Bluish (5 page)

We were sorting pictures of Broadway. Her mom had said it was too cold for Bluish that Wednesday when we went out for our project. Willie had said, “Shoot, we could have helped Bluish have some fun.” So I had to take all the pictures without her. My dad’s camera. Tuli showed us stuff.

I know stuff about our ’hood, but Paula doesn’t. She’s from Brooklyn. But Tuli just sees stuff that I miss. She found this place? It was an Irish bar and a Chinese restaurant. Not too big but with maybe six booths for eating egg rolls and stuff. Cool! Called Misters Side by Side, with a green four-leaf clover and Chinese writing. How’d I miss it?

We only looked in. Then I took its picture—the yellow door and red letter sign. Tucked in there between a butcher’s and a cleaner’s. I took them too. I never even saw it. Maybe Misters Side by Side only just got there.

We got the film developed in a day. An evening later, Bluish called and said to bring the pictures over, she might be out the next day. So we did.

We get there, and I spread all the pictures on top of asleep Willie. And real easy, Bluish reached one to look at.

Paula couldn’t come. Said it would be okay, whatever we picked. But if there was one she loved, we’d have to use it. Said she loved Lightly Shoes. Barzinis. And Jays Fishes.

Bluish—her mom. She is Rita Winburn. Bluish’s mom comes in and we stare at her and wait. Somehow we blurt our names. She has brought out little cakes and milk.

Tuli says, “Ooooh.” Nice. We eat the cakes. I wake Willie.

Bluish’s mom is standing at the door with her arms crossed. Bluish kind of folds the bed covers up to her chin. She eats nothing.

Her mom has dark hair and creamy skin. She is not brown. I’ve seen Bluish’s dad. Mr. Winburn is brown. I’m sorta sweet chocolate color. Tuli is more honey color. Bluish would probably be the combined creamy and brown—her mom and dad—if she wasn’t sick. But she is this ill color not like anybody.

She’s Bluish because I saw her and she made me think of moonlight. But she might get creamier. Get rid of the blue someday. I hope so.

“We can hope and pray,” Tuli once said.

Bluish’s mom is standing there. And then her mom says, “Don’t call her Blewish. That’s not nice. That is derogatory.”

I stood up. I must have shook my head.

“Don’t you know it is not nice?” her mom asked. “Would you like her to call you bad names?” Looking right at me.

Tuli was standing, staring at the mom and then at me.

Bluish peeked through her fingers. “That’s not it, Mummy,” Bluish said. “I know what you are thinking and you are wrong.”

Tuli waited for me to say, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to talk. I felt sooo bad.

And then Tuli says all fast, “You tell her mom, Dreen! Please, Missus.”

And I couldn’t.

And then Bluish says, “Mom, it’s not black and Jewish, B-l-e-w-i-s-h, like a bad word.” She spelled it out for her mom. “But because I am so pale—from the chemo—I am a somewhat bluish color, get it?” She spelled it out, “B-l-u-i-s-h, and without the
e
in the
blue.”
Bluish said, “Dreenie didn’t mean anything bad.”

“I didn’t mean … anything bad!” That’s what I told the mom. I finally got it out. “I never. I wouldn’t.”

Bluish said, “I bet not the other kids, either. I bet only a few started it, black and Jewish.”

“She’s not anyone but Bluish. B-l-u-i-s-h.” It was Willie. Spelling it and saying it to Bluish’s mom. Willie holding her hands up because they are sticky with cake. She pipes up again, my kid sister. “She’s Bluish! She’s our friend!” And then grinning all over her face. Willie, my bratty sister! And made Bluish’s mom laugh!

And Mrs. Winburn said, “Well, I’d feel much better if you called her Natalie.”

“They do sometimes,” Bluish told her mom.

And we said we did. Although not.

But I never even knew the B-l-e-w-i-s-h part. What of that? I mean, I never even thought to call her bad because she’s black and Jewish. I thought the kids were saying Bluish. And what of the B-l-u-i-s-h? Well, it’s like Willie said.

Bluish made me stop and look. She made me care about what was all so scary, so sad, and so hurt with her too. To me she is just Bluish child, Bluish ill serious. Bluish close with us. Someday Bluish just like us.

Maybe.

O
NE DAY, THE FIRST
thing, Dreenie and her project group began mounting their pictures on poster board. They took turns deciding where each picture would go.

“Perfect!” Paula said.

