Election Countdown Paper Chain

With a flick of her wrist and a slight hop, Marisol shoots the basketball into the hoop above her. I clap and jump up and down. It’s the ninth ball in a row she’s gotten.

Marisol and I always play basketball on the playground at recess. Since Josh Carver and his friends put dibs on the new court, we go to the old one. It’s on the little kids’ playground, but since we’re the youngest on the big kids’ side, we don’t mind. Marisol likes feeling older than the little kids. Today her sister and some of her first grade friends sit on the ground and watch us.

Neither of us really knows how to play basketball. Coach Steve, our PE teacher, taught us how to dribble, so mostly we dribble back and forth for a while, and then we take turns trying to get the ball in the hoop. Marisol is much better than me. She doesn’t speak English, and I don’t speak Spanish. We both know a few words, but mostly we point and make hand signals. It works for us. The other girls think we’re weird. The little girls copy us, even though they all speak Spanish anyway.

Today Marisol and I both wear pink skirts. We didn’t plan on that. Mom bought me two pink skirts at Target because she didn’t know which size would fit. I gave the smaller one to Marisol, and sometimes we wear them on the same day. Marisol calls them our friends’ skirts. That was her first English word—friend.

The bell rings, and we each take our basketballs, holding them in front of us like big bellies. Josh Carver runs between us and hits the top of the balls so they fall out of our arms. I think Marisol is going to cry, so I pick up my ball and throw it at Josh’s back.

I hear Mrs. Howard blow the whistle she wears around her neck when she has playground duty. “Miss Margaret! What do you think you are doing?” She walks over to me. Marisol wipes tears out of her eyes, but her hands are dirty from playing, so she smears dirt on her face. I take a tissue out of my pocket and give it to her.

“Sorry, Mrs. Howard. It slipped,” I lie.

She looks from me to Marisol. “Well, don’t let it happen again.” Mrs. Howard doesn’t like Josh either.

My first day at Palo Verde Elementary, there were two other new girls. Marisol and her sister sat on a bench, waiting for their mom to finish filling out papers. My mom had to fill out papers too, so I sat next to them.

“Hi, I’m Maggie.” I swung my feet because they didn’t touch the floor.

Neither of them said anything.

“Where are you from? I moved here from my old school in Mesa.” There was a big map of Arizona on the wall behind us. I turned around and put my finger on Mesa. “From here to here,” I said as I move my finger to Phoenix.

The older girl put her finger off the map, below Arizona, and traced a line through the desert to Phoenix. Since we were in the same class, we walked there together, and the teacher sat us together. I didn’t mind, because the other girls in the class didn’t look very nice. That recess was the first time we played basketball.

One day, I brought a picture of my old house to show Marisol. She held the picture in her hands, and looked back and forth from me to the picture.

She wasn’t at school the next day, so I played basketball all by myself.

Friday she was at school again. She was a little late, so she rushed to her desk. Before she took out her drawing paper, she pulled a picture from her pocket. It was a picture of a family. I recognized Marisol and her little sister, but there was an older brother I hadn’t seen before. I pointed to him, and she looked sad. My face asked a question. She opened her social studies book to the inside cover and pointed to Nogales, a town on the border of Mexico and Arizona. That’s how I learned what city she moved from.

Josh Carver walked over to my desk. He had a problem staying in his seat. Everyone else was water-coloring desert landscapes we found in magazines. He pointed to Marisol. “Do you know she’s not supposed to be here? That’s what my dad said.” His dad was the principal.

“Why?” I dipped my brush into the blue paint, and a drip accidentally feel on the dirt part of my painting.

“Because she’s illegal.” He walked to the sink, and I stuck my tongue out at him.

“How’s your friend?” Mom puts a bowl of popcorn in front of me.

I put a few pieces in my mouth. “She’s good.” Mom pours a Diet Coke into two glasses, one for me and one for her. I take a gulp of mine. “Josh says she’s illegal.”

Mom takes a breath and sits on the stool next to mine. “Not all Mexicans in Arizona are illegal immigrants.”

“If she is, is that a problem?”

“I guess it can be.” A few minutes later, Mom puts her popcorn bowl in the sink, picks up her book, and goes over to her favorite reading chair. I start going through the mail to see if any fun things came today. We didn’t get any fun catalogues, but we did get some political fliers, and that’s good because Mrs. Howard told us to go through our mail and newspapers to find things to put on our Election Day bulletin board. The board is split into quarters. The top left square has pictures and articles about George W. Bush, and the top right has pictures and articles about John Kerry. On the bottom are ones for the state and national politics.

