rabbits, even some coyotes, those sorts of creatures. I couldn’t help but be a little scared, even though I never would have admitted that to anybody. I just knew that there was something different about that night. There was a full moon. It shone bright, real bright. When I looked up, I could barely see its outline through the tops of the trees. It shone kind of blue, like, super bright. Every time I took a step, I could hear the crunch, crunch, crunching of my feet as they stepped on the dry leaves and the twigs. All around me were the sounds of the crickets chirping, and every once in a while I’d hear another animal sound that I didn’t recognize that would spook me into walking a little faster. By the time the pond was within my sight, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find a real life UFO by the water’s edge. My heart was pounding. I was excited, but I was also nervous and scared. I don’t know what I thought was going to be at the pond that late at night but what was there was something I could never have imagined.”

He paused here and took a deep breath, as if he were thinking about it.

“At first, all I saw was the deer. I saw that he was hurt. He was lying down on his side. I couldn’t tell how he was hurt, but it was obvious that he was in pain and that he was hurting. I guess he could have been shot; people did hunt deer in the woods back there, but I didn’t see any blood. In fact, I couldn’t really see the deer much at all because of the bear.”
 
    “The bear?”
 
    “Yeah. The bear. She was massive. Totally brown, with a huge mangy coat.”
 
    “She was attacking the deer?”

The man smiled and shook his head once.

“No. She wasn’t attacking the deer. Bears don’t usually kill deer, cause deer can outrun them. They’re not, you know, friends or anything, though. But this bear was protecting the hurt deer. She nuzzled it with her head, she put her paw on the deer’s side, at one point I was even pretty sure I saw her try to lick the deer. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I hadn’t ever heard of a bear protecting anything but its cubs. This one, though, was treating this hurt deer like a cub. I stood behind a tree, and I was real quiet. The bear knew I was there: she kept turning her head to the side, trying to sniff me out. That made me scared because I knew that if she was protecting the deer, I’d be seen as a big threat and she’d probably kill me. After a while, the bear bent its head and started pushing the deer’s neck up. She was trying to get the deer to stand up. By this time, I was pretty sure that the deer must have been shot so I didn’t think it was going to make it. I knew it couldn’t stand up, like the bear wanted it to. But the bear wouldn’t give up. She just kept nudging the deer’s neck until, finally, the deer moved its leg, as if it were trying to stand. I got so excited when I saw it do that that I jumped a little and made a racket. The bear swung her head around to see what had made the noise, but it was dark and she couldn’t see me behind the tree. The deer got spooked, too, and when the bear pushed the deer’s neck up again, the deer stood up in a hurry. The deer was clearly disoriented because it tried to turn and it was having a hard time deciding which way to look. The bear start walking, real slow, in front of the deer.”
 
    “What did the deer do?”
 
    “Well, it followed the bear, of course. Off they went into the woods. The deer wasn’t walking too good—it had hurt its leg. But the bear stayed real close to the deer and I knew that the bear was going to take care of the deer. I was a boy and all, and I was a kid, too, but I almost cried, it was so magical what I saw. I just couldn’t believe it. It was a real good thing to see, because it reminded me that sometimes the people we least expect to be our friend or to help us are exactly the ones who will.”
 
    I was quiet for a long time. I looked back at the ducks. They were swimming. I liked watching their webbed feet paddle along under the water. I wondered what it would be like to have to swim all the time, to not know what it was like to walk around.
 
    “Was that a true story?”
 
    The man smiled and looked down at me.  He lifted a brow and tipped his head.

“All stories are true to the storyteller.”
 
    I guessed that was true. It didn’t tell me whether the story about the bear was true, but I didn’t guess it really mattered. Either way, it was a good story. I hoped I would remember it.
 
    “What’s your name?”
 
    “Anna.”
 
    “Anna, I’m Ash,” he said and held out his hand.

 I thought that was funny. Most people didn’t try to shake a kid’s hand. I put my hand in his, though. When I did, the strangest thing happened: I was suddenly warm all over. His hand was real strong. All of a sudden, I felt safe. I felt like I knew this guy. That was crazy cause I didn’t know him. But I felt like I did. It suddenly felt like we were friends and had been for a long time.
 
    “You like stories too, don’t you?” he asked.

I nodded.
 
