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“I have to go straight to bed,” I said.
“Do you want to stay up a little to watch some TV? Just to decompress?”
Decompressing is like deescalating. It means let’s take a little time to calm down. I shook my head no. “I have to go to bed now,” I said because nine o’clock is my bedtime and I have to have nine grapes with my human milk in the morning. Nine years old is how old I was when the police came. It’s how old I was before Forever started.
“What about brushing your teeth?” said my Forever Dad. “Don’t you want to brush your teeth first?”
It’s a rule that We always brush our teeth before going to bed. And I like rules. “Okay, yes, fine,” I said. “After I brush my teeth. And after I go to the bathroom and wash my hands. And after I get a drink of water to put on my dresser and put on jammies. Then I’ll go straight to bed.”
“Which jammies will you wear tonight?” my Forever Mom asked. “The ones with the cats, or the ones with the sock monkeys?”
“The ones with the cats,” I said. “The ones with the sock monkeys are for Mondays.”
Then I thought about my Baby Doll and decided to sing it a lullaby. Even though it couldn’t hear me. Because I could still see the fireworks in my brain which is where I see my Baby Doll. I started singing “I’ll Be There” for it. My Forever Dad turned off the twenty-five or six-two-four and my Forever Mom put her hand over the clock. When it came to the part about looking over my shoulder I said, “Oooooh!” just like Michael Jackson which is not the same way a ghost says it but still. Then I looked over my shoulder and inside my eyes I saw Little Michael Jackson giving Bubbles a great big hug through the bars at the zoo.
“You’re doing great, Forever Girl,” my Forever Dad said. It’s all right for them to call me that for now because it’s still true. I like being their Forever Girl and I’ll miss them both but it’s already way, way, way past my nine. Past nine o’clock and nine years old. I don’t want to go back to that scary place but I have to, have to, have to.
10 (#u2655f8b1-f89c-52e2-9201-fd25df3e1507)
11:32 IN THE MORNING, MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 13TH (#u2655f8b1-f89c-52e2-9201-fd25df3e1507)
In science we are studying hurricanes. I am working with Alison Hill on our project. We have to make a poster and write a report about how hurricanes work. We have to type a list of facts too. But my job is to make the poster. Mrs. Wake is helping me put dots of glue on a big piece of white poster board so that I can attach cotton balls to it. I’m not allowed to use the glue because Ms. Dana told her what happened last year when I memorized the combination to the supply cabinet in Room Five.
But in a minute I’m going to need the glue. It’s part of my secret plan.
“That’s very good, Ginny,” Mrs. Wake says. “Now let’s put some on the bands of clouds on the outside of the hurricane. Those outer winds are the most destructive, so we need to make sure they stand out.”
I put two more cotton balls on the poster board. Alison Hill is near the window at a long table typing the list of facts. Alison Hill is good at typing. She is faster than Larry and faster than me but she gets really mad sometimes when you try to make her go as fast as she can.
I put down the cotton ball I am holding. “Alison Hill, are you done yet?” I ask.
“Not yet, Ginny,” she says.
I look at my watch. The time is 11:35. I put my pencil down on the table hard so that it makes a slap. Then I make a loud breathing sound.
Alison Hill keeps typing.
I pick up the scissors and start cutting out the curved arrows that Mrs. Wake drew for me. I make the breathing sound again. “I am almost ready for those facts,” I say.
Alison Hill slams her hands down on the keyboard. “Ginny, leave me alone!”
“Ginny,” says Mrs. Wake.
But her voice didn’t go up so she wasn’t asking a question.
“I bet the facts would be done if Larry was typing,” I say.
Then Alison Hill throws her paper and pencil in the air and stands up. I look at her. She has her fingers curled up like claws. Mrs. Wake walks over to her and starts to deescalate the situation. They start talking loud and fast.
So I grab the glue and squeeze it all over Mrs. Wake’s chair. I squeeze and I squeeze and I squeeze. Then I put the bottle on the ground and move it under the table with my foot where she can’t see it.
When Mrs. Wake is finished helping Alison Hill calm down she comes back to help me some more. She sits down. “Let’s let Alison get her work done,” she says. “Don’t talk to her right now. She needs to focus.”
So I say, “I can’t find the glue.”
Mrs. Wake looks around. “It was here just a minute ago,” she says. “Ginny, did you eat the glue? Ms. Dana said—”
Then she gets a funny look on her face and puts her hand under her bottom.
I make sure my mouth is closed.
