The Second Chance of Benjamin Waterfalls, page 19
Niimi’s wearing a puffy red jacket, jeans, and a pink winter knitted beanie over her mask. She looks so cute. She removes her jacket as she enters, revealing a black thermal shirt with a large red-painted handprint on it. “Mino-giizhigan,” she says.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It is a good day,” she replies.
I like good days. Good days are way better than bad days.
“Good because I’m leaving or good because I am staying?”
She laughs. “Good because it’s nice outside,” she says.
Oh, that’s right. I need to remember that not everything is about me. But, hey, I’m still learning.
I get up. “I returned the microphone and the compass last night,” I say.
“I know.”
We stand in silence. I know I should be thinking of whether or not I am staying or going, or about Wendy’s necklace, or about how absolutely strange the past few days have been … But I find myself only thinking about one thing … the girl in front of me.
“I’m not here to save your butt. Only you can do that now. And I’m not here to say goodbye either,” she says.
“Then why are you here?” I ask.
“Because, Benny, even though it makes no sense, and even though you are incredibly frustrating and bullheaded, I am here to just do this.”
“Look at me?”
“Yeah. Look at you. Talk to you. Just this.”
Something swirls inside of my stomach. Happy swirls. Nervous swirls. Aren’t they supposed to feel like butterflies? They feel more like grizzlies. My hands begin to sweat. My knees begin to go weak. What is this feeling? And why am I smiling like this? It feels like both corners of my lips are about to touch my ears. Ugh. I’m blushing. The same way my mom did when she was staring at that average-looking judge. “I like … this too,” I say.
Niimi takes a step toward me. “I wish you could have met my mom. She would have liked you. She always rooted for the underdog.”
This is the first time she’s brought her mom up with me. I know it’s probably really hard to talk about, but Niimi is so strong. She’s trying. And then last night’s words float back to me … We are all works in progress. Even superheroes like her.
“Maybe one day you can tell me all about her,” I say, and take a step closer to her.
Her eyes smile and invite me to take another step. She has such beautiful eyes.
“Remember the day we first met, you told me that I need to wake up the superhero inside of me?”
“I remember. You laughed at me,” she says.
“I didn’t believe in it then. But I’ve seen it wake up in people. And I’ve seen their superpowers come alive. You helped Lulu become a super-singer. Her power is she moves people with her voice. You helped Hank become a super-dad. His power is he can put down his gun and pick up his son. You helped Alex become a super-son. His power is giving grown men like his dad their childhoods back. But you. You’re the best superhero of them all, because your superpower is seeing the potential in people that no one else can see. Like in me. You see me behind the mask I wear.”
She’s silent. I see tears form under her eyes, like two tiny lakes that are about to become two rivers. “Superheroes are everywhere, if you look for them. They put out our fires. They heal our bones. They teach us how to ride a bike. They teach us math and spelling. They help old ladies across the street. They feed stray cats and make sure you don’t go to bed hungry,” she says.
“They’re everywhere. Even in our books and movies and songs, constantly reminding us that they’re real. You were right, Niimi. About everything. Thank you for not giving up on me, Niimi.”
“I’m not a quitter. Maybe I’m just as stubborn as you are,” she says.
We stare at each other. Neither of us says a word. And for a moment, I completely forget that she’s even wearing a mask. And she’s the most beautiful person I have ever seen.
Then a strange thought pops into my head. A thought I have never had before. I want to kiss her. What should I do? Should I kiss her? But I’m so nervous. We just stare into each other’s eyes, each waiting for the other to say something.
“I’ve never wanted to kiss anybody before,” I say.
She laughs. Oh great. She’s laughing. Is she laughing at me or with me? I laugh. Crap. Now I’m laughing. Am I laughing at me or with her?
“What do we do now?” I ask.
“We can shut up,” she says.
I smile. Shutting up means no more talking. No more talking means … we should kiss?
