Becoming the Story (14 page)

“Aliens scare me. I try not to think about
them. But it is
so
very nice out here.” Roxanne inhaled. “I
love spring.”

“Look,” Mila pointed at the sky. “The sun
has just enough cloud over it so you can stare at it and not hurt
your eyes.” The ball bounced over to Mila. She bent down and picked
it up. “The things I love most in the whole universe are spheres, I
think, the sun, the moon. Donut holes.” Mila examined the ball.
“Wish I could feel the same way about kickballs.”

Matt ran up to Mila, his face red, and
snatched the ball from her. “Are you an idiot? We could have had an
out!
When I
told
you to get the ball, I meant for you
to use it, throw it to someone.
Tag
someone.”

“Funny,” Mila said to Roxanne. “I can see
his mouth moving, but I can barely hear him. Can you?”

“Not at all,” Roxanne said.

Matt scowled at Mila, shook his head
vigorously, and then shuffled off.

“Okay, Mila, enough is enough.
Tell
me. Tell me who to choose, and tell me now. I need to know, or I
will die here, and this dandelion patch will be my grave.”

“I already told you. Choose
personality
over appearance. From what you have told me,
that means Jeff.”

Roxanne was silent for a long moment. “I get
it,” she said softly. “Thanks.” Her face brightened. “Oh Mila,
thank you
so
much. You are the best friend ever.” She gave
Mila a hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. “You helped me. I love
you. You helped me decide. I love you, I love you, I love you!”

Drawing back in surprise, Mila smiled. “May
you and Jeff be very happy together. Am I invited to the
wedding?”

“Oh no.” Roxanne pulled away in surprise.
“No, no, no. Not Jeff.” She smiled dreamily. “Shane.”

“Huh?”

“It was
amazing
. As soon as you said
‘Jeff,’ I had this flash, and I knew I was
meant
to be with
Shane.”

“Roxy, are you insane? Why even ask me for
advice if you are just going to do the opposite?”

Roxanne shrugged happily. “Like you said,
Mila, freedom is a parachute.”

“
Paradox
, Roxy. The word is
paradox.”

“Whatever.” Roxanne shrugged. “I feel
so
much better now. So light. I bet if a big wind came right
now I could just…float away.” She shielded her eyes with her hand
and stared across the field. “You know, I kind of envy them, the
other team, right now.”

“Really? Why?”

“Mila, if I tell you something, will you
promise? Promise, promise,
promise
not to be mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because of what I am about to say.”

“Roxy, how can I know, unless you say
it?”

“Okay. Here goes. Mila, I
like
playing kickball. Sometimes.”

Mila was silent.

“Maybe the game is stupid,” Roxanne went on,
“and maybe Matt is too. And maybe we have to be here. But part of
me wants to catch the ball and have everyone love me for it. And
now that I made the most important decision of my
entire
life, I want to celebrate. I want to go kick the ball. For real
this time. As hard and as far as I can.”

At first Mila looked as stunned as someone
who had just been struck. Finally she sighed. “I knew.” Mila
pressed her fingers against one of her temples. “Oh God, I knew it,
I knew it, I knew it.” She shrugged. “Of
course
you want to
kick the ball.” She looked at Roxy. “You never even spoke to me
until a week ago when your life got hard. What are you doing out
here anyway, with me and all these dandelions? Anyone can see. You
are the sort of person meant to kick the ball, not just think about
it. I was being selfish. I am a bad friend.”

Roxanne said, “All I am saying is, maybe
there is more to life than being an outfielder. Could you ever
learn? To like the game? The wind in your face when you run?
Everyone loving you because you made a home run? The cheers? I bet
you could be good. And I know everyone would love you if you smiled
more. And stopped using big words.”

“Roxy, if
you
want to start catching
the ball, you can. But I like myself the way I am. I
tried
it, what you said, I used to try. I tried so hard to be good at the
game. I always ran past the bases, I did it every time. If there
was even a
flower
in the way, I would trip over it. I could
kick the ball halfway across the world and still get tagged. I am
telling you: I am
bad
at this game, Roxy. But what I
am
good at is thinking about it. I look in from the outside.
I see things others miss.”