“Did you do this?” she says. And stands up. She is wearing a nice gray skirt. She tries to look at her bottom but her neck isn’t long enough so she puts her hand there instead. She looks at her hand. She looks at me. Her eyes get big and wet. “Ginny, I can’t believe you!” she says. Then she runs out of the library.
I start moving toward the computer where Alison Hill is working. Then I remember that Alison Hill knows I’m not allowed to use the internet without an adult.
I stop and start picking at my fingers.
On the other side of the library I see a fifth grader get up from a computer. I walk to the place where he was sitting and sit down in his place. Then I type Manicoon.com into the white space at the top of the screen. And click Enter.
On the screen I see Maine coon cats. I see their long ears and bushy tails. Their faces look at me like Fire’s and Coke Head’s. Above them I see tabs that say Information and About Me and Contact Me. And I see the words A Message for My Daughter. Under the words A Message for My Daughter I read,
So I came to the address you gave me and those fuckers called the police. But they can’t shut me down. I have rights too, I told them. No one can take away freedom of speech. Four years ago they took you away and I’ve been trying to find you ever since. Thank God for the internet. Don’t tell anyone about this blog though. I can’t come back to the house where you live because the judge issued a restraining order. G., I love you so much. I want you back so we can be a family again. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been without you? I’ll do anything to get you back. You should see the new cages I put in. We’re moving lots of tail. I’m clean now too. Rehab and everything. Crystal says I should lie low and cool it. But I can’t cool it. She helped out a lot after you left but I have to see you. So name the time and place and I’ll be there. Leave a comment and as soon as I read it I’ll delete it. Ha. That almost rhymes.
I don’t know what Leave a comment means but then I see the word Comment under Gloria’s letter. So I click it and I see a place to type. I write, You can come to the Harvest Concert on October 18th. Please get my Baby Doll from the suitcase under my bed. Don’t leave it there alone.
Then I click the word Submit which I’m guessing is like Send and then the X to make the screen go away and I go back to the table to wait for Mrs. Wake.
11 (#u2655f8b1-f89c-52e2-9201-fd25df3e1507)
EXACTLY 6:57 IN THE MORNING, TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 14TH (#u2655f8b1-f89c-52e2-9201-fd25df3e1507)
Before I went outside to get on the bus I counted the five slices of bread that were left in the bread bag and my Forever Mom said the word approximately means close to but not exactly. And that the bread is approximately gone. So if today is September 14th then tonight when I go to bed it will be approximately the 15th. Then at midnight the 15th will be exactly here.
Approximately is a good word to use when you can’t get to a watch or a clock. It’s also good for thinking about your Baby Doll if you don’t know exactly if anyone found it or exactly the time Gloria might bring it to the Harvest Concert.
But I can’t think about what time she might come because the bus is pulling into the school parking lot and I see a parked car that looks approximately like the Green Car. My watch says it is exactly 6:59. The car I see is green like I remember but it doesn’t have the thick piece of plastic Gloria taped to the back window when it broke. And standing in front of the car is someone who looks approximately like Gloria but not exactly. She is far away but she is really, really skinny and mostly she has the same kind of hair but she isn’t wearing the shirt from the Facebook picture. I stare and stare at her out the window until we stop in front of the school. Then I get off the bus. I want to walk around the bus to see if it is her but Mrs. Wake is right there on the sidewalk waiting for me. She brings me inside.
Plus yesterday I told Gloria that she should come to the Harvest Concert so it can’t be her.
Mrs. Lomos called my Forever Parents yesterday and told them about the glue. I had to write a letter of apology to Mrs. Wake. I take it out of my backpack and hold it out to her. “Here,” I say.
She takes it.
We go to homeroom and then to language arts. Now it is exactly 7:45. Mrs. Wake reads the letter when she sits down. All she says is “Thank you, Ginny.” Her mouth is a thin line and she is not talking as much as she did yesterday. I’m guessing she is angry but she isn’t yelling so I don’t have to be careful. But still I don’t argue when she tells me to take out my homework. We are working on the hurricane project both in science and in language arts.
My homework was to make a list of things to take with me in case there is a hurricane and I need to seek shelter. I made a list of exactly twenty-three things with a line between number five and number six. Everything above the line is what Mrs. Wake helped me with yesterday. Everything under it is what I did on my own.