I take one last step toward her, but my foot kicks over an empty glass bottle. I was so thirsty and tired last night that I took it from the fridge when I got home and drank it in bed. It rolls across the room. We both stare at it. I bet we’re both thinking of the same thing: the tree full of bottled-up messages.
That’s it!
“That’s what?” she asks.
“I’m not here to magically become a better person. My dad isn’t perfect now. Wendy isn’t perfect. You’re not perfect. No one is. I’m here to start boot camp, that’s it. But boot camp lasts forever. Life is our boot camp. We just need to stay stubborn and never give up, even when it’s hard.” I’m so excited, I can barely catch my breath.
“My mom used to say all people should come with a warning label tattooed on them that says still learning, bear with me,” she says.
Bear with me. Each bottle I opened had a message that ended with those three words. Bear with me. Like the bear that I encountered in the forest. Like the stuffed bear. The reason why I’m here. All of this has happened because of that bear … And for the first time, I finally know why I freeze every time I see it. I hated that stuffed bear. I was afraid of it. But the superhero inside of me is waking up, and with it, one of my buried memories has resurfaced. I remember the stuffed bear now.
It was early in the morning, the day my father left us. He entered my room to say goodbye. I was so angry. I refused to talk to him. I didn’t want him to leave. I didn’t want him to explain why he was going. But before he did, he placed a stuffed bear on my bed with a note that said I’m sorry. I’m getting help. Bear with me.
As soon as he left my room, I tore up his message and threw the bear away. I didn’t want to bear with him. I wanted to be with him. And the next time I saw that bear was seven years later in the department store. I didn’t recognize it, but something inside of me told me I had to take it.
I don’t hate the bear. I love it.
I snap out of my memory and look into Niimi’s eyes. “My dad once told me that hurt people hurt people, and that’s why I’ve been stealing. Because I was in pain … But you have shown me that helped people help people. And now that’s what I need to do.”
“You better be careful—you’re sounding an awful lot like a superhero,” she says.
I pick up the bottle and approach her. “I need string and a staple gun.”
“Before you get the string, you need a name,” she says.
I smile. “The Thief sounds a little too much like a villain, doesn’t it?”
“I was thinking … How about … ‘Benny the Bear’?”
“I like it. The Bear and She Is Dancing, There Is Lightning. We sound pretty heroic,” I say and grab one of the stepladders leaning against the wall.
“I’ll get the stuff from your dad’s office,” she says, and leaves the garage.
I follow her out, and while she heads down the hall, I stop in the middle of the living room. I set the stepladder and wait for Niimi. When she returns with the staple gun and string, I climb to the highest step and staple one end of the string to the ceiling, letting the other end hang down. Then I tie the neck of the bottle to the string. With Niimi’s Sharpie, I write George across the bottle. If I can’t bring him to the message tree, then I’ll bring the message tree to him.
My dad and Wendy enter the house with the three dogs. When they see the bottle hanging down in the center of the living room, they stop.
“What’s going on?” Wendy asks.
“If you wanted to leave me a message, you could have just told me in the Jeep,” my dad says.
“It’s not for you. It’s for George,” Niimi says.
Wendy smiles. “Was this your idea?”
“No. It was his,” Niimi says, and points to me.
“You ready to give Wendy her necklace back?” my dad asks.
“Nope,” I say.
“Then … you ready to go home?” he adds.
“Not yet,” I say, and I knock on George’s door.
George opens it. “You’re still here?”
“Yeah. I want you to see something,” I say, and walk toward the living room.
George follows me in. He sees the bottle hanging. He sees his name on it. He looks at me with confused eyes. “Please don’t tell me this is some creepy mistletoe kind of thing.”
“No. This is for you. You put a message inside. Anything you want help with. Could be something small like needing a pep talk to get you driving again,” I say, and look at Wendy. “It could be something big like asking for help to turn your life around.” I look at my dad. “Or it could even be something huge like asking for help to remind you who you were before your dad died,” I say, and look at George. “The point is, if you leave a message in this bottle, there will be someone here to answer it.”
