All Alone in the Universe by Lynne Rae Perkins Page A

doing here? I didn‧t know these people. But I hadn‧t been able to talk about it with anyone I did know. A few yards away a squirrel had found a piece of frayed rope. He had dragged it in his teeth to the trunk of a tree, and now he was trying to climb up with it. We all watched him while I tried to think how to answer. There were some things I didn‧t want to say out loud because if I did, it might mean they were true.
    The squirrel kept dropping the rope. Each time he scurried down and tried again. Some time had passed now, and I thought I should say something. My throat hurt, and I felt I had to say it fast.
    So I told them about how the person who had been my best friend since the third grade was spending all her time with this other person now. I might have said some unkind words about the other person.
    “I can‧t believe it,” I said. “I‧m just left by myself, like we were never friends, like I don‧t even exist.” I didn‧t understand, I said, how someone could just forget about a person.
    It was more than I meant to say.
    The rope fell to the ground again.
    “George, help that poor squirrel, will you?” said Mrs. Brown.
    George lifted the rope and draped it over the branch. The squirrel fled, then cautiously returned and scrambled up the tree. I wondered if they had even heard me. I was wondering why I had bared my soul to total strangers when Mrs. Brown nodded her head thoughtfully.
    “I had a husband who did the same thing” she said to me. “I got a house out of the deal,” she added, nodding in the direction of the house, “but all in all, I would have preferred the husband. It‧s very painful, isn‧t it?”
    I nodded. George was nodding, too. We were like a field of tulips in a breeze.
    “And hard to let go,” she went on. “There‧s no getting around that. But you must remember, even if you never understand what happened, what went wrong that you will have friendship again, good friendship. Because you are a person capable of friendship. And sooner or later there will be someone who deserves you.”
    “There‧s nobody like Maureen,” I said.
    “No, of course not,” she replied. “Apples and oranges. In the meantime, we can eat these nice berries and enjoy one another‧s company. Wouldn‧t you say so, George?”
    “By all means,” said George. “With a few moments set aside here and there for earning a living. Which I had better get back to directly before the weeds grow right over us.”
    “Yes,” said Mrs. Brown. “I have some things to do, too. But make sure Debbie sees the lower garden. Especially the path to the river. That‧s my favorite.”
    To me, she said, “It was lovely to meet you, dear. Please come back”
    And off she whisked again, down the red brick path. Like a fairy godmother. Mine maybe.

     
    It was late in August, when we were tired of watching reruns, that my dad and I tuned in a dance performance on Channel 13. Mom and Chrisanne would have flipped right past, but Dad and I like to watch cultural programs now and then. We had a TV tray with chip dip and pop.

     
    The dancers were spinning around in a big group, and then two of them, a man and a woman, were in the spotlight as they climbed up onto a sort of pedestal. They were in love. The man lifted the woman into the air and held her there with one hand. She arched her back and her knees were bent so that her toes pointed up.

     
    “How come you never lift me up that way?” joked my mother, who had come into the room to empty the wastebasket.
    “Call the ambulance,” said my dad. “I‧ll give it a try.”
    The man and the woman had been dancing for quite a while when suddenly another woman was on the pedestal with them. You could tell there was not room for three people to fit up there, although they did some amazing contortions trying.
    “I think one of them‧s going to fall off,” said my dad.
    “I hope it‧s the new one,” I said. “She‧s butting in.”
    But it wasn‧t. The man