Hummingbird, page 22
I sighed and smiled. “The very best stuff. But finding a magical bird is also big stuff! Tell me!”
He chuckled as he leaned back into the seat. “I was your age when I searched for it, along with a super smart, super competitive girl in my class named Elizabeth.”
“Hold up,” I said, reaching to take a sip of my water. “Like, Grandma Elizabeth?”
“Eventually,” he said. “But obviously I didn’t marry her when I was twelve. I didn’t even have a crush on her. If anything, I was mad that she was searching for the hummingbird, too. Because she was so good at everything. I knew she’d probably find it first.”
“I get that,” I said. “That’s how I felt when I knew Hatch was looking for it, too.”
“Long story shorter,” said Grandpa Goad, “we came upon the bird at the same time. It fluttered toward me, and all I could see was light. Light, and that little gold wish-bird hovering right in front of my face. And then the words came rising up inside me and they were nothing—absolutely nothing—like I expected: Fame can’t compare to the friend who walks beside you.”
“You were going to wish to be famous?” I asked.
“Mm-hmm,” he admitted. “A famous explorer. I wanted to see the world so badly. And I wanted to be known for it. But I changed and wished for a friend, instead. What’s weird is that, when the words came rising up inside my soul, I realized how much I cared for Elizabeth. She was so smart and funny and fun to be around. I’d started liking her even more, the longer we searched for that little thing. We were best friends until the day we got married. And then, we became even better friends than best. A true friend is better than any adventure.”
I pulled my unicorn close to my chest and hugged it tight. There was something I needed to say. Something I needed to get out of my heart. Birthday rules no longer applied, since I couldn’t go looking for the bird, anyway.
“Can I be super brutally honest with you?” I asked. “I was going to wish for my bones to be normal.”
He nodded.
“You’re not disappointed?” I asked.
“Why would I be?”
“Because I love you exactly the way you are,” I said, wiping a tear off my face. “And I know I should be happy the way I am. I am happy. Do you think God’s mad at me for wanting anything else? Do you think he’s teaching me a lesson?”
“No, no, no,” Grandpa said, reaching over to wipe the tears off my face. “God’s not like that, Olive. God loves you. If anybody ever tells you any different, they don’t know God at all.”
“Did you ever wish you didn’t have it, though—the bone stuff? I know that’s not what you were going to wish from the hummingbird. But did you ever think it?”
“Oh sure,” he said, like it was no big deal. “Probably lots of times. Sometimes I don’t care. It’s my disability, it’s one part of me, who cares? And other days, I have to think about it a lot. Or it hurts a lot. Or it just gets annoying. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, trying to wish away the painful parts. I think everybody does it. Does’t mean you don’t like yourself as you are, or you’re not grateful for your life.”
“I’d started imagining my life without candy bones,” I said. “Really believing it could happen. And I liked it.”
“What did you see that you liked?”
“I saw myself on a stage,” I said, blushing. “Not at school, but a big stage somewhere. Maybe on Broadway with Dylan. I saw myself writing screenplays. Maybe getting married someday when I’m old. Like, old, old.”
“Olive,” he said, propping his leg on his knee. “You can still do all that. Let me tell you a secret that changed my life—that has nothing to do with a wish-bird—there is this much you can’t do.”
Grandpa drew a teeny-tiny circle in the air.
“But there is this much,” he said, “that you can do.”
He stretched his arms out wide.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, kiddo: As you get older, your world will get bigger. And bigger. And you’ll realize, there’s way more that you can do than you can’t do. It just takes time for us to see it. Birds are born with wings. The rest of us have to find our wings as we go. And you will, Olive Miracle. You’ll find them, and you’ll fly.”
May first arrived two days later, right on schedule. Grace, who came over every afternoon while I did physical therapy, thought it would probably rain.
“Then the blue moon won’t be visible,” she said as she concentrated on picking off her green nail polish. She does that when she’s anxious. “And the hummingbird won’t come, but that’s okay. We’ll just watch the play together.”