“Mom, can I have some of your mail?” I yell into the other room.

“What mail?”

“Stuff about the election.”

“Okay, but I want to read it first.”

I start putting them into piles. Three fliers are for senators. Five fliers are about the presidential candidates—two for the Bush board, three for the Kerry. Three pieces of paper are about propositions, which go into the state square. I know about the senators and presidential candidates, but I don’t know anything about the propositions, so I start reading them. One is against a new light rail running across the valley, another is for it. One is called “The Arizona Taxpayer and Citizen Protection Act,” but it actually talks about illegal immigration. I hide that one in my backpack.

Mom comes back in the kitchen. “Why don’t you call Marisol and see if she wants to come swimming?” she asks.

I tell her I don’t have Marisol’s phone number, so instead Mom and I make a chocolate cake with peanut butter cream cheese frosting.

I bring two big pieces of chocolate cake for Marisol and me to eat for lunch the next day. We stand in line to get milk, and Josh Carver gets in line behind us. I hear him saying something to his friends and then they laugh. I turn around.

“What did you say?” My hands are on my hips, and I try to look mean.

Josh looks to his buddies and then back to me. “I said that I didn’t know they took her kind of food stamps in the lunch line,” he says as he points to Marisol.

I stomp on his foot. I know it hurts because I’m wearing my new boots and they have a big heel.

Marisol grabs my hand. “Thank you, Maggie.” I like how she says my name.

Mrs. Howard rushes over and tells me that I have to stay in during recess after lunch.

I have to sit at my desk silently. That’s okay with me, because I like doing quiet things. I color a picture of my old house in Mesa, and I draw Mom and Marisol’s mom sitting on the front porch, watching Marisol, Marisol’s sister and me playing basketball. We didn’t really have a basketball hoop at that house, but it’s my picture, so I can draw what I want. And I want to move back there. I wonder if Marisol wants to move back to her old house too. I take a break and say, “Mrs. Howard, what are illegal immigrants?”

She looks up from the spelling tests she’s grading. “They’re people who come across the Mexico/Arizona border who aren’t supposed to be here. They cost taxpayers lots of money.”

“Oh.” I finish my picture and put it in my backpack. Mom will say it’s nice and put it on the refrigerator at home.

After recess, the class comes back and we start Social Studies. Mrs. Howard puts on a silly red, white, and blue hat. That’s how I know we’re going to talk about the election again. That’s all we’ve been learning about lately. Mom says it’s very important and that I should pay attention. In our classroom, we have a multi-colored paper chain across the top of the Election Day bulletin board. Every day the kid with the most gold stars on their work gets to take down one link of the chain. When we get down to no links, it’s Election Day.

Mrs. Howard calls on us to read out loud about our local governments. I never get called on. When we’re done, she has Samantha R. pass out a worksheet, and we’re allowed to work with our table groups. Since I’m pretty good at Social Studies, I let Marisol copy what I write.

“Social Studies is hard,” she says. I nod my head.

Josh tips his chair back, with the toe part of his sneakers grabbing onto the underside of the desk. “See that, Marisol? We have eight links left. And then you’ll have to go home.” His toes lose grip and he almost falls backwards. Samantha R. is next to his table, so she catches his chair before he hits the ground.

Every Saturday, Mom and I go to visit Grandma and Grandpa. Usually Mom and Grandma go to the grocery story, and Grandpa and I play old board games that my mom played when she was a little girl. But today, before going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, Mom has a food box delivery to make. She’s a social worker. The place we’re going to today is in South Phoenix, near 24^th street and Broadway. It’s a bad part of town.

“Do I have to wait in the car?” I ask.

“Are you scared?” Mom replies.

I nod my head.

Mom opens the trunk and hands me a box of pasta, rice, and cereal. She takes the heavy cans and juices. As we walk to the door, I notice several sets of children’s eyes through the mini blinds. Mom knocks, and a little girl answers. She’s the same age as Marisol’s sister, and she has the same scared eyes. Her dad comes to the door, and my mom says something in Spanish. I don’t know Spanish other than the words Marisol taught me, so I only know they aren’t talking about the election or school or chocolate cake or pink skirts. He motions for us to come in, so we follow him into the living room. He takes the box from me, and Mom follows him to the kitchenette. Three little girls sit on the floor in front of the television. When we come in, they run out of the room. I want to tell them not to go, to stay and play with me, but I don’t know the words in Spanish, and the English words stick in my throat. I stand there and watch a few minutes of a cartoon. A clothes line is strung across the room, and I expect to see a pink skirt hanging on it. Mom is still talking to the man, so I take the keys from her pocket and wait in the car. I wish I was sixteen so I could drive away.

