I sit at Mrs. Brook’s table and cry because even though I Work At It I still don’t Get It. I was being a friend!
I know you were, Mrs. Brook says, and I know that you might feel comforted by sitting in the corner and not having people look at you but Rachel doesn’t.
Why not?
To Rachel it felt like you didn’t want to see her so you wanted to get rid of her by putting her in a corner.
That’s not what I meant!
I know but try to put yourself in her shoes.
I Look At The Person.
Empathy, Mrs. Brook says. Remember? It means to try to feel the way someone else is feeling. You step out of your own shoes and put on someone else’s because you’re trying to BE that person for a moment. In Rachel’s case you want to try to feel how she might feel having all those obvious injuries.
I can’t because it didn’t happen to ME. I don’t have bandages or a purple scratched-up face so how am I supposed to know how it feels?
I think you can learn empathy. Mrs. Brook smiles at me. In fact I’m sure of it. She goes on to explain life the way Rachel sees it.
I listen but I don’t want to tell her that it’s not life how I see it. I also don’t want to tell her that I’m not sure I can learn how to do empathy. She seems so sure that I can.
I look down at my shoes. Quietly I slip them off. My feet feel cold and clammy because my socks are sweaty. I carefully touch my toes onto the floor which is hard and cold. I pull my feet off of the floor and shove them back into my sneakers. At least I tried dipping my toe in empathy.
CHAPTER 20
EMPATHY
I STARE AT THE SIGN I PUT ON Devon’s door for a long time. I realize they are the first eyes I have ever drawn. And how much they look like Devon’s. I wonder how the picture would look if I put the eyes together with the broken nose and his mouth. It would be a complete face. Of Devon. And I would always know what he looked like even when I grow up. He could always be with me.
I wonder if putting a whole face together would help bring me closer to Closure. If it’s split apart into pieces then wouldn’t putting all the pieces together bring Closure? But I’ve never done a whole face before. I don’t want to mess it up. It has to be right.
I hear Dad turning off Fox Five News and sighing. I remember what Mrs. Brook said about practicing empathy and I go into the living room and look at Dad’s shoes.
Hi Dad.
Hi Caitlin.
I’m not sure what to say next. His shoes don’t give me any clues. Um . . . so how are you?
Dad looks up from the sofa. Actually I’m dealing with a lot of stuff right now.
Oh. Are you looking for Closure?
In a way. Yes.
Me too. Maybe you can come see Mrs. Brook. She said you could do that sometimes even though mostly she has to see the kids at school.
Dad nods.
Maybe you could see someone else too.
Dad doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even nod.
Maybe you could find some answers in books.
Thanks Caitlin. I appreciate it but I’ll figure out a way.
When?
I don’t know. I think it’ll take a long long time.
How are you going to do it?
I don’t even know where to begin. He stares at the rug.
Even when the phone rings.
Phone, I tell him.
It rings again. Phone.
And again. PHONE, I say LOUD in case he didn’t hear.
Please answer it, he says.
I get a recess feeling in my stomach. I hate answering the phone. I don’t know who it will be or what they will say.
The phone rings two more times.
CAITLIN PLEASE!
I run to the phone and grab it because I hate shouting even worse than the phone. At least you can hang up the phone.
Hello, says the voice. Hello?
It sounds like Aunt Jolee.
Is anyone there?
Dad and I are here, I say.
Oh Caitlin! It’s you. Hi!
I wait for her to talk more.
Are you still there?
Yes.
Oh. I wasn’t sure because you weren’t talking.
That’s because you were talking and it’s rude to talk when someone else is talking.
Oh . . . well . . . so . . . what are you up to?
Talking on the phone. With you.
Can I speak with your dad?
I look at the sofa. Dad is still staring at the spot on the rug. He’s dealing with a lot of stuff right now. But he won’t read any books about it or go see Mrs. Brook or any other counselor.