I couldn’t tell if puzzling that thought out made her happy or sad or a little bit of both.
“It’s coming,” I said, “so do not forget your promise. You and Hatch have to go to the falls and find it.”
There was no rain on May first. The sky was a soft, springtime blue all through the day and afternoon. Hatch knocked on my door just as the day turned into gauzy-twilight.
He carried a backpack and a flashlight.
“Good luck,” I told him. And I really meant it, despite my sadness.
“You’re still going to the play, right?” Hatch asked. “You’ll be there after I find the bird?”
“Yep,” I said. “I’ll be in the front row with Miss Snow and Uncle Dash. Whole family is going. I can’t wait to hear your story. You will find it.”
Hatch chewed on his bottom lip and looked down at his shoes. “I know I will. I’m sorry you can’t come, too.”
“No big deal,” I said. This was a lie and we both knew it. This was the biggest deal of all. “Could you toss me that notebook on my desk before you leave?”
Hatch bounced into my room, retrieved the journal, and passed it to me. “Thank you,” he said. “For helping me find it. I’ll find you as soon as it’s over.”
I nodded and listened for the familiar sound of the screen door slapping shut. Felix squawked outside. One friend had left to find the bird.
I opened the book Mr. Watson, Miss Snow, and Ms. Pigeon had given me, a book they said was for my own poetry. Because I finally knew what I wanted to write. On an empty page, I pressed my pen to paper and poured out my heart:
Things that Break Easy:
Jelly Jars
and Tender Hearts
the bones beneath my skin.
Banjo strings
and window glass
(but sunlight still gets in).
Promises and cocoons do, too.
(The Butterfly still pushes through.)
The dark night breaks,
revealing day.
Some breaks remain,
some mend and heal,
some help us fly away.
And some help us find our way, I realized.
This journey wasn’t ending the way I’d hoped. But it was ending with two friends I never saw coming. And that was a pretty big miracle, too.
“I’m wearing the sparkly Macklemore jacket,” I said to Mama when she walked in the room to help me get dressed. “It’s exhausting, trying not to shine.”
“That’s my girl,” she said with a wink.
My whole family, even Grandpa Goad, crowded into the van with me. Uncle Dash had modified the family van to actually have a wheelchair lift, which was way easier than transferring back and forth with a broken leg. Main Street was thick with crowds, people holding flashlights and binoculars. String lights dotted the trees, and waiters pushed pie carts along the sidewalks.
“Happy May Day!” Pastor Mitra was shouting to passing cars from in front of the church. She was handing out red balloons for free. “Good luck finding the hummingbird!”
Grandpa Goad looped an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t forget,” he said. “There’s a whole big world out there for you.”
“I won’t forget,” I promised him.
When the van circled into the Macklemore parking lot, I saw Grace Cho standing on the sidewalk. She had a backpack over her shoulders, too. She was going for the bird just like she promised.
We did our secret handshake. Then she leaned over and gave me a gentle hug.
“Don’t make this weird and sad,” I told her. “Just go get it. I can’t wait to hear the story!”
“And be careful out there,” Mama said from behind me. “I don’t know about all these kids running through the woods.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” said Coach Malone. “The town is treating it like Halloween. Cops all over the woods to make sure kids are safe. Earlier the Ragged Apple Cafe cart was even selling little golden, fake-freckle tattoos you can put on your face. Pretend the hummingbird granted your wish.”
“One of you won’t have to pretend,” I said to Grace.
“BlumeBirds forever,” she told me. And then she spun around and scampered off into the woods. I watched until the light of her flashlight was as tiny as a firefly-tail. Just like that, my friends were off to find the hummingbird. I pressed my hand over my broken heart and said a little prayer that this would be the most magical night of their lives. I was genuinely hopeful for them both.
