Ten (5 page)

“And I'm so glad you're my mom,” I told her, my chest swelling up like a balloon. I flung myself on her. “You're the best, most perfect mom in the whole world, and I'm
not
just saying that.”

She smiled. “How about this: I'm the perfect mom for
you
, and Theresa is the perfect mom for
Amanda
. How does that sound?”

I nodded, which meant
yes, yes, and yes
.

She eased me out of the hug. “In that case, I think we better get going. You and Sandra have school, you know.”

“Or we could stay home and watch movies all day,” I said.

She laughed. “Sorry, but no.”

“Or
you and I
could stay home and watch movies all day. We could drop Sandra off first and just not tell her. It would be mother-daughter bonding time.”

“Oh, would it? And what would Ty do?”

“Um . . . master the ancient art of Japanese flower arranging?”

“I don't think so.”

“Take a nap?”

She laughed again. “Get up, you goofy girl and go tell your brother and sister it's time to go. I'm just going to pop quickly into the bathroom.”

Of course she was going to pop quickly into the bathroom, because she popped quickly into the bathroom before we went
any
where. Because she was Mom.
My
mom. And it wouldn't be a quick pop, but a medium pop. Daughters knew these things about their mothers.

“Fine,” I said. “But don't stay in there forever, lady.”

I stood up, and I felt so light and happy that I dashed to the kitchen and slid in on my sock feet.

“I'm
baaaaack
!” I announced. “And it's time to go, so get up, you lazy bums!”

Ty giggled. I touched the tip of his nose and said,
“Beeeeep!”

Sandra, I ignored. Except not really, because how could I? I could sense her presence whether I wanted to or not.

“Sorry, Winnie,” she mumbled.

I allowed myself to look at her, and there she was: my big sister who was sometimes annoying, but more often funny. Who said it was okay to be weird. Who apologized on her own without waiting for Mom to make her.

Just like that, I liked her again, and in my head,
I
said sorry to her for wishing (even for a second) that she wasn't my sister.

“Good, because you should be,” I said. I went ahead and grinned. “And . . . apology accepted.”

M
Y MOM'S SISTER, Aunt Lucy, was my favorite aunt in the universe. Not because she was my
only
aunt, either. She was my favorite aunt not just in
my
universe, but in the entire universe of
all
aunts, everywhere.

Why?

I made a list:

The first reason was because she was pretty. “Pretty Aunt Lucy,” we called her, because that's what Sandra had called her when she was little. Sandra had been confused about who was coming to visit one Thanksgiving, never mind that we had just the one aunt Lucy, and she said to Mom, “You mean
pretty
Aunt Lucy? That one?”

Maybe the name wouldn't have stuck if Aunt Lucy had a zillion moles and each mole had a zillion hairs sticking out of it. Mrs. Lumpkin, who taught third grade, had a mole like that. It was on her cheek, and Amanda and I named it “Lumpy.” We didn't call it that out loud, though. We never ran up to Mrs. Lumpkin on the playground and waved at her mole, saying, “Hi there, Lumpy! How's life, Lumpy?”

But Aunt Lucy did not have a single mole that I knew of. She
did
have long, glossy, brown hair and a happy smile, and Amanda said she was really good at makeup. I wouldn't know. I wasn't a makeup kind of girl. But when Amanda met Aunt Lucy last Christmas, she pulled me aside and whispered, “Omigosh, is your aunt a model?”

“No,” I said.

“She could be,” Amanda said.

“Okay, but she's not.”

“But she
could
be. Omigosh, did you notice the silver sparkles on her eyelashes? I totally want to have sparkly eyelashes when I'm a grown-up!”

The second reason Aunt Lucy was my favorite aunt was that despite being a grown-up, she wasn't old and wrinkly and boring. She was young and not yet married, so she spoiled me, Sandra, and Ty rotten whenever she visited. She took us to the movies and bought us kids' packs with popcorn, candy, and Coke, and she didn't make us substitute a juice box. She didn't even lecture us about caffeine!