George stares at me. He’s so hard to read. I can’t tell if he wants to punch me or hug me. “Thanks” is all he says, and walks back toward his room.
But I’m okay with that. He didn’t yell. He didn’t yank it down and crack it over my head. He didn’t even make fun of it. I’m not going to tell him to snap out of it or tell him there’s nothing to be afraid of, because that will only make him angry. I should know; it made me angry every time I was told that. All I can do is do what Niimi did for me. Let him know people are here for him. Let him know he’s not alone. Whether he knows it or not, George’s boot camp just started. He has a long way to go, but like my dad says, no one becomes a strong oak overnight.
“I am ready now,” I say, and look at my dad and Wendy.
My dad nods. Wendy sighs.
“Wait,” George says from behind me.
I watch him walk out of his room, and back into the living room … and in his hand is Wendy’s necklace.
“George?” Wendy says.
“I took it so you’d all blame him and make him leave,” George says to his mother, whose mouth is open in surprise. I guess we are all surprised.
“I don’t know how you do it, dude. Stealing. I felt like crap the entire time. And I figure, you got enough problems, you don’t need me adding one more,” he says, and hands me the necklace. “Sorry.”
I turn around and hand it to Wendy. She’s speechless. I turn back to George.
“This doesn’t mean we’re friends or anything like that, I still think you’re ugly and smell bad,” he says to me, half smiling.
“Thanks, George. I like you too,” I say.
“And I’m not saying I’m ever going to use this thing,” he says, pointing to the bottle hanging in the center of the living room. “But … we can keep it hanging here for a while. I guess.” He gives the dangling bottle a small tap. “Bye, Benny,” he says, and retreats back into his bedroom.
That’s the first time he’s ever called me by my name. Wow. He’s taking steps forward already. Baby steps, but baby steps are still steps. And that’s all that matters.
“I owe you an apology,” Wendy says to me.
I turn to face her. “No, you don’t. I broke the rules. I stole while I was here, and like you said when we met, if I steal from anyone, I steal from you,” I say.
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. I’m just glad you didn’t drag me out and bury me in the woods.” I turn to my dad. “We should get going.”
He looks confused. “I don’t see what the rush is. Maybe you can stay for a few more days. Seeing that Wendy got the necklace back,” he says.
“I do want to stay, but I think I owe it to my mom to be there for her. She needs to know she got her son back. I think she and I need to get to know each other again,” I say.
“I think she’d love that,” he says.
Then my eyes turn to Niimi. She is the hardest part about wanting to go back home.
“Come on, Tommy. You can drop me off at the shop. Let’s give them some time to say goodbye,” Wendy says to my dad.
“Zaagaandaa!” he shouts, and all three watch dogs race outside with him and Wendy.
I turn to Niimi. This is so hard. I know I’ll see her again. I’ll try to come up on weekends and school breaks, but I also know how busy Niimi is. The world has no shortage of people who need her help.
CHAPTER 22
NIIZH AANDEGWAG (TWO CROWS)
Niimi stares at me with eyes that are happy and sad at the same time. “What you said to George, that was really nice.”
“Well, I have a pretty good teacher,” I say, and approach her, getting as close to her as I was in the garage.
“I guess my job here is done. I should get going,” she says.
“Wait.” Before I know it, I’ve taken her hand. “Everything inside of me is telling me to stay, just so I can be with you. But being here has also shown me how hard my mom has tried, and now I need to show her all the hard work paid off. I need to make her proud of me again, and the truth is, I actually miss her. Is that strange?” I ask.
“Not strange at all. I miss my mom every day. But mine is life and death away. Yours is only one hundred and forty-five miles away. You should go … But you should also come back,” she says.
“I’d love to. If you’re not too busy blooming people,” I say.
“Well … After you talked to my dad last night, I guess it reminded him of what kids need. He spoke to my mom in his dream, and they both decided they aren’t quite ready for me to grow up just yet.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means my dad is going to train someone else to handle the blooming while he remains focused on everything else. It means I’m going back to school,” she says with a burst of joy in her voice.
