solid ground.
I decided to wait till the walk home to talk to Poppy. “So why did you climb to the top of the high board?” I asked.
“I wanted to be just like you, Del,” she said matter-of-factly.
“First you were Aster.”
Poppy nodded.
“And then you were Rose.”
Poppy nodded again.
“And now you’re me,” I concluded.
Hey,
I realized,
why didn’t she want to be
me
first?
Poppy shook her head. “Not anymore,” she said. “That high board was too scary!”
Well, at least that was taken care of. “But why have you been acting like us all week?” I said. “You’re not Aster, or Rose, or me. You’re Poppy, and we like you just the way you are.”
Poppy looked down at the ground. “You want to be a florist. Aster wants to be a poet. Rose wants to be an actress. You all know what you want to be.”
Realization dawned on me. “Does this have to do with your graduation?” I asked.
She nodded, her eyes still downcast. “I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.”
“Oh, Poppy,” I said. “Nobody really knows. I could end up being a doctor. Aster could be a chef. Rose could be a librarian.” I smiled at her. “There’s so much time for you — and all of us — to decide. Just because we like something now doesn’t mean we have to do it for the rest of our lives!”
Poppy raised her eyes and considered this.
“And you are your own person, Pops,” I said. “You don’t need to pretend to be any of us. You’re different, and that’s good.”
She gave me a dubious look.
“I don’t know anyone else who counts the same set of stairs every morning,” I said. “Who wears two different colored socks almost every day. Who could go two weeks only eating foods that start with the letter L.”
Poppy still looked skeptical.
“That was a lot of lettuce and lentils,” I reminded her. I thought of something else. “And who makes up her own words,” I added. “Face it, Pops. You are creative and entertaining, and you’re really funny!”
Poppy had a very thoughtful look on her face. I smiled, confident that I had gotten through to her.
“You’re right, Del,” she said. “I am funny.” Then she threw her arms in the air. “That’s it! I know what I want to be when I grow up. A clown!” I laughed, and she smiled at me. “I feel so …”
“Pondiferous?” I guessed.
She rolled her eyes. “No … intervisable,” she said. At my blank look, she explained. “It means relieved.”
I sighed. Poppy hadn’t
really
gotten my message. But at least she wouldn’t be climbing the high board anymore. That made me feel
intervisable,
too, that was for sure.
I woke up early the next day and started packing. Tomorrow — my birthday — would be crazy busy and we wanted to leave for Maine first thing in the morning on Sunday. I carefully folded T-shirts, bathing suits, underwear, socks, jeans, and sweatshirts and placed them in my suitcase along with sandals, sunglasses, water shoes, and four — no, make that five, to be safe — paperbacks I couldn’t wait to read. I also added a brand-new sundress that I planned to wear to my birthday dinner at Brown’s.
It had taken a while, but I was feeling okay with how things were turning out for my birthday. I’d be doing the things I loved most — arranging flowers and helping out the family business. It still annoyed me that I was giving Ashley an amazing party while I’d be celebrating on a much smaller scale, one day late. But it was what it was.
Mom and I were running late and had to practically sprint to the store to open in time. I had just stepped behind the counter when two older women walked in.
“I’d like a dozen roses,” said the woman with the bluish-white hair.
“Red, white, yellow, or pink?” I asked, indicating the vases in the cooler behind me.
She looked at them all. “Oh, it’s so hard,” she said. “Maybe a mix?”
As I wrapped them up in crackly cellophane, I eavesdropped on their conversation.
I decided to wait till the walk home to talk to Poppy. “So why did you climb to the top of the high board?” I asked.
“I wanted to be just like you, Del,” she said matter-of-factly.
“First you were Aster.”
Poppy nodded.
“And then you were Rose.”
Poppy nodded again.
“And now you’re me,” I concluded.
Hey,
I realized,
why didn’t she want to be
me
first?
Poppy shook her head. “Not anymore,” she said. “That high board was too scary!”
Well, at least that was taken care of. “But why have you been acting like us all week?” I said. “You’re not Aster, or Rose, or me. You’re Poppy, and we like you just the way you are.”
Poppy looked down at the ground. “You want to be a florist. Aster wants to be a poet. Rose wants to be an actress. You all know what you want to be.”
Realization dawned on me. “Does this have to do with your graduation?” I asked.
She nodded, her eyes still downcast. “I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.”
“Oh, Poppy,” I said. “Nobody really knows. I could end up being a doctor. Aster could be a chef. Rose could be a librarian.” I smiled at her. “There’s so much time for you — and all of us — to decide. Just because we like something now doesn’t mean we have to do it for the rest of our lives!”
Poppy raised her eyes and considered this.
“And you are your own person, Pops,” I said. “You don’t need to pretend to be any of us. You’re different, and that’s good.”
She gave me a dubious look.
“I don’t know anyone else who counts the same set of stairs every morning,” I said. “Who wears two different colored socks almost every day. Who could go two weeks only eating foods that start with the letter L.”
Poppy still looked skeptical.
“That was a lot of lettuce and lentils,” I reminded her. I thought of something else. “And who makes up her own words,” I added. “Face it, Pops. You are creative and entertaining, and you’re really funny!”
Poppy had a very thoughtful look on her face. I smiled, confident that I had gotten through to her.
“You’re right, Del,” she said. “I am funny.” Then she threw her arms in the air. “That’s it! I know what I want to be when I grow up. A clown!” I laughed, and she smiled at me. “I feel so …”
“Pondiferous?” I guessed.
She rolled her eyes. “No … intervisable,” she said. At my blank look, she explained. “It means relieved.”
I sighed. Poppy hadn’t
really
gotten my message. But at least she wouldn’t be climbing the high board anymore. That made me feel
intervisable,
too, that was for sure.
I woke up early the next day and started packing. Tomorrow — my birthday — would be crazy busy and we wanted to leave for Maine first thing in the morning on Sunday. I carefully folded T-shirts, bathing suits, underwear, socks, jeans, and sweatshirts and placed them in my suitcase along with sandals, sunglasses, water shoes, and four — no, make that five, to be safe — paperbacks I couldn’t wait to read. I also added a brand-new sundress that I planned to wear to my birthday dinner at Brown’s.
It had taken a while, but I was feeling okay with how things were turning out for my birthday. I’d be doing the things I loved most — arranging flowers and helping out the family business. It still annoyed me that I was giving Ashley an amazing party while I’d be celebrating on a much smaller scale, one day late. But it was what it was.
Mom and I were running late and had to practically sprint to the store to open in time. I had just stepped behind the counter when two older women walked in.
“I’d like a dozen roses,” said the woman with the bluish-white hair.
“Red, white, yellow, or pink?” I asked, indicating the vases in the cooler behind me.
She looked at them all. “Oh, it’s so hard,” she said. “Maybe a mix?”
As I wrapped them up in crackly cellophane, I eavesdropped on their conversation.
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