    “Me too. I like ’em a lot. In fact, there’s this bookstore I hang out in a lot. I like to read stories there. It’s cozy. You’ll have to come there sometime. I bet you’d like it. It’s called the Book Trunk.”
 
    I shrugged.
 
    We sat in silence for a few more minutes before Ash stood. I couldn’t keep myself from turning my head to look at him. He smiled.

“I best be going. I’m glad that we got to see each other.”
 
    “Yeah.”
 
    “See ya.”
 
    “Okay.”
 
    And away he walked. I watched him walk away and suddenly felt, well, sad. I didn’t want him to leave. It was weird but even after just talking for a few minutes, I thought he knew more about me than even my own family did. I didn’t know him quite as well. But I wanted to. It made me feel real bad, thinking that I might not ever see this guy again. I watched him walk away for another few seconds. He was really huge—tall as a tree, huge all around. His hands were, like, at least three times bigger than mine. His blue and white plaid shirt and the dark jeans made him look like an advertisement for Stetson. All he needed was the hat. I knew it was dangerous, and all around bad, to talk to adult strangers. But I also knew that I was safe with Ash.
 
    I didn’t really think much more about it. I just stood up and said, “Ash?”
 
    He turned around and I was so glad that I had called his name. I had never seen anyone look as happy as he did just then. He was really happy. His smile was wide and open and his eyes seemed to sparkle.
 
    I shrugged.

“Maybe you could show me how to get to that bookstore you were talking about?”
 
    He winked and then turned, tipping his head. Then started walking again. I stood, frozen in my spot, until he paused and looked over his shoulder at me.

“Well, are you comin’ or not?” he asked.

I felt my face relax into a smile. We walked towards the exit of the park and passed the playground where kids were swinging and sliding and hanging onto the monkey bars. For one of the only times that I could remember, that was really okay with me, cause I had a new friend myself. His name was Ash.

 
***** ***** *****

Ash sits in front of me, on the floor, his back against the corner of the bookstore wall. He’s been in this same position all day. On either side of us are bookshelves that reach all the way up to the ceiling, filled to overflowing with books. The dusty smell of the very small bookstore is the smell of old books, a scent that is sweeter to me than any perfume ever made. The floor is wooden, and it creaks whenever we move. There is only one girl working at the store today, but we haven’t seen her since we got here. There are two chairs in the middle of the narrow aisle, but neither me or Ash want one: we like sitting on the floor. Ash says it’s better to tell stories when you’re comfortable. I haven’t known him but for a couple of hours and already I know that Ash should be a writer: he has the best stories ever told, much better than what’s in most of the books that now surround us. When I told him that, though, he just smiled.

“I like telling the stories, not writing them.”
 
    “Why not?”
 
    He shrugged.

“I’m just not a writer. I do like telling the stories, though.”
 
    That’s a good thing because I love listening to his stories.
 
    “Do you know another one?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath and reaches out to pat my leg.

“I think the bookstore is going to close soon.”
 
    “Just one more?”
 
    He winks.

“Alright. I’ll tell you what got me started on lovin’ stories so much.”
 
    That sounds like it’s probably a really good one. I put my hands in my lap and lean back against the bookshelf that’s behind me. I’m really comfortable. I could live in this bookstore and be happy the rest of my life.
 
