Heartbeat Page 4

  and will it still be an apple

  if it doesn’t look like an apple?

  While I am sitting there gazing at the apple

  I tell Grandpa about the coach

  asking me to try out for the track team

  and about Max telling me the same

  and about how the coach kept bugging me

  and now the tryouts are over

  and the coach does not even

  look me in the eye

  and then I tell him about Max saying

  I am a chicken

  and how I don’t feel like a chicken

  and how I love to run

  but I don’t want to run

  in a herd

  and I don’t like watching people

  worry about fast and faster and fastest

  and about

  winning and losing

  and all the while I am talking

  Grandpa is nodding, nodding

  and finally he says

  You stick to your guns, honey.

  And I say

  But they say I will regret it—

  and Grandpa says

  Do you think you will regret it?

  And I say

  No—but they think I am wrong

  that I can’t know

  what I will regret.

  And Grandpa says

  Wrong. Right. Regret.

  When I stopped running races

  everyone told me I was wrong

  and everyone told me I would regret it.

  He is looking at the photo of himself

  with the trophy.

  I ask him

  And did you regret it?

  Grandpa shifts his gaze to my apple folder.

  Not for one tiny minute

  he says.

  And I want him to say more

  to tell me why he stopped running races

  but he leans his head back against the chair

  and closes his eyes

  and falls asleep.

  His face looks different in sleep

  the muscles slack

  the wrinkles smoothed.

  Has that brown spot on his cheek

  always been that large?

  Has it always been the shape

  of a pear?

  I draw his profile:

  the wide forehead

  the unruly eyebrows

  the noble nose

  the downturned mouth.

  Is he not happy in his sleep?

  I draw the brown spot

  and the dimpled chin.

  I lie back on the floor

  and close my eyes

  and try to keep the image

  of my grandpa’s face

  in my mind

  and I dream

  not of races

  but of colored pencils

  and charcoal pencils

  and thick, white, smooth paper

  and Grandpa’s face.

  MAD MAX

  Hey, Annie-banany!

  Mrs. Cobber calls as I run past the church

  You going to cut my grass today?

  Yes, Mrs. Cobber-obber

  I’ll be there later.

  And I am happy to mow

  Mrs. Cobber’s lawn today

  because then I will have enough money

  to buy the charcoal pencils

  and the colored pencils

  and the white paper.

  Hey, Max!

  Hey, Annie—

  Max looks angry

  black mood all around him

  and I do not even try to pick up my pace.

  I let him surge ahead of me.

  I can hear and feel his feet

  pounding hard

  thump-thump, thump-thump

  and when I reach the bench

  he is sitting there with his head hanging

  between his legs

  breathing hard.

  I stretch and sit and tap his back.

  What’s the matter?

  I ask.

  Nothing. Everything.

  I examine the soles of my feet

  wishing there were words there

  magic words to say to Max

  but there is only dirt on my feet

  and one lone pebble.

  You get your shoes yet?

  I ask.

  I know the coach has been letting him

  run barefoot for practices

  but I know he has to have the shoes

  for the first meet.

  No, he says.

  You going to have time to get them

  and break them in?

  He talks to the ground, angrily:

  They cost so much money, Annie!

  Can you borrow someone else’s shoes?

  I ask.

  He doesn’t answer.

  I check out his feet

  wondering if maybe my father’s shoes

  would fit him

  although I know my father’s tennis shoes

  are not the kind that Max has in mind—

  they are not stylish

  or new or clean.

  I have a little money

  I hear myself saying

  and I want to cut off my tongue

  because I don’t want to part with my money

  but before I can say more

  Max stands and says

  No. Thank. You.

  And he takes off running

  back down the path

  and I stay on the bench

  secretly glad that he does not want my money

  but profoundly sad that he seems

  angry

  with

  me

  and

  I

  do

  not

  know

  why.

  And then I wonder:

  if I joined the team

  would Max not be mad at me

  and if I won the races

  would Max not be mad at me?

  But it does not seem a good reason

  to join a team—

  just so someone will not be mad at you.

  THE BIRTHING CENTER

  Today we visited the birthing center

  where my mother will have the baby.

  It is not a hospital8—

  it looks like a house

  and has offices downstairs

  and bedrooms upstairs

  where the babies will be born.

  You can choose your room:

  the Colonial, which has a four-poster bed

  or the Modern, which is all sharp angles

  or the Regency, which is extremely flouncy.

  My mother has chosen the Colonial.

  Next to each bedroom is a room

  sheltering a blue whirlpool tub

  and on the other side of the bedroom

  is a bathroom

  and across from that is an office

  with an incubator and scales

  and scary-looking equipment.

  Only women work here

  most of them are midwives

  and they will bring the baby

  into the world

  and if there is a problem9

  there is a hospital five minutes away.

  My mother loved the birthing center

  but my father looked a little worried

  and on the way home he asked my mother

  again if she was absolutely sure

  that this is where she wanted

  to have the baby

  and she said yes

  and she reminded him that

  at the birthing center

  both he and I

  could be present

  for the whole birth.

  We would not miss one single moment.

  My father cleared his throat

  and tried to smile

  because I think he really wants to be there

  and to be a good husband and father

  but he feels a little queasy about it, too<
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  and me, I am so proud that I can be there

  it makes me feel grown up

  but I am also a little queasy

  because I do not want to see my mother

  in pain

  and I do not know if I can stay calm

  which is what the midwives say that

  we will need to be.