Which is why I didn’t pay much attention to how hard the trees were trembling.
Or how loudly the birds were singing.
Change was on the wind.
We weren’t even to the auditorium entrance when Mrs. Matheson came running toward me. “Thank goodness you’re here, Olive! Thank goodness! I need you in the play! Any chance that can happen?”
“Alas,” I said, waving my hands around my kicked-out leg, “this bird can’t fly tonight.”
“I don’t need you to be a bird,” she said, her voice hovering on the edge of a frantic scream. “I need you to be Emily.”
My mouth fell open. “Do what?”
“First Maddie has mono!” She said this as if it was an actual national emergency. “Nobody else knows the part! I hoped the other Maddies might know the lines. But shocker, they do not.”
She rolled her eyes and growled a little. “Grace Cho built a ramp onto the main stage last week, so you can get up there, if it’s okay with your parents.” Finally, she looked up at Mama and Jupiter. “Emily’s onstage the whole time. She wouldn’t have to move. Just say the part.”
Mama leaned down. “Olive, if you want to do the part, Jupiter or I could push you up there. As long as you’re not zooming around, I think it’s fine. You decide.”
“Seriously?” I looked up at her. “I thought you would never let me do anything ever, ever again, including going back to Macklemore. I wasn’t careful. I broke my leg!”
“You were very careful,” said Jupiter. “You always are. It’s biology and it stinks sometimes. Want to do the play? It’s your choice.”
“If you don’t do it, I’m canceling,” said Mrs. Matheson. “There’s no way around it.”
I glanced over at Grandpa Goad, who smiled at me. “A whole big world,” he said softly. He was so right: There’s a whole big world for me, and maybe it starts right here.
Being Emily Dickinson in the school play had been my dream for weeks now. But I hadn’t imagined being Emily like this: broken, in my chair with my leg kicked out, very obviously not sporting a golden freckle on my face courtesy of the hummingbird. I didn’t want people to see me as weak. They definitely would, if I went up there like this.
“Hey.” Grandpa Goad leaned down. “Don’t do it if you don’t wanna. But don’t skip it just because you’re afraid. Why not try?”
A new and shimmering kind of joy was already stretching its wings inside me. I pressed my hands against my chest so I could feel my heart, so I could remember this moment was real.
“Okay,” I said, my voice full of a confidence I didn’t even recognize. “I’ll do it. I’ll be Emily.”
Mrs. Matheson let out a very dramatic gasp-sigh and ran back in the auditorium.
“Are you okay with not moving around much?” Mama asked, pushing me inside.
“Fine with it,” I said, smiling up at her. “I’ve got my voice. That’s all I need.”
Dylan helped me fasten the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen to the back of my wheelchair.
“Grace made them today,” he said. “Just in case First Maddie didn’t show up. These are a little bit personalized.”
From far away, the wings looked gauzy-white with squiggle patterns. But up close, those patterns were very detailed: butterflies with daggers and books, tiny hearts, and little pieces of pizza.
“Want any stage makeup?” Dylan asked as he finished donning his bird gear. “Emily’s look is subtle, but we could do something special if you want—”
“Glitter?” I asked. “Just a little?”
“Always glitter,” he said. He painted a subtle, starry sheen of golden sparkles on my cheekbones, then his. The theater became a chorus of voices as people took their seats. Melba was tuning her banjo. Ransom tested the spotlight.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Dylan said in a whisper. “When you’re nervous about something, that means it matters. That’s a good thing.”
“Thank you,” I whispered back. My voice was a little shaky.
I heard a last rumble from the crowd before the room went silent. The lights blinked backstage.
“Here we go,” Dylan said, taking my hands in his. He squeezed them very gently. “I got your back up there, Emily. If you forget your lines, or need anything, I’m your bird. Let me know.”
I nodded. I was too excited to actually even speak. Jupiter pushed me from the backstage area up the new ramp Grace had constructed that day. From there, he pushed me out to center stage.