All the students were around their boards, at tables, and on the floor.

Bluish was in school this day, with Dreenie and the others. She’d seemed the same—quiet. Weak-like.
But not better, not worse,
Dreenie thought. There were still kids who would tease her because she looked so different, in a wheelchair, and because they knew she wasn’t strong. They were mostly not in their class. Not often now did the classmates pick on her so she’d come back with a strange remark. She was there, part of the class. And they knew she wasn’t strong; she was someone to watch out for. They couldn’t treat her just like one of them. Because she wasn’t.

Dreenie was afraid Bluish would never be like the rest of them. Bluish couldn’t move fast. She couldn’t get rowdy. She could be so quiet. Some days, she didn’t even want her puppy around, she felt so bad. And then Dreenie would look out for Lucky. Hugging the dog. Taking him out in the school yard in the cold every so often. She felt him tremble in her hands. She shivered, too.

Dreenie let the dog lick her face.
Aren’t we lucky?
she thought, joking to herself and running around the playground. Loving the puppy as if he were hers.

Dreenie’s group took a long time to decide where the photos would go on their board. They finally agreed and pasted them up. Then, carefully, they typed sentences on the computer about each picture. Then, they printed them out. Next, they pasted the sentences under the pictures. When the poster board was ready, they carried it to the stairs and taped it to the wall on the side of the stairway. It wasn’t easy for Tuli and Dreenie to hold it upright while Paula taped it all around. Bluish watched from the top of the stairs.

“Does it look straight?” they asked her.

“No … wait. Now it does,” she told them.

“There!” Dreenie said. “We’re done!”

“Max, ours is done. Look at that! First thing I ever helped make. Looking good!” Tuli said. Anyone coming up to the fifth floor or down the stairs could see their work.

Other groups also hung their poster boards of photographs. Dreenie’s group had titled their board
THE BIG APPLE AVENUE
in large, dark letters. And right below that, in bright red, it said (
BROADWAY YAY!
) Some other kids had done Broadway, too.

“Not as good pictures,” Dreenie said, and Paula agreed.

“Ours is the best,” Bluish said, then whispered, “But don’t tell. It’s not a competition.”

They all agreed not to brag. There were no prizes for the best. They’d been taught to try not to hurt one another. It was hard, sometimes, to always be nice. Especially for Tuli. She liked to point and go, “Oooh, hooo, that’s oogily!” But she did try not to boast.

They’d worked so closely together, no one remembered now who had thought of what and which part. “Truly a group effort,” Bluish said, sounding like Ms. Baker.

Tuli said, “Un-huh, chicki, you are so right on!” Tuli made them laugh. Even Bluish laughed a little.

It was a good first part of the day in school. Most everybody got the job done. All the boards were hung by the end of the morning. They had a reward party. Cookies stored in the small fridge. Punch they had made in class. Ms. Baker took out sparkling pins that said
Peace
or
Love.
Every student got a pin. It caused an uproar.

“I bet you no other class got anything like them!” kids kept saying. “Ms. Baker, you are the most, man!”

They sat around the Christmas tree. Some kids had brought little gifts to school. But nobody had to. They were taught in school that the best gifts were the ones they made for one another, like cards, or little things you knit or drew. There wasn’t any special time that you made things to give. You did it when you felt like it, as Bluish had. Ms. Baker always said, “A gift is a kindness of giving.”

They all sat around the tree with Ms. Baker. Max, who helped her each day, told them about Hanukkah and Kwanzaa and Christmas. Kids knew about some of it. It was New York; they saw all kinds of people. They easily picked things up about one another. Max asked who had celebrated which holidays and even other ones. “It’s all right if you celebrate more than one—or none,” he said.

“We do Kwanzaa,” Mary Beth Neele said.

“We do Christmas and Kwanzaa,” Dreenie said.

Paula said, “My folks like Christmas because it’s American. But my dad is from India. Our belief is Hinduism.”

Students raised their hands or spoke out.

Tuli clutched her hands together, really tight.

Dreenie saw her. “Come on, Tuli,” she murmured. She knew what Tuli was thinking. Something like, “I get nothing, so why celebrate anything?” Tuli could go on for fifteen minutes about what she never got. But she always got nice things. People saw to it. Tuli’s aunt gave her holiday gifts. Tuli told her granmom Gilla to remind her aunt every time. Her granmom Gilla’s church gave Tuli a coat every other year. And dresses that her granmom Gilla made with the help of some others of the missionary women.