I know it’s Election Day today because yesterday we had only one paper link left on our chain. Mom said she’ll wait to vote until after school so I can come with her. She said I can wear her sticker if I want.

Mrs. Howard isn’t at school today. Coach Steve is our substitute. The boys like when he substitutes for Mrs. Howard because they can play baseball in the classroom during free time, and all the math word problems he makes up are about sports. Most of the girls like him because they think he’s cute. I don’t really care; mostly when we have subs, I just sit and do my math workbook, and Marisol colors.

Coach Steve stands in front of the chalkboard with his hands on his hips. “Does anyone know what today is?”

Samantha C. raises her hand. “It’s Election Day. Either George W. Bush or John Kerry will become the next President of the United States.”

Josh Carver throws a paper ball at me, and it lands in my lap. It has writing on it, so I uncrumple it. It says, “What will you do when your best friend is sent to prison or back to Mexico?” I turn around and Josh is smirking.

I don’t know what to say, so I ask Coach Steve if I can go to the bathroom. I take the flier out of my backpack, fold it in half, and stick it in my back pocket. In the bathroom I read it over and over again, and I’m still confused.

A few minutes later, Marisol comes in. “Are you ok?” she asks.

I give her a hug. “Are you going back to Mexico?” I ask.

She shrugs.

We go back to class, where they are reading in our Social Studies books about local governments again. I guess Mrs. Howard forgot we read that chapter already, and no one seems to mind reading it again. I guess they forgot everything already.

“Mrs. Howard said in her notes that Marisol will take the last chain down,” says Coach Steve after we read the chapter.

Marisol knows what’s going on, since we’ve been counting down for a while and she’s learned a lot of English. The last link is pink. She brings it back to our table, cuts it in half length wise and writes both our names with a plus sign between them. She tapes the ends, making bracelets for the two of us.

Mom is a little late picking me up from school, so we leave the same time the bus leaves. I see Marisol in the bus window, and we wave. Mom says our matching bracelets are very nice. When Mom picks me up from school, she always brings me a juice box. Since she’s late, and also since we don’t know how long we’ll be at the voting place, she’s brought some pretzels for a snack, too.

In the parking lot, people walk around wearing and holding signs about the politicians and propositions. Toward the door, there’s a group wearing signs that say “Vote Yes!” about the proposition whose flier is in my backpack. I turn to my mom. “Are you going to vote yes?”

“Not for that one.” She grabs my hand.

We walk through that group, and I see Mrs. Howard on the other side of the crowd. She’s holding that sign too. I stop.

“What is it, Maggie?” Mom asks. She hasn’t seen Mrs. Howard.

“Nothing.” I eat my last pretzel.

Mom and I stay up the whole night watching election results. She is happy about some things, and upset about others. We finish a pint of ice cream with chocolate sauce. When I go to bed, my stomach hurts.

Marisol isn’t at school the next day. I don’t want to be an active classroom participant, like Mrs. Howard says we’re supposed to be. I open my math workbook and start on the second to last chapter. Mrs. Howard doesn’t care. She calls on me to read from the Social Studies book, but I don’t. I don’t even answer her. If I was Josh Carver, I would be sent to the office, but I’m not, so she leaves me alone.

I’m wearing my pink construction paper bracelet. I don’t want it to get messed up when I go to recess, so I put it in my desk. I play basketball by myself, but that isn’t very fun. I ask the boys if I could play with them. Josh Carver says no and they all laugh at me. I stand in line for the swings, but the other girls keep cutting ahead of me. So I go to the basketball court on the little kids’ playground and I shoot hoops by myself. I try to remember how Marisol got so many in the hoop, but I’m no good. When the bell rings, I go back to the classroom and put my bracelet back on. I hope Marisol is wearing hers, too.

Swim Party

Don’t knock, they know you’re coming. You enter the Williamson’s house. It smells of baked goods.

Don’t eat the cookies.

Patricia’s little sister greets you at the door. “Patricia! Eve’s here!” she yells. She takes off for the backyard.

Walk into the living room, where Mrs. Williamson has outdone herself. Besides the chocolate chip cookies, she’s baked an apple crisp, chocolate cupcakes, and oatmeal raisin cookies. The cupcakes are decorated with characters from Charlie Brown and the crisp is topped with Red Hots. The oatmeal chocolate chip cookies appear to be fresh out of the oven, moist and chewy. You look around. No one will notice if you take just one.