“Good luck, my shining star,” he whispered before he darted backstage again.
The curtain rose. My breath caught.
Even though the room was dark, I could see the outlines of so many people. The room was full. And I’d never felt more vulnerable in my life. My big plan had been to walk out here, to be in a play like a normal person.
Whatever normal meant.
Normal is overrated, is what Grandpa Goad says. In that moment, I understood what he meant. Because there was nowhere else I wanted to be besides exactly where I was.
“Ready?” Mrs. Matheson whispered from the edge of the stage. “When the light shines on you, go.”
I took a deep breath to steady my soul. I closed my eyes as Olive.
Then the spotlight flickered on.
And I opened my eyes center stage, alone in the light, as Emily Dickinson.
On the first line, my nerves made my words rattle, just a little. But I steadied my breathing, like Jupiter had taught me, and eased into the scene. The longer I talked, the more I forgot about everybody else in the room. Everybody except my birds.
Dylan had people actually sniffling in the audience as the Bird of Sorrow. Madeline, who was just thrilled to be upgraded from a tree, was definitely in character for the Bird of Joy. Sets changed around me. Lights dimmed, then shone again.
Just before the final act, Dylan slipped up behind me and stuck the finale wings on the back of my wheelchair. They were enormous, tip-to-tip, glittery gold on the edges. I angled my chair just barely, in just the way I knew they would catch the light and make people gasp. I wanted to show off what Grace had done.
And I wanted to show what I could do. My moment had come, and it was nothing like I expected. It was better.
“Hope,” I said out into the darkness, out into the ears of every person listening. “Is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul. Sometimes when you find your words, you find your wings.”
The lights dimmed a final time. The room fell so quiet I could hear my breaths.
I wondered: Had I done okay? Had I forgotten anything? Had Hatch or Grace found the hummingbird?!
The lights came on for the curtain call, and the rest of the Macklemore players gathered all around me. The applause was louder than a river rushing. It was a roar of its own, and I knew I would never experience anything else like it.
On either side of me, my friends took a deep bow. I couldn’t do that, but I nodded my head, then looked up—up to where my parents, uncle, and grandpa were watching me, cheering. Up to the balcony, where people applauded and waved. And higher up than that, to the tip-top of the auditorium where pink flowers bloomed wild on the roof.
“Well?” asked Dylan. “What’d you think?”
“I was terrified,” I said. “And I loved it.”
And then, it happened.
A feeling like fire roared up through my bones, my heart, my vocal cords. Words formed on my tongue as proud and strong as any truth I’d ever spoken.
“My bones are fragile,” I said. “But I am not.”
“What?” said Dylan. His voice sounded muffled, and far away. The room faded, darkening all around me, all except for Ransom’s spotlight. Suddenly, it was as if everybody had disappeared from Foster Auditorium except me. The noise lowered to a gentle hum. And the spotlight shrank to a tiny pinpoint far away from me. Shiny as a fallen star, smaller than a baby’s fist.
In the light, I could barely make out the blur of tiny, fluttering wings.
The hummingbird was there. And it had come for me.
What if fairy tales are all
half-truths?
What if there’s room for every princess to dance?
What if the girl in the ball gown
is rotten at the core,
but the witch in the woods,
leads a most enchanted life?
What if
the poisoned apple is safe once it’s baked in a pie?
What if the story you think you know
doesn’t end the way you think it does?
Living in the woods has taught me there are different kinds of darkness. There’s a dark room, for example, where the light goes out but you still feel hemmed in and safe. And then there’s a dark forest, when the absence of light makes it all seem so much bigger.
That’s how I felt in the auditorium with the bird, like I was part of a hidden world so much bigger, with so much more in it, than I’d ever realized. The hummingbird had come to the place where fear and wonder both collided for me. Maybe everybody’s fearful place is different. And maybe wherever we’re afraid, wonder still finds us. I know it found me. The blue moon shone through the tall windows in the auditorium.