The third and last and
best
reason that Aunt Lucy was my favorite aunt was because she had a friend from college who lived in New York City! And her friend asked if Aunt Lucy would take care of her apartment while she was traveling for a job-thing, and Aunt Lucy said yes, and she invited Sandra and me to come and stay with her for an entire weekend!

IN NEW YORK CITY!
THE REAL NEW YORK CITY! AND MOM AND DAD SAID YES AND BOUGHT US PLANE TICKETS AND A DRESSY OUTFIT APIECE, IN CASE WE POSSIBLY ENDED UP GOING TO THE THEATER!!!

And now—it was incredible—here I was, zooming through the skies on my way to the Big Apple. Right now the other fourth graders at Trinity were singing “Kumbaya” in music class, but not me. I was too busy flying to New York with my sister for an entire long weekend!!!

Amanda wanted me to bring her an “I ♥ New York” shirt. Chantelle wanted me to get her a famous person's signature.

I said, “Like whose?” And she said, “Anybody's! Or wait, I know. Al Roker's, from the
Today
show!”

I didn't know who Al Roker was, or even what that show was, so Chantelle explained that it was a talk show her mom loved.

I said, “Okay, I'll try,” and my teacher jumped in and said that in that case, would I also get the autograph of another handsome man from that same show?

“Okay, I'll try,” I said again, but now I felt bad because I'd forgotten the second man's name. Oh, well. It probably wouldn't matter, because Mom said I probably wouldn't see either of the two handsome men. She gave an entire speech about it, explaining that yes, there were a lot of famous people in New York, but that Sandra and I needed to remember several things:

First, famous people were people just like us, only famous, and we shouldn't be overly starstruck.

Second, even though New York was full of famous people, we shouldn't expect them to pop up everywhere like Whac-A-Mole moles. (Actually, I added the “Whac-A-Mole” part.)

And third, she wouldn't mind having Al Roker's autograph herself, or the autograph of the man whose name I'd forgotten. She wasn't picky.

I hoped I did see someone famous, because what if I really did come home with famous people's signatures? What if I came home with ten or twenty or thirty famous people's signatures? Think how amazed everybody would be! From then on
I
would be famous, pretty much!

I got so excited that I had to fan myself with my ticket, and Sandra had to tell me to stop.

“Winnie, I mean it,” Sandra said, because it wasn't the first time she'd asked.
“Quit.”

“Sorry. Sorry!” I needed to remember to be nice to Sandra, because without her, I wouldn't be here. There was no way Mom would have let me fly on my own, even though I'd have been fine with it. Even though I
did
accidentally forget I had two quarters in my pocket, and when I went through security, the beeper went off and two security guards had to pull me aside and they scanned me with a special metal detector wand.

Sandra was mortified. I thought it was awesome. It's possible I would have found it less awesome if Sandra hadn't been with me, however.

Over the airplane's intercom, the flight attendant announced that we'd reached our cruising altitude and we could now use laptops or iPods if we wanted. Sandra didn't have an iPod, but she plugged her headphones into the jack on her armrest and slipped them over her ears.

I poked her and asked, “What are you listening to?”

She held one earpiece away from her head. “Huh?”

“What are you listening to?”

“Music. Shush.” She dropped the earpiece back in place and closed her eyes.

I stuck out my tongue. Then I poked her again.

“What?”
she said, her eyes flying open.

I waved. “Hi!”

“Hello, and now
good-bye
. Look out the window. Read your book. Do whatever you want, but let me take a nap.
Please
?”

Well, hmmph,
I thought. I couldn't believe we were on a plane and she wanted to nap. What was wrong with that girl?

I looked out the window. All I could see were clouds. No earth. Certainly no Atlanta, though I knew it was down there. It didn't disappear just because I wasn't there. It wasn't like playing peekaboo with Ty when he was a baby, when he thought I could make a yellow rubber ducky vanish entirely—as in, gone—just by hiding it from his sight.