  We have to study the coaching manuals

  to know how to help my mother breathe

  and we have to watch the videos

  to know what to expect

  and the birth of the alien baby

  is starting to seem more real

  and I am going to be there

  and I will have a sister or brother

  and I will not be afraid.10

  APPLE

  I have been feeling so proud

  that I have not lost my apple.

  Most people are on their third or fourth

  apple by now

  but I’ve been hoping to keep mine

  right up until the one hundredth

  drawing.

  Its skin has not been looking so shiny

  lately

  and sometimes it seems that it has

  shrunk

  but still it is MY apple

  completely different

  from anyone else’s apple

  which came as a surprise to me.

  Sometimes I can stare at one tiny patch

  of my apple

  for the longest time

  and the more I study it

  the more I see in that one little patch:

  the smallest indentations

  multiple colors

  flecks and spots—

  a miniature landscape.

  I thought that the apple

  would be easier to draw each day

  but it is harder

  trying to capture all those

  colors and flecks and spots.

  When I was running today

  and thinking about the apple

  I felt as if I was full of that apple

  and I knew the apple11

  and I couldn’t wait to get home

  to draw it

  but

  I

  could

  not

  find

  my

  apple.

  I always leave it in the same place

  on my windowsill

  but I searched my whole room

  and then the rest of the house

  and then I peeked into Grandpa’s room.

  He was lying on the bed

  asleep

  and I was about to close the door again

  when I saw it—

  my apple—

  on his nightstand

  with

  one

  bite

  taken

  out

  of

  it.

  THE BITE

  It was very good

  Grandpa says

  as I snatch the apple

  from his nightstand

  but I didn’t want to eat any more.

  I was saving it for later.

  I feel sad for my poor bitten apple

  but I put it back on the nightstand

  and as I am leaving the room

  I get an idea:

  I will draw the apple

  with a bite out of it

  and then I will draw the apple

  with two bites out of it

  and on and on

  a diminishing apple

  vanishing

  until

  there

  is

  just

  a

  core

  remaining

  and something else I know instantly:

  that I will not need to look at the apple12—

  that I can draw

  the apple that’s in my mind.

  LINES

  On the days we have art class

  Miss Freely shows us how to use

  different mediums

  pen and ink

  charcoal

  pastels

  acrylics.

  I have drawn my apple

  with each of them

  and my favorites are

  the pen and ink

  and the chalky pastel ones.

  Miss Freely asked us each to choose

  our ten favorite apple drawings

  so far

  and she has posted these

  all around the room

  hundreds of apples

  apples apples apples

  everywhere.

  I walk round and round

  the room

  looking at all the different apples

  and I spot one

  which looks like a hat

  an apple hat

  so I know it must be Kaylee’s.

  At first I think I will not find mine

  among all the hundreds of apples

  but they jump out at me

  and I know them instantly

  as mine.

  I know my line

  and now I can see what Miss Freely

  says about line

  how you can see the difference

  among the drawings.

  Miss Freely is looking through

  the rest of my folder

  sixty apples

  plus the ten on the wall

  seventy days

  seventy apples.

  She closes the folder

  and holds it to her chest

  and pats the folder

  once

  twice

  and then she moves on

  to another student’s folder

  and I am wondering

  what she thinks

  and suddenly I think

  that I will be sad

  when I draw the

  one hundredth apple

  because it will be

  the apple core

  and because now I know

  that there is still so much more

  to learn about apples.

  FORBIDDEN WORDS

  Mr. Welling put a list of forbidden words

  on the board today.

  He says we use these words too much

  and they are empty words and phrases

  and we should try to talk and to write

  without using them.

  Here is his list:

  very

  like

  ya know?

  uh

  well

  stuff

  yeah

  Kaylee raised her hand and said

  Well, what—

  Mr. Welling tapped the board

  next to the word well.

  Kaylee started again

  Like, ya know—

  Mr. Welling tapped the board

  at like and ya know.

  Kaylee was getting angry.

  What I am trying to ask—

  She paused, listening to herself

  pleased that she’d managed

  not to say any forbidden words

  before she moved on.

  is, like—wait! No! Don’t tap!

  What I am trying to ask—

  She paused again, thinking.

  is—is—well, crud—no, not well—

  Most of us were laughing

  we couldn’t help it

  and Kaylee turned to us and said

  If you think it is so easy, you try it!

  And so other people tried to speak

  but each of us could barely ask

  a single question

  or make a single comment

  without using at least one

  of the forbidden words.

  It was very—oops, no, not very—

  it was extremely amusing.

  It is easier in writing to avoid

  the forbidden words

  but I see that I do use

  very

  a lot.13

  SHOELESS

 
After school I see Max at the track

  being scolded by his coach

  who is holding a pair of running shoes

  worn and beaten

  waving them in front of Max.

  I cannot hear the coach’s words

  but I figure he is trying to get Max

  proud Max

  to take the used shoes.

  Max stands with his arms crossed

  defiant

  scowling

  and I am thinking he should not be

  so proud

  when I see the girls’ coach

  coming toward me.

  She says

  I saw you run yesterday, Annie

  up near the stone church—

  that was you, wasn’t it?

  I say, Maybe.

  She says, You have a fine stride—

  I cross my arms

  like Max.

  What is it you’re afraid of?

  she asks.

  I do so want to punch her14

  because there is something about her

  some poking, prying, pushy thing

  that engulfs me

  but I do not punch her

  instead I say

  I am not afraid.

  I love to run

  but I love to run by myself.

  She studies me

  disbelieving

  a little scornful

  as if I am hiding something

  or lying to her

  and then she smiles