He chuckled as he leaned back into the seat. “I was your age when I searched for it, along with a super smart, super competitive girl in my class named Elizabeth.”
“Hold up,” I said, reaching to take a sip of my water. “Like, Grandma Elizabeth?”
“Eventually,” he said. “But obviously I didn’t marry her when I was twelve. I didn’t even have a crush on her. If anything, I was mad that she was searching for the hummingbird, too. Because she was so good at everything. I knew she’d probably find it first.”
“I get that,” I said. “That’s how I felt when I knew Hatch was looking for it, too.”
“Long story shorter,” said Grandpa Goad, “we came upon the bird at the same time. It fluttered toward me, and all I could see was light. Light, and that little gold wish-bird hovering right in front of my face. And then the words came rising up inside me and they were nothing—absolutely nothing—like I expected: Fame can’t compare to the friend who walks beside you.”
“You were going to wish to be famous?” I asked.
“Mm-hmm,” he admitted. “A famous explorer. I wanted to see the world so badly. And I wanted to be known for it. But I changed and wished for a friend, instead. What’s weird is that, when the words came rising up inside my soul, I realized how much I cared for Elizabeth. She was so smart and funny and fun to be around. I’d started liking her even more, the longer we searched for that little thing. We were best friends until the day we got married. And then, we became even better friends than best. A true friend is better than any adventure.”
I pulled my unicorn close to my chest and hugged it tight. There was something I needed to say. Something I needed to get out of my heart. Birthday rules no longer applied, since I couldn’t go looking for the bird, anyway.
“Can I be super brutally honest with you?” I asked. “I was going to wish for my bones to be normal.”
He nodded.
“You’re not disappointed?” I asked.
“Why would I be?”
“Because I love you exactly the way you are,” I said, wiping a tear off my face. “And I know I should be happy the way I am. I am happy. Do you think God’s mad at me for wanting anything else? Do you think he’s teaching me a lesson?”
“No, no, no,” Grandpa said, reaching over to wipe the tears off my face. “God’s not like that, Olive. God loves you. If anybody ever tells you any different, they don’t know God at all.”
“Did you ever wish you didn’t have it, though—the bone stuff? I know that’s not what you were going to wish from the hummingbird. But did you ever think it?”
“Oh sure,” he said, like it was no big deal. “Probably lots of times. Sometimes I don’t care. It’s my disability, it’s one part of me, who cares? And other days, I have to think about it a lot. Or it hurts a lot. Or it just gets annoying. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, trying to wish away the painful parts. I think everybody does it. Does’t mean you don’t like yourself as you are, or you’re not grateful for your life.”
“I’d started imagining my life without candy bones,” I said. “Really believing it could happen. And I liked it.”
“What did you see that you liked?”
“I saw myself on a stage,” I said, blushing. “Not at school, but a big stage somewhere. Maybe on Broadway with Dylan. I saw myself writing screenplays. Maybe getting married someday when I’m old. Like, old, old.”
“Olive,” he said, propping his leg on his knee. “You can still do all that. Let me tell you a secret that changed my life—that has nothing to do with a wish-bird—there is this much you can’t do.”
Grandpa drew a teeny-tiny circle in the air.
“But there is this much,” he said, “that you can do.”
He stretched his arms out wide.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, kiddo: As you get older, your world will get bigger. And bigger. And you’ll realize, there’s way more that you can do than you can’t do. It just takes time for us to see it. Birds are born with wings. The rest of us have to find our wings as we go. And you will, Olive Miracle. You’ll find them, and you’ll fly.”
May first arrived two days later, right on schedule. Grace, who came over every afternoon while I did physical therapy, thought it would probably rain.
“Then the blue moon won’t be visible,” she said as she concentrated on picking off her green nail polish. She does that when she’s anxious. “And the hummingbird won’t come, but that’s okay. We’ll just watch the play together.”