    “Okay, so, when I was a boy, about eight or so, I guess, an old, old, old man came to town. He didn’t have family there, and he didn’t know nobody. He didn’t even have a house. He was homeless. But that was kind of the way he wanted it. See, he was what they called a traveling storyteller. He would go from town to town, telling stories to the children. The adults pretended that it was just for the kids but they listened, too. They liked the stories as much as the kids did. Some of the kids were a little scared of him, though. He was homeless, he was old and the only clothes he had were torn and filthy. He never asked for money, although he would accept food if it was offered. And people offered it. Everybody loved him. They didn’t treat him like most people treat homeless people today—he was special, and everybody knew it. He didn’t tell stories that could have happened in our town; he told stories about magical ships and little kids that had more courage than the bravest soldier. That was the story that made me adore him. It was set way back in the Civil War, back when the South hated the North and all anybody could talk about was what side they were on and Abraham Lincoln. Well, there was a man who wanted to go to war and so he enlisted. He was for the North. He wanted everybody to be treated like people, and he didn’t think slavery was a good thing. Besides that, all his family was for the North, too. So off to war he went. The North had the better supplies and the better training, at least most thought so. But this soldier was scared and cold, especially come Christmas when they didn’t have the right kind of shoes or enough food to eat. One day, there was a surprise attack on the man’s camp. Everybody was shooting rifles and running every which way; his regiment had not been prepared for an attack that morning. The soldier saw a house, and he headed that way, thinking he could find cover behind the house. He was wrong.  He might have, if he’d have made it to the house. But he didn’t. He was shot before he got there. He was shot bad. He was laying out in the open, bleeding to death. Some of his comrades stopped to see how bad he was hurt, and when they saw they left because they thought he was just about dead. Above him, he could see the smoke from all the rifles firing—and the noise! It was so loud! Rifles firing, people shouting, it was a real mess. The soldier was in a lot of pain and he kept screaming, but he didn’t think anyone could hear him. He thought he was about to die. Then he turned his head and there was this little girl. She was younger than you, Anna, and she was barefoot. She had nobody with her. He didn’t know where she’d come from, but she was walking towards him—directly into the line of fire! The soldier knew that the girl would get shot. Nobody would intentionally shoot a little girl, but she was in the middle of the fight—it was just going to be inevitable. He screamed at her and told her to turn around, run away, but she didn’t. She just smiled at him and kept walking towards him. When she finally got to him, the soldier told her again that she had to leave right then, she had to get cover. Instead, she sat down beside him and touched her finger to his lips, telling him to be quiet. The soldier was so surprised at how unafraid she was, and he was in so much pain, that he did as she wanted him to do and got quiet. The noise was deafening, now, it was so loud. He thought he said as much to the girl. He was worried that her ears would get hurt. Then the little girl moved: she moved to lay down beside the soldier. She wrapped her arms around his waist and she laid down—right beside him, her head on his chest.
 
    Other people were starting to notice the girl. First one soldier stopped firing because he was scared he was going to hit the child. Then another. Then another. Pretty soon, a commanding officer ordered the North to stop firing, then the South stopped, too. The soldiers began inching their way to see what was going on. The girl was still lying with her head on top of the soldier’s chest, and then they heard something. It was real soft, she wasn’t doing it real loud, so the soldiers, both sides, started walking closer, trying to hear what she was doing. When they got close, they realized she was singing to the wounded soldier. She was singing ‘Amazing Grace.’ Finally, a medic came up to check on the wounded soldier. The medic looked at the little girl with sad eyes and told her that the soldier was dead. The little girl did something strange then. She smiled. She smiled and she said, ‘I know. The noise was bothering him. He’s better now.’ Then she leaned over and kissed the dead soldier’s cheek and stood up. Both armies stood in amazement as they watched her walk away.
 
    The commanding officer of the South tried to find her later. They couldn’t. Different soldiers from the North tried to find her, too, to thank her for being there for one of their soldiers at his time of death. They couldn’t find her, either. Some said she was an angel. Some said she was the daughter of an officer in the South’s regiment. Some wondered if she could have been related to the dead soldier. No one really knew. Then, some time after the war, citizens of the town where the conflict occurred said that every so often at exactly the same time a little girl with blonde hair could be seen walking hand in hand with a man dressed in a North uniform. It was always at the same time, ten o’clock in the morning. When the citizens did the research and looked up the story, they discovered that that was the exact time that the soldier was pronounced dead by the medic. The town built a monument that stands in that spot today that is dedicated to the ‘Brave little hero who offered a soldier compassion at the risk of her own life. Sometimes the greatest gifts of a life come from the smallest of us all.’”
 
    I couldn’t speak. All I could do was stare at Ash’s face. I didn’t even know what to think about the story, except that it was beautiful and I hoped it was true.
 
    “I loved that story so much that later I went to see the monument myself. I made sure to go right at ten o’clock and, sure enough, I saw them. The little girl and the soldier, walking hand in hand. It looked like she was singing to him again and he was listening to her. Sometimes the greatest things are given by the smallest ones.”
 
    I smiled a little. I loved that story, too. I didn’t know if I really believed him, about his seeing the girl and the soldier, or not, but it was still a beautiful story and I hoped it was true, too. I had heard a lot of beautiful stories today.
 
    “Excuse me.”

I heard the voice of the girl who worked in the bookshop.

“I need to close the shop now.”
 
    “Oh. Okay. Sorry,” I replied and then turned back to Ash.