The kitchen door swivels open. Mrs. Williamson enters carrying a large vegetable platter and almost trips over Patricia’s dog.

“Allergy! Get out of my way!” she yells at her feet.

While she’s occupied with the dog, you stuff the cookie in your mouth.

“Eve, did you just eat a cookie?” She sets the plate on the buffet.

You swallow. “Yes.”

She frowns. “Should you really be doing that? Your mother will be upset with you.”

Your face turns beet red. “I’ll stick to the veggie platter.”

“Without the ranch dressing,” she says as she wags her index finger.

You check around you to make sure no one heard this exchange.

“Evie!” says a voice from behind you. Turn around to Patricia, whose bathing suit and sopping wet hair create a puddle underneath her feet.

“Happy birthday!” You smile, but not too big. Big smiles make your cheeks fat. “Here, this is for you.”

“Can I open it now?” she asks.

“Fine with me, just don’t let your mom catch you.”

The turquoise gift bag contains a silver bracelet you bought with your mom at an Indian trading post in Albuquerque with the intention of saving it for Patricia’s birthday. Etched silver surrounds five turquoise stones in a flower design.

She tries it on. “Oh Evie, it’s beautiful! I’d wear it, but I don’t want the chlorine to mess it up. Thank you so much!” She gives you a hug, leaving a wet mark down the front of your shirt. “Well, go change! We’re all out in the pool.”

You go to the bathroom to change into your swimsuit. It’s black. Your cover-up shorts are also black. Black is slimming, your mother told you. No one will notice your thighs and your stomach will appear a bit flatter. You wanted to wear your bright pink tankini and boy shorts two-piece. Mom said that suit is only suitable for wearing at home. You brought both anyway.

Put on the pink suit. It’s a bit tight around your waist. You step onto the edge of the bathtub and scan your body in the mirror. Your hands run over your waist as it curves into your hips and thighs, cellulite ripples visible in the fluorescent light. You narrow your eyes, which diminishes the fat dimples. The kids outside will not be squinting enough to reach the same effect, despite the glare of the sun off the surface of the pool.

Look out the window. Three skinny blonde girls are playing a pool game. You would trade places with any of them in a heartbeat.

Put on the black suit and the black shorts. Watch yourself turn into a shadow. Throw a shirt on over your suit.

You open your backpack and take out a bag of M&M’s. A few minutes longer and Patricia will wonder what happened to you, so you eat the entire bag quickly, handful after handful of candy-coated chocolate-covered peanuts. Fear that your teeth are covered in chocolate. Fear that Mrs. Williamson will notice. You cup your hands under the running faucet and bring them to your mouth. Swish the water, then spit it out. Wish you could throw up on command.

You walk to the back patio. The girls swim in the shallow end of the pool. They don’t notice that you’ve come outside. The guys play basketball in the deep end, clueless to even the pretty girls vying for their attention.

“Aren’t you going in?” says Missy, coming out from the sun room.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute,” you reply.

She walks to the shallow end and sits at the edge of the pool.

You forgot your flip flops. The Kool deck burns your feet. Sit next to Missy. Kick your feet in the water.

“Patricia showed me the bracelet you gave her. It’s really nice,” she says.

“Thanks.”

The basketball flies toward you. Missy catches it and throws it back to the boys.

You look at your painted toes. Wonder if the chlorine will ruin the polish.

Patricia swims over. “The boys want to start a game of shark. You two want to play?”

“I’m in,” says Missy.

You freeze. You can’t join them. It’s not possible. They will only see your stomach bulging over the swim shorts. “Not right now,” you say. “I just ate lunch, I can’t swim on a full stomach.”

The game begins. No one notices you sitting by yourself. Go back inside and put on a shirt over your suit.

You leave the party. Walk to the convenience store at the corner of the block.

You put a bag of Fritos Chili Cheese Corn Chips and a Coke on the counter. The cashier smacks her gum and raises her left eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want diet?” you think she’s asking you in her head.

She has an annoying mole above her upper lip that wants to be pinched off. You pay with mostly change. Once outside you chug the cola and open the chips.

Stop in front of the Kane’s yard. Rings of creamy white flowers crown each of their seven saguaros. You would like a crown of flowers for yourself, but the flowers are too high up to pick. So you steal a yellow rose from another neighbor’s house. You never remember their names, so you don’t feel guilty. Put it behind your ear. You should head back to the party.

Twirl your hair, brushing the ends against your cheek, and you realize you forgot to brush your teeth this morning, so you dig through your backpack to find a stick of gum. With chips still stuck in your teeth, you start chewing.