Wouldn't it be weird if things
did
disappear the moment you stopped looking at them? If the world only existed when you were around to see and smell and touch and feel and taste it?

If that was the case, did that mean I didn't exist to Sandra, since her eyes were shut?

I poked her again. Her eyes flew open, and I smiled my cutest smile.
Why, look! It's me!!
I hoped my smile said.
Your darling sister!

“Winnie, you are driving me crazy,” she said through gritted teeth.

I patted her head and said, “You can go to sleep now. I won't bug you anymore.”

She didn't look convinced, but she once more closed her eyes.

As for me, I stayed true to my word. Yes, I was flying through the air with the great big world all around me, and yes, I felt tiny, but I also felt . . . mighty. The world wasn't going anywhere, and neither was I, because how could I? Here I was already.

 

We landed in New York at five o'clock. The airport was crowded and dirty, and Sandra made me hold her hand as we pushed a path through all the people. She said she didn't want to lose me, but I think she didn't want
me
to lose
her
. Yes, Sandra was my big sister, but guess what? Sometimes she needed me just as much as I needed her.

When we got to baggage claim, we were faced with a milling group of people wearing suits and brimmed caps, all of them holding up signs with people's names on them. One said “Mr. Yamasuto,” and another said “Continental World Explorers.”

“Who are these people?” I asked.

“Limo drivers,” Sandra told me.

“Whoa. Are we taking a limo?”

“I wouldn't count on it,” Sandra said.

I didn't mind. It was thrilling enough just to soak in how
different
everybody in New York was. All sorts of people lived in Atlanta, like white people and black people and Hispanic people and people who were Asian. But the two biggest groups were white people and black people, for sure.

Here, I couldn't pick out a “biggest” group. It was a total mix. I saw one man wearing a tall black hat and a long black coat, and along with a thick beard, he had long curls that hung down in front of his ears. Near him, I saw an Indian woman with a jewel in the middle of her forehead. She was wearing a silky dress that reached the floor, and her little girl was wearing one just like it. I saw Muslim women wearing head scarves and white people with dreadlocks. I saw three tall, gangly guys with dark skin, white teeth, and big smiles. One of them made a peace sign at me, and I grinned and made a peace sign back.

Then I spotted Pretty Aunt Lucy. Like the limo drivers, she was holding up a sign. It said, “The Perry Girls!” She'd decorated it with gold and silver star stickers.

“Aunt Lucy!” I called, waving like a maniac. Her eyes landed on us, and she rushed over and hugged us tight.

“You're here!” she exclaimed. “You're really here!”

“I know!” I cried.

“We're actually in
New York
,” Sandra said, and for once she wasn't being sarcastic. She was just as in awe as I was. “I can't believe it.”

“Well, let's get out of this smelly airport and get you two some dinner,” Aunt Lucy said. “You girls like pizza, right?”

We nodded.

“Great, because New York is famous for its pizza.” She took my travel suitcase and pulled it for me. Sandra and I followed her through the maze of sights and smells, including a poster of a hungry-looking baby with the words NO CHILD SHOULD GO WITHOUT.

Aunt Lucy caught me reading it and stopped so abruptly that I bonked into her.

“
Ack.
Sorry!” I said, but she said, “No, no. My fault. It's just . . . that billboard . . . I guess I should warn you that you might see some homeless people while you're here.”

“We might?” I said.

“Actually, you
definitely
will, and I'm so sorry. It's
awful
. It's terrible and depressing . . . but you get used to it.” Her brow wrinkled. “Actually, you don't. Or at least, I haven't.”

She looked so worried that I took her hand. I didn't know what to say, so I just gave her a small smile.

She managed to smile back. “Well . . . we'll just do the best we can, right?”

“Right,” I said.

We reached the airport exit and stepped into the warm outside air. Almost everyone seemed to be smoking, and I thought,
Whoa, lung cancer city
. There was a lot of litter, too. I saw a guy flick the butt of his cigarette plainly onto the sidewalk, and I considered going over and reminding him to be nice to Mother Earth.