gust of wind swirled around me and took hold of the balloon as if to say, “Hurry, follow me for the ride of your life.” The balloon bobbed and tugged in an effort to escape, but I gripped the string tightly and made the secret wish that Mrs. Odell and I would always be together.
“When you’re ready, let go so the balloon can carry your wish into the sky.”
“But where’s it going?”
Mrs. Odell leaned down close and said, “It’s a mystery. We just have to believe.”
I let the string slip through my fingers. The balloon took flight, weaving back and forth as if uncertain where to go. A moment later the wind swept it high in the air, and Mrs. Odell and I stood side by side and watched it disappear.
And now here we were, saying good-bye.
How long we sat on her porch swing I couldn’t say, but when Mrs. Odell pressed her cheek against mine and said, “Write to me, honey, and I’ll write to you too,” I was so sad I couldn’t even speak.
I woke so early the following morning the birds were still asleep. As I pushed back the covers and sat up, I felt a twinge of sadness. This was the last morning I’d ever wake up in my bedroom. And even with the cracked ceiling and the dingy blue walls, I knew I’d miss it. My skin felt tight against my ribs as I slid out of bed and went downstairs. Dad was asleep on the sofa, still wearing the clothes he’d worn to the cemetery. An empty whiskey bottle and an overturned glass were lying on the floor by his side. I looked at him, feeling nothing but cold contempt, then I turned and crept into the kitchen. After pouring a glass of orange juice, I stepped out to the back porch.
While sitting on the steps in the sleepy half-light of dawn, I drank my juice and took mental snapshots of what stood before me. The picnic table, which long ago had surrendered to dry rot and years of neglect, lay in a dilapidated heap of moss-stained boards. From a distance it looked like the ribs of a dinosaur carcass protruding from the earth. And off to the side was the thin shadow of Momma’s clothesline, hanging slack between two maple trees.
I turned and gazed at Mrs. Odell’s house. I wanted to remember her garden, her old porch swing, and the morning-glory trellis that brought the hummingbirds to visit. My eyes followed the path I’d beaten through the grass from our back door to hers, a path that was now a narrow ribbon of smooth brown dirt. The pain of knowing I’d never travel along it again was so unbearable I had to look away.
A cool breeze ruffled the hem of my nightgown, the birds began to chirp and sing, and the first sparks of sunlight brought the dew-drops to life. I took one last look at all that surrounded me and slowly rose from the steps. When my fingers touched the knob of the back door, something inside me shifted—I could actually feel it. I knew Mrs. Odell was right. I felt the flutter of a page turn deep within me as a chapter in my Life Book came to a close.
Five
W hile I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, braiding my ponytail and chewing the inside of my lip till I tasted blood, Dad called up the stairs, “I put your suitcase and box of books by the front door. I’m going to the hardware store.”
“Who cares?” I mumbled under my breath.
“CeeCee, did you hear me?”
“Okay,” I called back. I spit a mouthful of blood into the sink and rinsed it down the drain. My stomach did a series of flips when I walked across the hall and into my bedroom. I was so nervous the skin at the back of my arms itched. From a stack of books I pulled out an old atlas, sat on the floor, and turned to the map of Georgia. While trying to figure out how many miles away Savannah was, I heard a beep-beep from the driveway. I scrambled to my feet and looked out the window as my great-aunt’s car rolled to a stop.
The door opened and she slid from the seat. The skirt of her green-and-white polka-dotted dress moved softly in the breeze, and a small straw hat was
“When you’re ready, let go so the balloon can carry your wish into the sky.”
“But where’s it going?”
Mrs. Odell leaned down close and said, “It’s a mystery. We just have to believe.”
I let the string slip through my fingers. The balloon took flight, weaving back and forth as if uncertain where to go. A moment later the wind swept it high in the air, and Mrs. Odell and I stood side by side and watched it disappear.
And now here we were, saying good-bye.
How long we sat on her porch swing I couldn’t say, but when Mrs. Odell pressed her cheek against mine and said, “Write to me, honey, and I’ll write to you too,” I was so sad I couldn’t even speak.
I woke so early the following morning the birds were still asleep. As I pushed back the covers and sat up, I felt a twinge of sadness. This was the last morning I’d ever wake up in my bedroom. And even with the cracked ceiling and the dingy blue walls, I knew I’d miss it. My skin felt tight against my ribs as I slid out of bed and went downstairs. Dad was asleep on the sofa, still wearing the clothes he’d worn to the cemetery. An empty whiskey bottle and an overturned glass were lying on the floor by his side. I looked at him, feeling nothing but cold contempt, then I turned and crept into the kitchen. After pouring a glass of orange juice, I stepped out to the back porch.
While sitting on the steps in the sleepy half-light of dawn, I drank my juice and took mental snapshots of what stood before me. The picnic table, which long ago had surrendered to dry rot and years of neglect, lay in a dilapidated heap of moss-stained boards. From a distance it looked like the ribs of a dinosaur carcass protruding from the earth. And off to the side was the thin shadow of Momma’s clothesline, hanging slack between two maple trees.
I turned and gazed at Mrs. Odell’s house. I wanted to remember her garden, her old porch swing, and the morning-glory trellis that brought the hummingbirds to visit. My eyes followed the path I’d beaten through the grass from our back door to hers, a path that was now a narrow ribbon of smooth brown dirt. The pain of knowing I’d never travel along it again was so unbearable I had to look away.
A cool breeze ruffled the hem of my nightgown, the birds began to chirp and sing, and the first sparks of sunlight brought the dew-drops to life. I took one last look at all that surrounded me and slowly rose from the steps. When my fingers touched the knob of the back door, something inside me shifted—I could actually feel it. I knew Mrs. Odell was right. I felt the flutter of a page turn deep within me as a chapter in my Life Book came to a close.
Five
W hile I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, braiding my ponytail and chewing the inside of my lip till I tasted blood, Dad called up the stairs, “I put your suitcase and box of books by the front door. I’m going to the hardware store.”
“Who cares?” I mumbled under my breath.
“CeeCee, did you hear me?”
“Okay,” I called back. I spit a mouthful of blood into the sink and rinsed it down the drain. My stomach did a series of flips when I walked across the hall and into my bedroom. I was so nervous the skin at the back of my arms itched. From a stack of books I pulled out an old atlas, sat on the floor, and turned to the map of Georgia. While trying to figure out how many miles away Savannah was, I heard a beep-beep from the driveway. I scrambled to my feet and looked out the window as my great-aunt’s car rolled to a stop.
The door opened and she slid from the seat. The skirt of her green-and-white polka-dotted dress moved softly in the breeze, and a small straw hat was
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