Melanie Martin Goes Dutch (11 page)

Well, we slept for twelve hours—from 8:00 P.M.to 8:00 A.M.

I think we might be almost on Holland time now, meaning that morning feels like morning (not the middle of the night) and evening feels like evening (not the middle of the day). I hope so—I'm tired of being tired!

The first thing I asked Mom this morning was “Has our lost luggage arrived?” She said, “No, darling.”

It should have come by now! I want Hedgehog!!

Matt asked, “We're never never ever ever going to get our luggage, are we?”

Mom said we would.

I asked if we had to wear the same clothes AGAIN, and Mom said we had no choice, but if we wanted to take a shower and flip our underwear inside out, that might be a good idea.

I can't believe Mom said that. And in front of Cecily! It was soooo embarrassing, not to mention

“If our stuff doesn't arrive today, we should sue,” I said. “Or at least buy new underwear.”

Mom called the baggage people, but their number was busy. She asked the check-in man to call them while we are out.

I wrote two poems.

The first is:

The second is the kind Miss Sands once made us do. Each line begins with a letter that helps spell a word— in this case, Holland.

Well, we are now on our way to Alkmaar, a town known for its cheese market and cheese museum.

We are on a bus. Matt is sitting on Cecily's lap.

Cecily just said, “Matt, you have a bony butt,” and Matt laughed like that was the greatest compliment you could ever hear. If I'd called Matt's butt bony, he would have hit me. Then I'd have hit him and we'd have gotten in a big fight and ended up in big trouble. But since it was Cecily calling his butt bony, Matt acted charmed.

I don't get it. And Matt doesn't even have a bony butt. He has a squooshy tushy. Or a plump rump.

The guide on our bus is young and cute. He has blond hair and grayish eyes. He gave me a brochure. He
says “Hello” like “Hollow.” He is explaining everything in Dutch, English, Spanish, and French. Mom said many Europeans speak several languages. She said that if people in Connecticut had their own language and people in New Jersey had their own language, maybe New Yorkers would learn Connecticutese and New Jerseyese, but since most Americans speak English, most don't try very hard to learn other languages.

“I speak pig latin,” Cecily said. “Ig-pay atin-lay.”

Mom smiled and said, “E-may oo-tay,” which means “Me too.” Mom told me that to speak pig latin, you take the first consonant of a word and move it to the end and add ay. So I said, “Ello-hay!” to Cecily, and she said, “Ello-hay, Elanie-may!” back to me.

Mom speaks Spanish, French, pretty good Italian, and okay pig latin. But even Mom says Dutch is difficult.

It sounds difficult.

For example, if you want to say “please,” it's
which you pronounce Ahl Stoo Bleeft. (Sorry for the cross-outs. I had to ask Mom how to spell it because it is as impossible to spell as it is to say.)

It sounds sort of like “All stew is blecchh!” but last night when I was thirsty, I pointed to my empty water glass and said, “All stew is blecchh!” and the waitress looked at me as though I'd flown in from Pluto.

“Thank you” is easier. It's
dank u wel
(Don Coo Well).

“Yes” is
ja
(Ya) and “no” is
nee
(Nay).

Here's the point: I'm glad our guide speaks English! (I'm glad he's cute too!)

He asked me my name, and I said Melanie, and he said, “That's a pretty name,” so I asked him his name, and he said Hans, and I said, “That's a handsome name.” I couldn't believe I said that! I started to blush, and he just smiled (really cutely). Then Matt and Cecily introduced themselves and he ruffled Matt's hair and asked Cecily where she's from and said her name was pretty too!

Hans stood up at the front of the bus and told everyone to look out their windows. “You see that lovely green countryside? It used to be covered with water. We are driving along the bottom of an old dried-up lake.” Then he said, “Cecily?”

She glanced at me and half giggling, answered, “Yes?”

“Cecily, what do you call my country?”

“Holland?” she answered.

“
Ja
, you call it Holland,” he agreed. “But to us, North and South Holland are just two of twelve provinces. You see the bumper stickers on those cars? They say NL. We are the Netherlands. We are part of the Low Countries. Much of our land is low—below sea level!”

“
Below
the sea?” Matt asked.

“
Ja
, Matt,” Hans said, and Matt sat up tall and proud. “Hundreds of years ago, we took the land back from the sea by building dikes and dams and using windmills to pump water out of the lakes. Who remembers my name?”

I raised my hand, but Cecily blurted out, “Hans.”

“
Ja
. And who knows the book Hans Brinker,
or the Silver Skates
?”

“I do,” Mom said. “It's written by an American woman.”

“
Ja
. It's not Dutch at all,” Hans smiled. “In the book, there's a story of a boy who sees water trickling through a hole in a dike—which is a low wall built to prevent floods. Come here, Matt.” Matt stepped up and Hans
got him to stick out his pointer finger. “That boy poked his finger in the hole to stop the leak,” Hans continued, “and stayed that way all night and until the next morning, when a man saw him and helped him. He was a hero!” You could tell that Matt felt like a hero too, but then Hans told him to go sit down. “That story is make-believe. Today, we have modern ways to prevent floods.”

I tried to picture myself saving the day and being a hero.

In front of me, Dad whispered, “I hope this excursion isn't a tourist trap.”

Matt said, “What's an excursion?”

Dad said, “A field trip.”

Matt said, “I love field trips. Especially the bus rides.”

Cecily said, “What's a tourist trap?”

Dad said, “It's when tourists get lured to the same crowded place and the place isn't all that interesting.”

“And they trap you?” Matt asked. His eyes got big and round and he stopped fiddling with his stupid baby tooth.

“No,” Dad laughed. “They just take some of your money.”

“If Alkmaar is a little touristy,” Mom said, “that's fine because Matt here is a little tourist.”

“I'm sure it'll be fun,” Cecily said, all cheerful.

“I bet it will be cheesy,” I piped in. I meant it as a joke. Cecily laughed but I could feel Mom and Dad just wishing I had a better attitude. Sometimes even I wish I had a better attitude.

I also wish Cecily would stop acting so cheerful. She's like a teacher's pet, only in this case, a family's pet. I thought it would be great being on vacation with her. But when we got on the bus and Matt said, “Sit next to me!” instead of saying, “Dream on, you little twerp,” she looked right at me, then said, “Okay,” and plopped next to him like she was his friend, not mine.

I can't believe Matt the Brat is taking over my best friend. I can't believe she's letting him. And I can't believe Hans called on Cecily and made Matt the star of his show when he knew me first.

Right now Cecily is letting Matt color all over her magazine. He is sitting on his bony-squooshy-plump
butt-tushy-rump uglying up all the celebrities. He's giving them antlers and bloodshot eyes and drawing Band-Aids and Frankenstein stitches on their faces and putting cotton balls in some of their nostrils and making boogers ooze out of other of their nostrils. And Cecily is
laughing
.

Mom and Dad are sitting side by side reading a book of van Gogh's letters.

That leaves me, myself, and I in my slept-in clothes and inside-out underwear.

At least I've got you and a pencil. And Anne Frank's diary.

I'm up to the part where she says that she knows it does no good to be “gloomy” but says, “Still, I can't refrain from telling you that lately I have begun to feel deserted…. But why do I bother you with such foolish things? I'm very ungrateful, Kitty; I know that.”

I feel a little deserted too. But, I know that I should be very grateful.

It's just hard sometimes.

(Zon Za HHHunse)