Roxanne studied Mila. “Well maybe people on
the inside see things
you
miss.”

“Wow, Roxy,” Mila looked at Roxanne in
pleased surprise. “Am I rubbing off on you? You said something
insightful. I have to say, there is hope for you.” She turned her
head away. “Even though what you said has
nothing
to do with
me
at all.”

Roxanne was quiet, and so was Mila. “I like
being alone, you know,” Mila said. “I was alone before, and I can
be alone again. My choice. If you want to catch the ball, you can.
Or kick a home run even. You are who you are. And I am who I
am.”

Roxanne looked seriously at Mila. “Who are
you?”

Mila was silent for a long moment. “An
outfielder, Roxy. Always an outfielder. I was born an outfielder,
and when I die, someone will have to bury me in the outfield, and
if I go to heaven, I will live in the outfield there too. I will be
an outfielder until the end of time.”

Roxanne was silent for a long time. “Then I
will be too,” she said. “For now. You said I had an insight. I
caught a lot of balls in my life, but no one has ever told me I had
an insight before. I like this, standing here, in the dandelion
patch, talking to you and watching the ball go by. This feeling,
right here, I like it.” Roxy stared at the sky. “It is all so very
nice.”

“Roxy, never change who you are, not for me,
not for anyone.”

“Nothing to change. Maybe I
will
start back catching the ball. Someday. But not now. These talks,
they make my life less hard than it used to be. Hey, look, our team
lost. The teacher is waving at us. Come on.” Roxanne grabbed Mila
by the hand. “I bet Shane is changing classes.”

“Maybe,” Mila sighed. “But I still think you
should go with Jeff. Or no one. Have you ever thought of no
one?”

“Mila, you are
so
funny.” Roxanne let
go of Mila, took a deep breath and stretched. “I feel so
amazing.
I just made the hardest decision of my life, thanks
to you. Nothing I ever have to deal with my whole life will be
any
harder.”

“Glad I could, um, help.”

“Here, Mila, take this.” Roxanne presented
an object to Mila, who looked down in confusion. “Please.
Seriously. I want you to have it.”

“A dandelion with a chewed off-stem? Oh
Roxy, you are such an angel, but I just couldn’t.”

“No, really, take it. My thank-you for
making my life less hard.” Roxanne took a deep breath and stretched
her arms toward the sky. “Ah, feels great to be alive. What a
wonderful, beautiful day.”

Actually, I was wondering.” Mila took the
dandelion. “Do you have a few dollars I can borrow? I gave all my
lunch money to Mark.”

“No money,” Roxanne said. “But I brought my
lunch. You can have one of my pickles.”

Mila frowned. “Just one?”

Roxanne smiled proudly. “Any one you
want.”

“Never mind.” Mila sighed. “I guess being
hungry is worth our moral victory. I am going to be stoic about it.
Today, it was all worth it. Productive, too. The reason so few
problems get solved is that everyone is too busy
doing
things
.
Imagine what we could accomplish in a world where
more people refused to catch balls and spent all that time
thinking. I bet we could solve world hunger. Or colonize deep
space. Hey Roxy, by not catching balls, we could start a
revolution
.”

“Really?” Roxy broke into a grin of delight.
“And be in history books?”

“I bet we could. Hey, I know. The
Dandelion
Revolution. What do you think?”

“The Dandelion Revolution. I think I like
it! Will kids have to memorize my name? I hate memorizing, but I
think I would
like
being memorized.”

“I tell you, Roxy, we are going to be famous
one day as the first ones to say
no
to catching the ball. We
should write a
manifesto
.”

“A manifesto? Great idea! You can do the
writing and I can draw the pictures!”

“Pictures?”

“I know how to draw a dog and a flower. Oh
Mila
, I am so, so excited. I am going to have so many
insights! I bet I can impress Shane and he will stop saying I have
putty for brains.” Crossing the field with Mila, Roxanne sighed
dramatically. “You know, today was the
funnest
time I ever
had playing kickball.”