I couldn’t tell if puzzling that thought out made her happy or sad or a little bit of both.
“It’s coming,” I said, “so do not forget your promise. You and Hatch have to go to the falls and find it.”
There was no rain on May first. The sky was a soft, springtime blue all through the day and afternoon. Hatch knocked on my door just as the day turned into gauzy-twilight.
He carried a backpack and a flashlight.
“Good luck,” I told him. And I really meant it, despite my sadness.
“You’re still going to the play, right?” Hatch asked. “You’ll be there after I find the bird?”
“Yep,” I said. “I’ll be in the front row with Miss Snow and Uncle Dash. Whole family is going. I can’t wait to hear your story. You will find it.”
Hatch chewed on his bottom lip and looked down at his shoes. “I know I will. I’m sorry you can’t come, too.”
“No big deal,” I said. This was a lie and we both knew it. This was the biggest deal of all. “Could you toss me that notebook on my desk before you leave?”
Hatch bounced into my room, retrieved the journal, and passed it to me. “Thank you,” he said. “For helping me find it. I’ll find you as soon as it’s over.”
I nodded and listened for the familiar sound of the screen door slapping shut. Felix squawked outside. One friend had left to find the bird.
I opened the book Mr. Watson, Miss Snow, and Ms. Pigeon had given me, a book they said was for my own poetry. Because I finally knew what I wanted to write. On an empty page, I pressed my pen to paper and poured out my heart:
Things that Break Easy:
Jelly Jars
and Tender Hearts
the bones beneath my skin.
Banjo strings
and window glass
(but sunlight still gets in).
Promises and cocoons do, too.
(The Butterfly still pushes through.)
The dark night breaks,
revealing day.
Some breaks remain,
some mend and heal,
some help us fly away.
And some help us find our way, I realized.
This journey wasn’t ending the way I’d hoped. But it was ending with two friends I never saw coming. And that was a pretty big miracle, too.
“I’m wearing the sparkly Macklemore jacket,” I said to Mama when she walked in the room to help me get dressed. “It’s exhausting, trying not to shine.”
“That’s my girl,” she said with a wink.
My whole family, even Grandpa Goad, crowded into the van with me. Uncle Dash had modified the family van to actually have a wheelchair lift, which was way easier than transferring back and forth with a broken leg. Main Street was thick with crowds, people holding flashlights and binoculars. String lights dotted the trees, and waiters pushed pie carts along the sidewalks.
“Happy May Day!” Pastor Mitra was shouting to passing cars from in front of the church. She was handing out red balloons for free. “Good luck finding the hummingbird!”
Grandpa Goad looped an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t forget,” he said. “There’s a whole big world out there for you.”
“I won’t forget,” I promised him.
When the van circled into the Macklemore parking lot, I saw Grace Cho standing on the sidewalk. She had a backpack over her shoulders, too. She was going for the bird just like she promised.
We did our secret handshake. Then she leaned over and gave me a gentle hug.
“Don’t make this weird and sad,” I told her. “Just go get it. I can’t wait to hear the story!”
“And be careful out there,” Mama said from behind me. “I don’t know about all these kids running through the woods.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” said Coach Malone. “The town is treating it like Halloween. Cops all over the woods to make sure kids are safe. Earlier the Ragged Apple Cafe cart was even selling little golden, fake-freckle tattoos you can put on your face. Pretend the hummingbird granted your wish.”
“One of you won’t have to pretend,” I said to Grace.
“BlumeBirds forever,” she told me. And then she spun around and scampered off into the woods. I watched until the light of her flashlight was as tiny as a firefly-tail. Just like that, my friends were off to find the hummingbird. I pressed my hand over my broken heart and said a little prayer that this would be the most magical night of their lives. I was genuinely hopeful for them both.
Which is why I didn’t pay much attention to how hard the trees were trembling.
Or how loudly the birds were singing.