A nice coat,
Dreenie thought. Not exactly the flashy kind that fit the way Tuli acted up. But a good, pretty one that fit her, not too long. Tuli did try hard, even when she got things wrong or didn’t understand. But there was stuff she knew about, like people along Broadway. Given enough time, Dreenie was sure Tuli could learn the names of everybody in New York City someday.
So what if she tries to be Spanish at times,
Dreenie thought. Tuli wanted to be somebody. She wanted to be friends with everybody.

Eating cookies, just sitting around. Dreenie felt relaxed. It was time.

It had been her idea to surprise Bluish. All the kids went along, even Jamal, who could be the worst. Dreenie was to give the signal.

Everything was quiet. Suddenly, Dreenie jumped up and gave the signal. She lifted her arms above her head and shook her fingers. Kids hollered, screeched.

“Hats on!” Ms. Baker called. She took from her smock pocket the hat that Bluish had made her, and she put it on. Students pulled hats from under sweaters, from the cupboard drawers, from wherever they’d hidden them. Even when some of them didn’t want to, when they believed they looked stupid, in two seconds, they all had their hats on. “Whee!” said Ms. Baker. “This room has a rainbow condition!” They laughed loudly at that.

“Wow!” Dreenie said, looking around. The hats were many colors, with one or two stripes around.

“Look at us!” Tuli said.

Kids acted up, making faces. In spite of themselves, they admired themselves in the mirror on the closet door.

“We’re a field of flowers,” Bluish said softly.”We’re all the same; we’re different, too. Now you all look just like me.” She smiled, faintly.

They looked at one another, looked at her. Nobody disagreed. Nobody laughed. One kid, Manny Kittinger—they called him Manny the K—stood there in front of Bluish. Looking dopey in his hat, but loving it, he grinned from ear to ear. He flapped his hand at Bluish, waving. Ms. Baker had to smile; she patted Manny on his hat. It was black with orange stripes.

Kids floated easily up to Bluish and circled her chair. Touched her hand. She’d grab a hand or arm, but didn’t hold on. They were careful not to get rowdy or rough.

“They’re cool hats, aren’t they, class?” Max, the aide, said. They all agreed the hats were the flash. They went around, admiring one another, the combinations of colors and stripes.

“This whole class is the rap!” Dassan said.

“You like that?” Dreenie asked him.

He thought a moment and said, “Yeah! Sure! Nobody else in the whole school has these hats.”

“Bluish made us special,” Dreenie said. And got a smile out of Bluish.

It was then that Ms. Baker said, “Class, Natalie has something she wants to show you. Now, don’t crowd her. Make a big half-moon around her. Okay? That’s good.”

When they had arranged themselves on the floor, Ms. Baker handed Bluish something painted and square. Bluish had a sack of something to one side of her, and Ms. Baker put it on her lap. Bluish hadn’t brought her dog today.

Bluish took up the square object and held it in both hands. It looked like a toy top.

They all stared. Dreenie wondered what was going to happen.

“This is my mother’s,” Bluish said. “It once belonged to her mother, my Grandma Celia.” She breathed and seemed to pull herself in. “It’s very old, maybe a hundred years.”

“Wow, a whole century,” someone said.

“It’s called a dreidel, and children play a game with it in the evenings of Hanukkah holidays.”

“You’re going to teach us the game,” Dreenie said.

“Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel …” Mary Beth sang. “I know a dreidel song we learned in camp. But I forget the words.”

They could hear Bluish humming for a moment. It was the same melody that Mary Beth had sung.

“Class, let Natalie show us the dreidel game.”

“You play with peanuts or coins or sticks, but I only have enough peanuts for maybe six or seven people.”

But everyone wanted to play. “You’ll have to take turns. Listen up,” she said.

And they listened as Bluish explained about the dreidel. “It’s a four-sided top that you spin. Each side has a Hebrew letter—this side, this letter, is called
nun.”
She turned the dreidel. “This side is
gimel;
this side is pronounced
hey;
and the last, it’s
shin.”

They laughed at the strange sounds of the words. Someone went, “Hey-hey-hey!”

Instantly, another kid went, “Shinny-shin-shin!”

“Class, don’t make fun,” Ms. Baker said. They hushed.

Bluish looked slightly upset, but their joking had given her time to catch her breath.