He watches his furniture being lugged out of the orange moving van parked
in front of his new home.
His face reminds me of a blueberry.
With his head cocked to one side, he looks tentative, having much reason to
be. I can tell Lorington won't be welcoming to this boy with the blueberry
face. He's a weakling; I can see it from the way he stands with one knee
bent. Nobody in Lorington stands with one knee bent. Nobody, unless they
want to be shot.
But he ought to have one friend.
I've been sitting on my knees to stare out the window at him, and the lower
parts of my legs are numb. I massage them while hobbling downstairs.
"A new family moved in next door." Mom puts on her informative face.
"I know," I say.
"They have a son your age." She smiles with her eyebrows raised
suggestively.
"Thanks for the info." I say and stagger out the door.
Close up, he's a lot taller than he looked from the window. And I hadn't
noticed that he's wearing a beanie and has an earring in his left earlobe.
"Welcome to Lorington."
He turns around. "Thanks," he says. His voice makes me want to laugh. But I
don't.
"I'm Winnie," I tell him.
"Like Winnie the Pooh." He smiles.
"Yeah." I smile back.
"I'm blueberry," he says.
"Like the fruit." My smile spreads to a grin.
"Yeah, like the fruit."
I don't realize until hours later that his new house, the house next door,
is the same shade of blue as a blueberry.
~_~_~
"I invited the new neighbors for dinner." Mom is leaning over the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables and wearing an apron. I have never in my life seen my mother wearing an apron, especially one with pictures of orange cats all over it. "Great." I say it sarcastically, but I'm somewhat excited. I was hoping to get to know Blueberry better. "You could offer to help me with something." She lays down her knife and wipes her hands with a dishtowel. I almost say, 'ask dad to help you.' "I have homework," I insist. "Just help me for ten minutes." She puts her hands together in a begging motion. "Fine, fine, I'll just fail school then." I pick up the knife and resume her vegetable-chopping. "That's my girl." I can hear the smile in her voice.
~_~_~
"Hi, hi, come on in!" I can hear mom putting on her cheerful voice for the neighbors. The man and woman, who must be Blueberry's mother and father, introduce themselves to my mother as Dennis and Hailey. "And you are...?" Mom uses her somewhat demeaning voice that she uses to speak to people under the age of eighteen. "Blueberry." I can tell mom is smiling. "Wonder how your parents came up with that." They all laugh. All the adults at least. "Winnie should be down in a minute. She has lots of homework." I hate it when she makes excuses for me. I listen for another minute as mom offers everyone drinks and then I come downstairs. Apparently, they have been waiting anxiously for me because the second I step into the kitchen, Blueberry's parents jump up from their seats and grab at my hands, introducing themselves vigorously.
I try not to act taken aback. We all sit down to dinner, Blueberry's mom explaining the play she's directing, his dad describing his recent trip to Belarus, my mom attempting to make her unemployment sound enjoyable. But the words don't completely process in my mind as I concentrate more on whisking my gaze away from Blueberry whenever his eyes meet mine. The earring in his left earlobe is blue—like a blueberry.
~_~_~
"You and Blueberry didn't say a word to each other last night." Mom looks up from a magazine, which she has been comfortably reading on our brown, lazy-boy recliner chair for the last four hours. She must have read the entire thing at least three times by now. "Mm, I guess not," I mumble and turn the volume up a bit on the TV, aware of how rude a gesture that is. "Not good enough for you?" She gives me another one of those suggestive smiles. I always thought the mothers didn't want their daughters going at it with boys. Why is she rushing me? "I just met him three days ago, jeez." I turn the TV up another notch, though I stopped paying attention to the cartoon five minutes ago. Mom puts down her magazine and gets out of the chair, without bothering to put down the foot-rest. She stands in front of the TV, blocking my view. It doesn't upset me in the least. "Mom! Move!" "No." She puts her hands on her hips. She's smiling, though, which is a good sign. I throw a pillow at her and we both laugh. We haven't really laughed that much since dad walked out. "Fine," she says. "I'm just telling you, opportunity knocks but once." Another suggestive smile. "Yeah, great, I'll ask him out on the third day I know him, get rejected, and there goes my opportunity." "Don't be so sure you'll get rejected." Still smiling suggestively. "What great sources do you have that tell you I won't?" "Just his parents, that's all. But you can't trust the parents, now can you?" Finally her suggestiveness turns into a normal smile and she goes back to the lazy-boy to read her magazine for a fourth time. "Whatever." I turn the TV up seven more notches.
~_~_~
"I invited the new neighbors for dinner." Mom is leaning over the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables and wearing an apron. I have never in my life seen my mother wearing an apron, especially one with pictures of orange cats all over it. "Great." I say it sarcastically, but I'm somewhat excited. I was hoping to get to know Blueberry better. "You could offer to help me with something." She lays down her knife and wipes her hands with a dishtowel. I almost say, 'ask dad to help you.' "I have homework," I insist. "Just help me for ten minutes." She puts her hands together in a begging motion. "Fine, fine, I'll just fail school then." I pick up the knife and resume her vegetable-chopping. "That's my girl." I can hear the smile in her voice.
~_~_~
"Hi, hi, come on in!" I can hear mom putting on her cheerful voice for the neighbors. The man and woman, who must be Blueberry's mother and father, introduce themselves to my mother as Dennis and Hailey. "And you are...?" Mom uses her somewhat demeaning voice that she uses to speak to people under the age of eighteen. "Blueberry." I can tell mom is smiling. "Wonder how your parents came up with that." They all laugh. All the adults at least. "Winnie should be down in a minute. She has lots of homework." I hate it when she makes excuses for me. I listen for another minute as mom offers everyone drinks and then I come downstairs. Apparently, they have been waiting anxiously for me because the second I step into the kitchen, Blueberry's parents jump up from their seats and grab at my hands, introducing themselves vigorously.
I try not to act taken aback. We all sit down to dinner, Blueberry's mom explaining the play she's directing, his dad describing his recent trip to Belarus, my mom attempting to make her unemployment sound enjoyable. But the words don't completely process in my mind as I concentrate more on whisking my gaze away from Blueberry whenever his eyes meet mine. The earring in his left earlobe is blue—like a blueberry.
~_~_~
"You and Blueberry didn't say a word to each other last night." Mom looks up from a magazine, which she has been comfortably reading on our brown, lazy-boy recliner chair for the last four hours. She must have read the entire thing at least three times by now. "Mm, I guess not," I mumble and turn the volume up a bit on the TV, aware of how rude a gesture that is. "Not good enough for you?" She gives me another one of those suggestive smiles. I always thought the mothers didn't want their daughters going at it with boys. Why is she rushing me? "I just met him three days ago, jeez." I turn the TV up another notch, though I stopped paying attention to the cartoon five minutes ago. Mom puts down her magazine and gets out of the chair, without bothering to put down the foot-rest. She stands in front of the TV, blocking my view. It doesn't upset me in the least. "Mom! Move!" "No." She puts her hands on her hips. She's smiling, though, which is a good sign. I throw a pillow at her and we both laugh. We haven't really laughed that much since dad walked out. "Fine," she says. "I'm just telling you, opportunity knocks but once." Another suggestive smile. "Yeah, great, I'll ask him out on the third day I know him, get rejected, and there goes my opportunity." "Don't be so sure you'll get rejected." Still smiling suggestively. "What great sources do you have that tell you I won't?" "Just his parents, that's all. But you can't trust the parents, now can you?" Finally her suggestiveness turns into a normal smile and she goes back to the lazy-boy to read her magazine for a fourth time. "Whatever." I turn the TV up seven more notches.