Back when I was five I met Peter for the first time We were at Margaret’s house for dinner long before she moved to Vermont There were other kids there like Peter’s brother and mine but Peter was the only one who didn’t talk He kept close to his mom who had the longest black hair I ever saw with butterfly clips in it and I wondered if she was Indian like us Peter sat next to me at the table He was thin and his hair was curly and dark as black licorice Sometimes his mom gave him stuff on his plate like potatoes or a bread roll but mostly Peter sat without eating After they left everyone shook their heads like they were sorry Sorry for what I wondered There wasn’t much I was sorry about not at the age of five Then I heard the story of what happened to Peter’s dad I don’t think I was meant to hear but the adults got to talking and didn’t pay attention to what the kids were listening to Years later when I saw Peter again I’d forgotten Margaret’s party I’d forgotten thinking his hair was like black licorice But I didn’t forget what happened to his dad There are some things you never forget Maybe it was a coincidence Peter moving to Dobbs Ferry Maybe Margaret was the common thread Or maybe as Peter says it was all a kind of magic For him it started with the duffel bag For me it was the necklace Actually it started further back with Rose and what she did to hide her secret But I’d have to imagine that part Instead it’s better to tell what we do know the part that happened to us
At the end of August before sixth grade started Cheetah broke my bed My best friend Ana and I were in the kitchen eating ice cream when we heard a loud crash We ran upstairs our cones dripping chocolate mint and found my nine-year-old brother sprawled on the caved-in mattress a big stupid grin on his face Sorry he said but he wasn’t Mom said It was just waiting to happen If you saw my bed you’d understand why When I was young I was afraid to sleep on a real one So I slept on a mattress on the floor I liked that fine until two years ago when I woke up eye to eye with a long black spider on my pillow Then I was done with sleeping on the floor I took a sheet of plywood from the garage plus some leftover cinder blocks and I built myself a low bed I even made a headboard and painted it white with the spray paint we used on our fence Dad said proudly Myla my engineer That’s because he’s a math teacher and math people are into building things Mom was different What if it breaks But it didn’t It held up for two years until my dorky brother jumped on it and snapped the plywood in two So now Mom was adamant It’s time you had a real bed Myla I didn’t go back to work so my children could sleep on cinder blocks I don’t know what the big deal was But nothing could change her mind so on Sunday we headed to a furniture store in Yonkers where we bought our dining table last year I invited Ana because we were going to Spice afterward and the tandoori pizza there was so good it was worth buying a bed I didn’t want In the car Ana leafed through a magazine she’d brought Look at this cool bed It has curtains hanging over it from the ceiling It’s ugly Cheetah said Plus it’s too tall for Myla She’d be scared No I wouldn’t I gave him a shove Cheetah was always saying the wrong thing And it isn’t ugly Ana said It’s beautiful She tucked her pale hair behind her ears Ana is Norwegian on both sides her grandparents are from Norway but her parents grew up in Seattle Which makes her American like me I still don’t get why you were jumping on my bed I said My brother was always destroying my stuff like opening my Harry Potter books too wide until the spines broke or using up all the ink in my Sharpies I poked him but he still didn’t answer For a
minute I thought he was hiding something But what Everything he did was an open book Not like me I pulled out my journal from my backpack It was small and I used it to record things Sometimes I write down what’s going on like Cheetah’s jump breaks my bed Or I jot down what I see like a billboard or a piece of graffiti Once I drew High Bridge because even though I’m scared of bridges I liked the way the arches came down to meet the highway like the legs of gigantic Transformer robots Ana records things too but she doesn’t keep a journal she uses her phone to take pictures She doesn’t care about signs or bridges or words She takes pictures of horses She’s crazy about them She goes riding on Saturdays at a stable on the other side of the Hudson River and that’s where she takes lots of pictures She says she wants to be a trainer someday or a professional horse photographer I don’t know yet what I want to be I know it has to do with words and building things with my hands Mighty my brother read from a highway wall as we took the exit to St Vincent Ave So I wrote it down in round letters even if I already have Mighty in my journal because it’s my favorite St Vincent Ave is the ugliest and most beautiful street in the world Dad says it starts in the Bronx and ends in the town of Yonkers We go there to eat at Spice or to shop for furniture The stores are close together with rolling metal gates that pull down when it’s time to close Between windows the walls are marked with graffiti Not the quick words you see on the highway but large oversize letters or characters drawn like cartoons Only they’re not funny They’re serious telling the story of something I don’t know My mom disagrees She’s an urban designer which means she helps to decide where buildings go and how people use them So something like graffiti drives her crazy She’s glad we don’t have much of it in Dobbs Ferry But I wish we did When we come to St Vincent Ave I end up with so many new words in my notebook Today we squeezed our Subaru into the last parking space We were lucky because the rest of St Vincent Ave was closed off All along the sidewalks there were booths lined with people selling things I could smell the smoky scent of barbecued corn and refried beans cooking nearby It’s a street fair Ana said excited Can we look around Cheetah begged Can-we-can-we My parents agreed as long as we made our way to the furniture store So we walked along St Vincent Ave Ana and me on one side my parents and Cheetah on the other At a table with hats and scarves Ana took a picture of me in a tie-dyed cap with an orange flower on it which looked ridiculous over my big frizzy hair I could see my shadow next to hers on the ground hers lean and tall mine short and round with hair sticking out from under the hat While Ana tried on the same cap I drifted to the next table where there was a man and an elderly woman selling jewelry I wouldn’t have noticed them except they were
arguing their voices low and tight like they were yelling with the volume turned down How can you wear that asked the man his face craggy like the side of a cliff Remember the train station It’s not safe Wear what Then I noticed a brightly colored necklace around the woman’s neck I had to wear something she said And a person selling jewelry can’t be wearing an apron Besides you’ve been obsessing over it like a fool for years I have a mind to sell it away today The man almost leaped out of his chair Don’t you dare Ma Put it away For a moment she didn’t say anything as they glared at each other like two burning coals in our backyard grill I was fascinated by their game of chicken Who would win The woman finally gave in Fine she said She undid the necklace and laid it on the table Now why don’t you run along and get me some lemonade He let out his breath and ruffled his hair up so that it reminded me of a bird’s nest I’ll do that Ma But put it away okay Then he stood up and he was like a tall building blocking the sun But then anyone next to me seemed like a tall building He peered at me for a moment his eyes gray against his olive-toned face and walked away The woman was watching me too as I stood at the edge of the table next to a tray of earrings All completely handmade she said trying to sound friendly and not like she’d been fighting with her son a few seconds ago They’re made from healing crystals great for health I nodded While she spoke I stared at the necklace on the table I knew I shouldn’t ask She probably didn’t mean what she said to her son Is that for sale I said She saw what I was looking at and glanced down the street I guessed what she was doing She was checking to see if her son was coming back After a moment she picked up the necklace the one she had been wearing a minute ago and held it out to me I took it from her I wanted to know what the big story was why the craggy-faced man was so angry in the first place It was a pendant the size of a checker piece on a leather string At first I thought it was just a flower but then I saw something in the middle a symbol bordered by purple-and-pink petals