Change was on the wind.
We weren’t even to the auditorium entrance when Mrs. Matheson came running toward me. “Thank goodness you’re here, Olive! Thank goodness! I need you in the play! Any chance that can happen?”
“Alas,” I said, waving my hands around my kicked-out leg, “this bird can’t fly tonight.”
“I don’t need you to be a bird,” she said, her voice hovering on the edge of a frantic scream. “I need you to be Emily.”
My mouth fell open. “Do what?”
“First Maddie has mono!” She said this as if it was an actual national emergency. “Nobody else knows the part! I hoped the other Maddies might know the lines. But shocker, they do not.”
She rolled her eyes and growled a little. “Grace Cho built a ramp onto the main stage last week, so you can get up there, if it’s okay with your parents.” Finally, she looked up at Mama and Jupiter. “Emily’s onstage the whole time. She wouldn’t have to move. Just say the part.”
Mama leaned down. “Olive, if you want to do the part, Jupiter or I could push you up there. As long as you’re not zooming around, I think it’s fine. You decide.”
“Seriously?” I looked up at her. “I thought you would never let me do anything ever, ever again, including going back to Macklemore. I wasn’t careful. I broke my leg!”
“You were very careful,” said Jupiter. “You always are. It’s biology and it stinks sometimes. Want to do the play? It’s your choice.”
“If you don’t do it, I’m canceling,” said Mrs. Matheson. “There’s no way around it.”
I glanced over at Grandpa Goad, who smiled at me. “A whole big world,” he said softly. He was so right: There’s a whole big world for me, and maybe it starts right here.
Being Emily Dickinson in the school play had been my dream for weeks now. But I hadn’t imagined being Emily like this: broken, in my chair with my leg kicked out, very obviously not sporting a golden freckle on my face courtesy of the hummingbird. I didn’t want people to see me as weak. They definitely would, if I went up there like this.
“Hey.” Grandpa Goad leaned down. “Don’t do it if you don’t wanna. But don’t skip it just because you’re afraid. Why not try?”
A new and shimmering kind of joy was already stretching its wings inside me. I pressed my hands against my chest so I could feel my heart, so I could remember this moment was real.
“Okay,” I said, my voice full of a confidence I didn’t even recognize. “I’ll do it. I’ll be Emily.”
Mrs. Matheson let out a very dramatic gasp-sigh and ran back in the auditorium.
“Are you okay with not moving around much?” Mama asked, pushing me inside.
“Fine with it,” I said, smiling up at her. “I’ve got my voice. That’s all I need.”
Dylan helped me fasten the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen to the back of my wheelchair.
“Grace made them today,” he said. “Just in case First Maddie didn’t show up. These are a little bit personalized.”
From far away, the wings looked gauzy-white with squiggle patterns. But up close, those patterns were very detailed: butterflies with daggers and books, tiny hearts, and little pieces of pizza.
“Want any stage makeup?” Dylan asked as he finished donning his bird gear. “Emily’s look is subtle, but we could do something special if you want—”
“Glitter?” I asked. “Just a little?”
“Always glitter,” he said. He painted a subtle, starry sheen of golden sparkles on my cheekbones, then his. The theater became a chorus of voices as people took their seats. Melba was tuning her banjo. Ransom tested the spotlight.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Dylan said in a whisper. “When you’re nervous about something, that means it matters. That’s a good thing.”
“Thank you,” I whispered back. My voice was a little shaky.
I heard a last rumble from the crowd before the room went silent. The lights blinked backstage.
“Here we go,” Dylan said, taking my hands in his. He squeezed them very gently. “I got your back up there, Emily. If you forget your lines, or need anything, I’m your bird. Let me know.”
I nodded. I was too excited to actually even speak. Jupiter pushed me from the backstage area up the new ramp Grace had constructed that day. From there, he pushed me out to center stage.
“Good luck, my shining star,” he whispered before he darted backstage again.