“More fun ahead, Roxy. From now on we are
going to
change
how kickball is played. We are going to make
our own rules and play by them. We are going to
avoid
the
ball and say deep things about it, and we are going to win.”

“Oh perfect,” Roxanne said. “There is
nothing
I like better than winning.” Roxanne shook her head
admiringly. “You are so wise, Mila. So very wise.”

Mila stuck the dandelion into her front
jeans pocket. “I try,” she said. And smiled.

It begins in early childhood. A hesitation,
an impulse to hide from strangers. Ducking behind furniture when
company comes. Perhaps it is genetic, a survival trait, that long
ago may have protected the young from wild, hungry predators.

As the toddler grows, she learns a new word:
“shy.”

There is something in how the word is
uttered, an anxious or even scornful tone, that makes the child
flinch from it and want to deny it.

Teachers talk about “bringing her out of her
shell.” At first, she is happily surprised to hear this, since she
had not known she had a shell, and likes the idea. She loves
turtles, especially baby ones, and thinks it would be fun to carry
a house on her back.

But the mood does not last; parents and
other children urge, “You need to talk more.” The confused child
does what she is told; she forces herself fill the air with empty
words. The discomfort she feels with this, she is taught, is
something she must “overcome.”

She does not like to hear this. But that
word, “shy” – it fills her with shame and makes her feel
apologetic. Her thought is, “something is wrong with me, so I need
to hide, so no one will see it and make fun of me.”

She is told not only that she is shy; she is
told
 
why
 
she is shy: they say it is because she does not
like herself very much.

The words ring true; but she is very young,
and she does not stop to consider that she had liked herself fine
before people started telling her that she was shy, and that that
was a bad way to be.

Her quietness was at first nothing more than
that; a trait that was a little different. But now she is told that
the shame she feels was there all along and is the
 
reason
 
for
her problem.

She believes them, and she now feels
apologetic not only for being shy, but for having something called
a “low self-esteem.”

The kids everyone likes do not have that.
They talk a lot and everything they are feeling shows on their
face. The bad part is
 
she
 
likes
them too.

She tries to change, she tries to change,
she tries to change.

In her desperation to be liked, she ends up
alienating those whose approval she seeks. She does not know who
she is, and always feels as if she is reaching for something not
there.

With every effort to be normal, more
confusion follows. Others confuse her too; like the teacher who
ridicules her in front of classmates, and when she asks why, the
teacher says it is only to “bring her out.”

When she reaches junior high school, she
notices others, boys and girls. They sit in their desks, heads
lowered, keeping their arms tightly to their sides. She thinks she
knows how they feel, and makes a point to talk to them.

They are afraid to talk back, and she
understands this well; but they are also afraid to be quiet. They
stutter. They apologize. Then they apologize for apologizing.

The absurdity strikes her. Why should you
ever apologize for not talking, if there is nothing that you want
to say?

She thinks of all the big talkers she has
known. Many had nothing to say, and were grating. And there were
the bullies, who used their many words to hurt and humiliate; and
the liars. Was lying better than being quiet? Why should you have
to say aloud everything you were thinking?

In her epiphany, she rebels. She embraces
the word others have said with scorn and rejects the idea that she
should “overcome” anything. She now envisions her shyness in a
different way: as a shivering, misunderstood puppy seeking shelter
from the icy rain; from now on, she is determined to defend it. She
gives it a new name: Fido.

“C’mere, snuggy wuggy,” she thinks. “I’ll
protect you from the big, bad extroverts.”

The name Fido seems better, because it is
unclear what the word “shy” really means. Is it being quiet? Is it
thinking about what you say before you say it? Does it mean, as
many believe, hating yourself?

She decides that she will remain “shy;” To
reject the term would mean conceding that it is something bad. But
she will never hate herself. She will be shy, but she will not be
apologetically shy. She will invent a new kind.