He was watching me with a smile. Without saying a word, he stood up and then held out his hand for mine. I gave it to him and he pulled me to my feet. I was so glad that we had come to the bookshop. I was so glad that I had made a new friend.
 
    When we got outside, Ash winked at me.

“Better get home,” he said.

I nodded.

“Okay.”
 
    “You know, you might be a pretty good writer,” he said.
 
    “What? Me? No.”
 
    “Did you like the stories I told you today?”
 
    My eyes lit up.

“Oh, very much! I loved them!”
 
    “Then you might think about writing them down. That way, you wouldn’t forget them.”

He had a point. I did not want to forget the stories at all. Not even one sentence of them. Still, I just shrugged and put my hands in my pockets.

“Will I see you again?”
 
    “Maybe, just maybe Ms. Anna.”

He winked.

“Ecrivez-moi.”
 
    “What’s that mean?”
 
    He smiled and turned, headed down the sidewalk in the opposite direction than I needed to go. I watched him leave for a long time before the wind hit me in the face. I needed to get home.
 
 

***** ***** *****

All sound is created from vibrations.
 
    That’s what I think about when I hear the slap against my cheek. Daddy’s hand hit me hard and I could feel the sting in my cheek, kind of like it was vibrating. When his fist came again and hit me in my cheekbone, I heard not only the quiet sound of his hand hitting my skin but it made me fall and I heard the crashing of my hip against the coffee table. I wondered if it was me or the coffee table that vibrated the most, causing the noise. I could hear Daddy telling me that if I ever stayed out that late again, he’d make sure I couldn’t walk no more, too, but I couldn’t really think about it. All I could think about was the noise. So much noise. My head hurt really bad, I could feel it pounding. It felt like my brain was shaking inside my head. My eyes hurt, too. They were aching.
 
    The next thing I was aware of was that the noise wasn’t so loud. Things seemed still. I heard a loud banging and realized that Daddy was gone, he’d went into his and Mama’s room. I probably had a couple more hours before she’d come home from work. I had to think of something to tell her about how I got the bruise I was sure was going to be on my face by then. First, though, I needed to get out of the living room. I tried to sit up but the whole room started swimming before me and I couldn’t even roll over. Standing up was a dumb idea. My stomach hurt really bad and there was a really awful taste in my mouth. I really wanted to get to my room. I wanted to pull the covers up over my head and not move again. Ever. I’ve got a blanket on my bed: it’s white and has this huge pink heart in the middle of it. It’s really, really pretty. Even better, though, it’s real warm. It’s easy to hide under because it’s so thick and heavy. I pictured it in my head and I just wanted to get to it.
 
    Rolling over hurt real bad. It made my head feel like it was a volcano exploding. But then I thought of the little girl in Ash’s story, the one who walked out into open fire to lay beside a dying soldier. If she could be brave, then I could be brave, too. I pushed one of my hands up and then the other, until I was on my knees. I still was afraid to stand up because I thought I’d fall back down. I crawled through the hallway to my bedroom. As soon as I stood up to try and climb into my bed, though, I felt sick. I fell onto my bed and closed my eyes. With one hand, I grabbed the cover and pulled it over me. I was warm now. I was safe now. Everything was going to be okay now.
 
    I guess I fell asleep. When I woke up, I felt better. I was really sore, and my body hurt. My face hurt. But my head felt better and my stomach felt better. I wasn’t tired anymore, either. I dreamed about seeing a bear help a deer. It seemed like it was so long ago since Ash had told me that story. I sat up in my bed and looked over at my desk. There was a pad of paper on it. Without thinking, I stood up and grabbed it and a pen, then hurried back to the warmth of my blanket.

“THE BEAR’S FRIEND”

That’s what I wrote in the notebook, on the first line. Then I started writing down all that I could remember of Ash’s story. I tried to keep it exactly like Ash told me. I didn’t write down anything but what he’d said in the story. I felt better now. For real. My body still hurt, and I was still afraid that there was more that Daddy would want from me tonight. But I was better. Writing the story, remembering the story, made me smile. I wrote the last line in the story and then I laid the pen down to read it and, as I did, I heard the sound of Ash laughing again. It was such a pretty sound that it made me laugh a little.

All noise is created by vibrations.

I was pretty sure I knew what had vibrated when I laughed that time. It was my heart, waking up.