“Evie! Evie! I know that’s you, Evie!”

You turn around to see Karin riding her bike toward you.

“Aren’t you going to Patricia’s birthday party?” She has shorts on over her swimsuit, a pair of goggles on her forehead and a beach towel around her neck.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Good, see you there!” She rides off.

Go home the long way to avoid walking by Patricia’s house.

Mom and dad left you a note. “Don’t eat the leftovers from Reynoso’s, we’re saving those for dinner.” They went to Home Depot for more paint for their room. Mom paints their room every year, alternating between Sage Green, Summer Yellow, and something called Mystic Morning, which as far as you can tell is just a shade of lavender.

Go to your room. Lay in bed on top of the quilt Aunt Oline gave you the previous summer. Run your fingers over the hand-stitched flowers as you scrutinize the picture on your nightstand. You, Missy, Karin and Patricia pose for Mr. Williamson in front of the tiger exhibit at the Phoenix Zoo. You stood in the back so only your face was visible. You’ve been told you have a pretty face. Apparently that’s not good enough.

Walk to your dresser. Lean over to get a close view in the mirror. Slightly suck in your cheeks. Lift your hands and cover your double chin. Start to cry. Cover your face and collapse on the berber carpet. Wail, knowing that you are all alone in your house.

A few minutes pass. You stand up and wipe the tears off your face. Change into your pink swimsuit without looking at yourself in the mirror. Don’t put on a T-shirt. Don’t cover yourself with a towel.

No voices. Mom and Dad still aren’t home yet.

Take a clean beach towel from the laundry room. Go outside. Remove the pool fence key from the hook above the porch light and unlock the gate. Don’t close the gate behind you. Take the rose out from behind your ear and place it on a deck chair.

Feel the warm Kool deck under your feet. Get a running start and then jump into the pool. The cold water shocks your skin. Blow bubbles through your nose and watch them rise to the surface.

Swim ten laps.

Reach the steps and gasp for breath. Spread your towel on the grass and lay in the sun. Listen to the birds sing as they eat at Mr. Hager’s birdfeeder.

Get the flower from the deck chair and put it behind your left ear. You walk into the house, almost dried from the sun’s rays.

“Eve, I didn’t know you were here,” says Dad as he turns around in the swivel chair. He’s sitting at the computer doing something involving an Excel spreadsheet. “Patricia just called. She wanted to know why you left. I told her I didn’t know where you were.”

“I forgot something,” you say. “I’m going back now.”

“Do you want a ride?”

“No thanks, I’ll walk.”

Gather your things- your towel, goggles, sunscreen, beach bag. Put on a shirt.

You don’t walk, you run. Run past the Kane’s saguaros, past the elementary school, past the corner where you ran into Karin. Run all the way to Patricia’s house but stop at the front door. Realize you forgot your black suit; you’re still wearing your pink two-piece with a T-shirt. You consider running home to change, but Patricia’s sister bursts through the door.

“Evie! Where did you go? We already opened presents and ate cake and now everyone’s back in the pool.” She grabs your hand. “Come on!”

“Laurel, I have to go to the bathroom first. I’ll meet you out there.”

“Whatever,” she says. For the second time today you watch her run to the backyard.

Notice you’re standing next to the dessert buffet again. All the cookies have been eaten, as well as the crisp. One cupcake remains, the one decorated with a picture of Charlie Brown. Look around for Mrs. Williamson. Enjoy your Charlie Brown chocolate cupcake, every bite moist and rich.

Consider checking your stomach in the bathroom mirror. Don’t.

Walk outside, where the other kids are playing Marco Polo in the pool. Missy is it. She’s swimming after Kevin, but he’s much too fast for her.

Throw your shirt over the pool fence. Start walking toward the deep end. Notice your shadow dancing on the Kool deck. The sun is setting, elongating your outline. You are tall and skinny.

Patricia motions for you to come play.

Missy tags the youngest Williamson child. He looks as if he might cry, so Karin takes pity and swims in front of him. Karin is it.

Step onto the diving board.

Karin swims back and forth under the diving board. Kevin and Charlie swim to the steps and get out of the pool.

Step off the board.

“Fish out of water?” Karin yells.

Take a running start. “You bettcha!” you yell right before you hit the water.

Cannonball into the pool, creating waves.

Welcome!

Welcome to my fiction blog. My plan is to use this forum to put my stories out in the world and talk about my fiction writing progress. Please feel free to comment on my stories. I encourage people to ask questions so if something is not clear, I can make the appropriate changes. Stories are never finished; writers get tired of going over them with a fine-tooth comb.