Dad looks up from the sofa. Who is it?
Aunt Jolee. I think. Wait. Is this Aunt Jolee?
Yup! You guessed!
It’s Aunt Jolee.
He oofs like all the air goes out of him when he stands up and reaches for the phone.
I give it to him.
He leans against the wall. Hi Jo-Jo.
Jo-Jo is Dad’s name for Aunt Jolee. It’s a nickname. Like Scout. Dad is Aunt Jolee’s big brother. Like Jem. Like Devon. Like Devon WAS. Dad still has Aunt Jolee’s finger-painted handprint from when she was in kindergarten. It’s in a little blue frame on the wall by the TV. It says TO HARE on it because when she was five she wasn’t very smart and couldn’t spell Dad’s name the right way which is Harry.
Dad shakes his head while he talks to Aunt Jolee. I can’t afford to see a counselor.
Silence.
What insurance? I don’t have any insurance.
Silence.
Do you know how much it costs to see a counselor?
Silence.
Even clinics charge something unless you make no money at all and I’m not quitting my job just so I can see a counselor.
Silence.
Yes I’m sure it’d help her but she’s got the counselor at school at least. I don’t know what else to do.
Silence.
I know Jo-Jo. Of course you can’t leave them. They’re too young. Dad is nodding. I wish you lived closer too. You’re still my best . . . friend. When he says the word friend a cry comes out of him.
He slides down the wall and sits on the floor. He drops his head and tries to cover it with the hand that’s not holding the phone but I can see his head shaking along with his hand and the phone. I can hear him sniffing too. Then he takes a deep breath and looks up at Aunt Jolee’s handprint on the wall and says, Thank you.
I try not to listen to Dad because I’ve had all the empathy I can take right now. Empathy can make you feel really sad.
I put my head under the sofa cushion and peek out at Devon’s chest.
I hear Dad say Thank you again.
I keep staring at Devon’s chest because it makes me feel like a little bit of him is still here. Even though I know he’ll never be able to teach me how to make a chest. Even though he won’t be able to teach me anything. Even though I’ll never see him again and won’t ever be able to look at him and say, Thank you.
The more I look at the chest the more I start turning it from a sharp-shaped sheet into something soft. I guess I’m stuffed-animaling even though I don’t mean to. It’s easy when your eyes are already blurry.
CHAPTER 21
NO MRS. BROOK
THE REST OF THE CLASS RUNS out of the classroom to go to recess. I get up to go to Mrs. Brook time and I decide to ask her if Dad can come see her since she doesn’t charge insurance. At least she never charges me insurance. And she said she could see him even though he’s a grown-up.
Mrs. Johnson says, Oh Caitlin. I almost forgot. Mrs. Brook isn’t here.
I know. She’s in her room.
No. She had to go out of town.
Why?
Her sister is having difficulty with her pregnancy.
I Look At The Person.
Mrs. Johnson looks at the floor and then at me. She’s having a lot of trouble with her twin babies who aren’t born yet.
> I thought babies were only a lot of trouble after they were born.
Sometimes it’s before and after. So Mrs. Brook is going to see what she can do to help her sister. She sighs. I hope everything goes well.
I wonder what that means. What if it doesn’t?
I just mean I hope the babies . . . are fine.
What if they’re not? What’ll be wrong with them?
I’m sure they’ll be fine. Pregnancy is just . . . hard.
How does she know? Are you pregnant?
Mrs. Johnson’s face turns pinkish. N-no.
I don’t want to be pregnant either, I say. I have enough hard things to Deal With.
Mrs. Johnson lets me sit in the classroom instead of going to recess. She gives me paper so I can draw. I decide to draw a picture for Mrs. Brook of some stuffed animals looking at the Facial Expressions Chart because I have that chart memorized.
Mrs. Johnson says I should write a letter to Mrs. Brook to go with my drawing. I sigh because I’d rather draw but Mrs. Johnson Looks At The Person hard so I write the letter even though I’m much better at drawing than writing and Mrs. Johnson should know that by now.