The curtain rose. My breath caught.
Even though the room was dark, I could see the outlines of so many people. The room was full. And I’d never felt more vulnerable in my life. My big plan had been to walk out here, to be in a play like a normal person.
Whatever normal meant.
Normal is overrated, is what Grandpa Goad says. In that moment, I understood what he meant. Because there was nowhere else I wanted to be besides exactly where I was.
“Ready?” Mrs. Matheson whispered from the edge of the stage. “When the light shines on you, go.”
I took a deep breath to steady my soul. I closed my eyes as Olive.
Then the spotlight flickered on.
And I opened my eyes center stage, alone in the light, as Emily Dickinson.
On the first line, my nerves made my words rattle, just a little. But I steadied my breathing, like Jupiter had taught me, and eased into the scene. The longer I talked, the more I forgot about everybody else in the room. Everybody except my birds.
Dylan had people actually sniffling in the audience as the Bird of Sorrow. Madeline, who was just thrilled to be upgraded from a tree, was definitely in character for the Bird of Joy. Sets changed around me. Lights dimmed, then shone again.
Just before the final act, Dylan slipped up behind me and stuck the finale wings on the back of my wheelchair. They were enormous, tip-to-tip, glittery gold on the edges. I angled my chair just barely, in just the way I knew they would catch the light and make people gasp. I wanted to show off what Grace had done.
And I wanted to show what I could do. My moment had come, and it was nothing like I expected. It was better.
“Hope,” I said out into the darkness, out into the ears of every person listening. “Is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul. Sometimes when you find your words, you find your wings.”
The lights dimmed a final time. The room fell so quiet I could hear my breaths.
I wondered: Had I done okay? Had I forgotten anything? Had Hatch or Grace found the hummingbird?!
The lights came on for the curtain call, and the rest of the Macklemore players gathered all around me. The applause was louder than a river rushing. It was a roar of its own, and I knew I would never experience anything else like it.
On either side of me, my friends took a deep bow. I couldn’t do that, but I nodded my head, then looked up—up to where my parents, uncle, and grandpa were watching me, cheering. Up to the balcony, where people applauded and waved. And higher up than that, to the tip-top of the auditorium where pink flowers bloomed wild on the roof.
“Well?” asked Dylan. “What’d you think?”
“I was terrified,” I said. “And I loved it.”
And then, it happened.
A feeling like fire roared up through my bones, my heart, my vocal cords. Words formed on my tongue as proud and strong as any truth I’d ever spoken.
“My bones are fragile,” I said. “But I am not.”
“What?” said Dylan. His voice sounded muffled, and far away. The room faded, darkening all around me, all except for Ransom’s spotlight. Suddenly, it was as if everybody had disappeared from Foster Auditorium except me. The noise lowered to a gentle hum. And the spotlight shrank to a tiny pinpoint far away from me. Shiny as a fallen star, smaller than a baby’s fist.
In the light, I could barely make out the blur of tiny, fluttering wings.
The hummingbird was there. And it had come for me.
What if fairy tales are all
half-truths?
What if there’s room for every princess to dance?
What if the girl in the ball gown
is rotten at the core,
but the witch in the woods,
leads a most enchanted life?
What if
the poisoned apple is safe once it’s baked in a pie?
What if the story you think you know
doesn’t end the way you think it does?
Living in the woods has taught me there are different kinds of darkness. There’s a dark room, for example, where the light goes out but you still feel hemmed in and safe. And then there’s a dark forest, when the absence of light makes it all seem so much bigger.
That’s how I felt in the auditorium with the bird, like I was part of a hidden world so much bigger, with so much more in it, than I’d ever realized. The hummingbird had come to the place where fear and wonder both collided for me. Maybe everybody’s fearful place is different. And maybe wherever we’re afraid, wonder still finds us. I know it found me. The blue moon shone through the tall windows in the auditorium.