“So, we can hang out on the weekends?” I say, matching her level of joy.
“Yeah. That’s exactly what it means. But before you go … I’m going to need my bike back,” she says.
“It’s in the garage. Thanks for letting me borrow it,” I say, and lead her to the garage.
But as we enter it and head toward where I left it—it’s gone.
“Where is it?” she asks.
“I … left it right here,” I say, and approach the spot.
Instead of her bike, there’s a Post-it note from my dad. It reads Her bike is in the Jeep. We’re waiting outside.
Niimi follows me outside. Wendy and my dad are waiting for us in the Jeep. “We’ll drop you off at home, but we got to make a quick stop first,” my dad says to Niimi.
“Out,” he shouts, and all three dogs leap out the back seat and take to the field.
Niimi and I climb inside the back of the Jeep. I smile when I realize it is Wendy who is behind the wheel.
“Buckle up, buckaroos,” Wendy says.
We drive down the road and enter the familiar highway. The wind whips my hair as I stare out toward Lake Superior. I feel happy. I slide my hand into Niimi’s hand, and together we both move our fingers across each other’s skin like we are massaging a baby bird.
We aren’t heading to Niimi’s house or the bus station, and instead we pull into the parking lot of Wendy’s bookstore.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“We’re dropping Wendy off, and there’s something I need to grab,” my dad says, and he exits the Jeep.
Wendy gets out and heads toward the front door of her bookshop. Niimi and I hop out to join them. “Back to the scene of the crime,” Niimi says as we enter.
And the boring bookstore I dreaded being in when I arrived in Grand Portage now has a totally different feel to it. Maybe Benny the Thief didn’t like books, but that doesn’t mean Benny the Bear doesn’t. Who knows, maybe I’ll see what all the fuss is about. I’ve never actually read a book before; in school I read only the beginnings and ends. And the way Niimi twirls and sniffs the books tells me that there must be something to love about places like this.
My dad and Wendy head to the back, leaving Niimi and me alone.
“I remember how miserable you were in this place,” she says to me.
“Yeah. You ruined that for me,” I say.
“Ruined it? How so?”
“I can never be miserable in a bookstore again. Because it was in a bookstore where we first met,” I say.
“But I don’t want you to just not be miserable in a bookstore; I want you to love bookstores,” she says as she approaches me and runs her finger along the spines of the books near us.
“How would you make me love bookstores?” I ask, noticing I’m getting more nervous the closer she gets to me.
“Well … the only thing better than having this place be where we first met is for it to be the place where we had our first kiss,” she says.
My heart immediately beats faster. My palms sweat. Did she really just say that? My knees feel weak. And my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
“I do think that would make me love bookstores,” I say, tripping over my words.
She takes a deep breath and reaches a hand to her mask. “Close your eyes,” she says.
I close them. Is she removing her mask? I honestly forgot she was even wearing one. I don’t care what she looks like. I just want to—
“Okay, open them,” she says.
I slowly open my eyes. I see her feet. Red Chucks. My eyes rise a bit higher. Denim jeans slightly faded. One of those belts that look like a seat belt. Cute. Her hips peek out from under her shirt. It’s a black shirt. Long sleeves. My eyes rise even higher. I swallow. I’m so nervous. I see her neck. It’s thin, reminds me of a bird, I don’t know why. Black hair. Long. Two braids. I see her chin. A freckle. I see her mouth. She’s smiling. Lips are shining. Red. As always. White teeth. So white. A little crooked, but in a good way. She has dimples. I don’t know how to kiss. I see her nose. I see her eyes. Large. Round. Brown. Wild. My heart’s beating so fast. I see her entire face. And even though most of her face has been hidden since we’ve met, she looks exactly as I imagined. Mask or no mask. I can’t pull my eyes off her. She is dancing, there is lightning.