Dear Mrs. Brook I’m sorry about your difficult sister and the babies who are still inside of her causing trouble. I hope they start behaving so you can come back soon. I will even practice my finesse and keep pace with you when we walk. And I promise I will be your friend. Scout’s honor.
Caitlin Ann Smith.
CHAPTER 22
DRAWINGS
DAD SAYS WE’RE GOING TO A FUN raiser for the families of the people who were shot. He says it’s being given by people who care about us and want to help us and even though I don’t like crowds we still have to go because we have to show we appreciate what they’re doing for us and we should act like we appreciate it and like we want to be there even if we don’t because no one has to do a fun raiser but they’re doing it anyway.
I want to go, I tell him, so you can stop making excuses. A fun raiser sounds like a good thing.
He stops talking. He tilts his head like he doesn’t Get It. I don’t know why.
What kind of fun things will there be? I ask.
He shrugs. I think there’s a silent auction and a raffle and I’m not sure what else.
Oh. That doesn’t sound like much fun.
Cait-LIN, he says in his warning voice.
Okay okay.
The fun raiser is in the Virginia Dare Middle School cafeteria. When we get out of the car near the cafeteria door Dad stops and stares at the school for a moment. He blinks a lot and swallows hard so the lump that sticks out of his throat keeps going in and out. Finally he takes a sharp breath before he pulls the door open.
The noise spills out and it smells like soggy spaghetti and the light makes me squint. Almost immediately bodies cover us like we are germs and they are the white blood cells sent to surround and destroy us. I think I will choke. I grab Dad’s hand. It’s big and hairy and sweaty but I Deal With It because otherwise I think I will be smothered.
This is my daughter Caitlin, Dad says.
Hello Caitlin, a voice says. How are you?
I keep looking at the ground. Dad’s head comes down to my face. Remember to Look At The Person and say something nice.
I don’t Look At The Person but I say nice stuff. I’m ten. My birthday is next month. My favorite color is purple. My favorite game is Mario Kart but any video game is fine. My favorite video is Bambi except lately I don’t like it so much.
Oh . . . well . . . that’s nice, the voice says, and the body moves away.
Dad says, Not so much about yourself next time.
I try to tell him I’m being helpful because I’m giving people information about what I want for my birthday in case they want to buy me something but Dad introduces me to another person.
This time I Look At The Hat which at least is close to The Person. The Hat is the size of an umbrella and that gives me an idea of what to say. When people say it’s raining cats and dogs it isn’t really. That just means it’s raining a lot. But it can rain frogs if they get sucked up in a storm and they plop down on top of your head. Also snow can be pink if red dirt dissolves in water that evaporates and—
Dad squeezes my shoulder. This means the conversation is over.
Another voice shouts Hi Caitlin! and a big hand comes into my Personal Space so I back up.
Say hello, Dad says.
Hello.
Look At The Person, Dad reminds me.
I keep my head down but tilt it enough to see one of his ears.
Dad says, Cait-LIN, in his warning voice.
What? That’s closer than The Hat!
Say something nice, Dad hisses.
When Dad hisses he is serious. He will not let me leave until I say something nice. I try to focus. I stare at the ear. What can I say that’s nice? Finally I realize and say it. I don’t think you’re disgusting just because you have hair sticking out of your ear.
Dad pulls me away by both shoulders which means the conversation is over NOW.
I look around for Michael because his mother was shot like Devon so he should be at the fun raiser too. I know he’s Josh’s friend now and not mine but I don’t like all of these people so I wish I could at least see him. Suddenly a face is in front of mine and coffee breath goes up my nostrils and a voice says, I have someone I bet you’d like to meet.
I bet she’s wrong.
She grabs the hand that isn’t holding Dad and I yank it away from her.