1. A cell phone (to call family and friends)
2. A flashlight (to look at things in the dark)
3. Food (to eat)
4. A radio (to hear news about the hurricane)
5. Batteries (for the radio and the flashlight)
6. Some books about Michael Jackson (to read when I’m not listening to the radio)
7. My iPod (to listen to when I’m not reading books or listening to the radio)
8. The headphones to my iPod (to plug into my iPod)
9. My iPod charger (to charge my iPod)
10. Some games like Uno, for example (to play)
11. My hairbrush (to brush my hair)
12. A scrunchie (to hold my hair up)
13. My toothbrush (to brush my teeth)
14. Some toothpaste (to put on my toothbrush)
15. Deodorant
16. New underwear (just in case)
17. Socks (if my feet get wet)
18. Flip-flops (if my feet get wet again)
19. A blanket (for everyone to sit on)
20. Drinks (for us to drink)
21. A cooler (to keep our drinks cool)
22. Bendy straws (for our drinks)
23. Popcorn (to have with our drinks)
“Come with me, Ginny,” says a voice.
I look up from my paper. It is Mrs. Lomos. I am surprised she is here. I am surprised by her earrings too. They are little white masks.
“Come to my office for a minute,” she says. I tell her that I am checking over my homework before I pass it in. She says that I need to go with her now. So I do.
The time is exactly 7:52. I follow Mrs. Lomos into her tiny office. She asks me to sit down. She shuts the door and says, “Ginny, when was the last time you saw Gloria?”
“I saw her four years ago on April 18th when the police came to take me away,” I say. “She cried and cried and said, ‘I’m so sorr—’”
“Are you sure that was the last time you saw her?” says Mrs. Lomos.
“You interrupted me,” I say.
“I’m sorry to have interrupted you,” says Mrs. Lomos. “It’s just that you’ve told me how Gloria cried and said, ‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,’ a lot of different times already. But right now it’s important that you think very hard and tell me if you’ve seen Gloria recently.”
I’m not sure if Mrs. Lomos is asking a question so I don’t say anything.
Then Mrs. Lomos says, “Let’s try again. When was the last time you saw Gloria?”
So I say, “Do you mean exactly or approximately?”
Mrs. Lomos’s face looks surprised. “Exactly,” she says.
But I’m still not exactly sure that it was Gloria who I saw in the parking lot so I say, “The last time I exactly saw her was on April 18th four years ago.”
“Did you approximately see her after that?” she says.
“Yes,” I say. “I approximately saw her this morning.”
“How can you be sure it was her?”
“I said it was only approxi—”
“Ginny, what did you see?”
“I saw a person near a green car and her head was mostly the same but her shirt was different.”
“Thank you,” says Mrs. Lomos. “Now, I have to make a phone call. While I’m doing that, I’m going to give you a very important job. I want you to write down everything that you did this morning.”
She hands me a pencil and a pad of white lined paper. The pencil is not my Snoopy pencil which is the only pencil I like to use.
“Everything?” I say.
“Everything,” says Mrs. Lomos. “Start with what happened when you woke up, and end with what we just finished talking about.”
So I look at the tip of the pencil which is very, very sharp and I get ready to write. Then I start thinking about how Gloria came to the Blue House and what it might mean that I saw someone who looks approximately like her when I got to school.
I think and I think and I think.
And now I see that it is 8:06 and Mrs. Lomos is back in her office with me again. She says, “Hi again, Ginny. Your mother and father are coming to school so that we can all have a talk. A police officer will be with them. Now, I know you don’t like police officers.”
Sometimes I see police officers on television or in a picture and I am fine with that but when police officers are in places where I don’t expect to see them I get surprised. Like when there’s one around the corner or when one comes to school to be a guest speaker and no one told me. But I don’t say any of that. I don’t say anything because I want to know why my Forever Parents are coming here to talk with me and why a police officer is coming too and mostly I want to know if I approximately or exactly saw Gloria when the bus was pulling into the parking lot. Because if I exactly saw her then I need to get outside and jump in the Green Car quick. Before the police officer gets here.
Because four years ago when I was nine years old a police officer stood in front of Gloria while the other police officer carried me away. While one of the policemen was holding me the other one pushed Gloria back and then Gloria tried to get past him so he grabbed her arm and pushed her face against the wall and her cheek got flat and her eyes got round and white and she yelled my name and said, “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, Ginny!” over and over while I kicked and tried to fight and Gloria yelled, “That’s my daughter! That’s my daughter!” and then “Ginny, you belong with me!” and then the one who was holding me started carrying me toward the door so I went ape-shit.