I’ll go with you, Dad says.
We follow Coffee Breath Woman to an easel with a light on it and I stare at it.
See? I thought you’d like Mr. Walters.
I don’t know who or where Mr. Walters is but I do like the easel. There is a cartoon picture of a boy on it. He has a tiny body and a huge head. His mouth is grinning so much that his cheeks push his eyes up at the corners so even his eyes look happy like the photos of eyes that Mrs. Brook has shown me about a million times.
A man’s hand appears and adds tufts of sticky-outy hair to the giant head.
I laugh. Maybe this will be a fun raiser after all.
You like it? a man’s voice says.
I nod. Normally I don’t talk to strangers but if he can draw like this he can’t be that strange.
I’m Charlie Walters the middle school art teacher, the voice says. Shall I do your picture?
I do my own pictures, I tell him.
I mean, shall I draw a picture of you?
No. Why would I want a picture of me?
Your dad here might want a picture of you.
I shake my head. He sees me every day. He doesn’t need a picture.
But this is a different kind of picture. This captures personality and emotion.
I Look At The Person. I look at the hand with his pencil. It’s just a charcoal pencil. Like mine.
He chuckles. You don’t believe me?
I shake my head.
I’ll show you. Sit down over there.
No. I want to watch you capturing someone’s emotion.
Draw me, Dad says, and he sits on a little stool beyond the easel.
I watch the cartoon character grow from a potato head to a porcupine head to a Dad head. Mr. Walters puts the ears on the head first then a nose then a mouth. He squints at Dad for a while before he even draws the eyes. He is very careful with the eyes. He draws them in stages from the outside in. He doesn’t stop when he gets to the inside though. He takes a blue pencil and draws little colored dots and lines that make the eyes look deep and textured and full. And something else too. They look sad. I stare at Dad’s real eyes and I think I see the sad there too although it’s easier for me to see it in the picture. The picture doesn’t blink or look away.
You should do the Facial Expressions Chart at school, I tell Mr. Walters. You would do a much better job than the one we have now.
He nods once and smiles. Thank you very much. He pulls the sheet of paper of
f the easel and gives it to Dad and hands me a charcoal pencil. Would you like to try drawing me now?
I’m not so good with people. Or emotions.
I think you’re observant though and that’s the first step.
I Look At The Person. I stare into his eyes. His eyes look happy but not a mean laughy kind of happy. Are you happy?
Yes. Now let’s see if you can draw that.
He is still holding his charcoal pencil out to me so I take it.
Mr. Walters gets up and walks over to the stool and sits down facing me.
Dad is standing behind me. Go ahead. Draw Mr. Walters.
Well don’t WATCH me! I can’t draw if you’re going to watch.
All right. I’ll wander around the room and look at other things. Okay?
Okay. If there’s a fishing booth let me know because those always have good prizes. And if there are any gummy worms grab some before they’re all gone. Please.
I stare at the huge blank paper in front of me. Usually I only have small pieces of paper.
I see a hand waving around the outside of the easel. Yoo- hoo! You have to look over here.
I peek around the easel. It’s Mr. Walters.
Start with the outside of my head like I did with your dad.
So I do. I make a Mr. Potato Head. Then I add hair but only a little because Mr. Walters doesn’t have much. The nose is easy and so are the ears. The mouth is harder because usually I look at mouths when there are words coming out and right now there are none coming out of his. It’s flat. I do notice some curves and creases though so I put them in.
Feel free to use the colored pencils or pastels too, he says.
I shake my head. I don’t use colors. My drawings are black and white with no blurry stuff. It’s easier to see that way. Blurry is good for stuffed-animaling but not for drawing.
Mr. Walters tilts his head like he doesn’t Get It but I don’t want to explain right now because I’m busy drawing.
Wow, a voice behind me says. That’s so awesome! Did you really draw that?
I put my arms over the picture to cover it up before turning around to see Emma from school.