The Naked Mole-Rat Letters (15 page)

Be true to your heart, Frankie. In the long run, it's much easier.


Love,


Ayanna


P.S. I'm glad that you realized the importance of privacy, although it sounds like you learned the lesson the hard way. If you have any questions about my relationship with your dad, you should ask your dad directly. The two of you really need to talk about all this. Have I said that enough?


 

 

Dear Ayanna:


It sounds easy to be true to your heart, but you don't live in Pepper Blossom. Sometimes I hate this place. Everybody sticks their noses into everybody's business. There's no room to just
be
. I feel like I'm stuck in a tunnel, and I can't get out.


—F.


 

Dear Frankie:


What you said about being stuck in a tunnel reminds me of something. Once when I was doing research on naked mole-rats in graduate school, I
saw the queen of a colony pick on one mole-rat and shove her around a lot more than the others. I never figured out why the queen singled her out. After being repeatedly shoved and pushed by the queen, this female began to withdraw from the colony's activity. Then, a few other mole-rats in the colony began to follow the queen's example and treat the mole-rat roughly. Pretty soon all the mole-rats in the colony were “going along with the crowd” and persecuting her. After a while, the poor female sat by herself in the toilet chamber. She stopped eating and didn't go back to the nest to sleep. Eventually, she died. It was the saddest thing. I wanted that little naked mole-rat to stand up for herself, or to dig a new tunnel and establish a new home. But it doesn't work that way among mole-rats. Naked mole-rats can't exist by themselves.


—A.


 

 

Dear Ayanna:


The kids at my school
are
naked mole-rats. They were bad enough when it was just a rumor about Johnny and me. I can't imagine how they'd act if we started openly hanging out together.


I can't possibly go to school tomorrow or next week.


I wish I could catch a disease so that I could spend a month in a hospital, watch TV all day, and have my food brought to me on trays. I wish I had a little gardener's cottage like Helen Keller that I could fix up and live in all by myself.


I'm not going to the Fall Festival next weekend, either.


—F.


 

 

Dear Frankie:


I don't know much about the Fall Festival, but your father made it sound like a big deal. Are you sure you want to miss it? Tell me what it's like.


—A.


 

Dear A.:


I don't
want
to miss the Fall Festival. It's sort of like the town's reason for being alive. The whole town comes together (along with some tourists) for a whole day full of traditions that we have to do exactly the same way every year because that's the way it is.


Before the sun rises, about one hundred people from Pepper Blossom meet in Maple County State Park at the top of Chestnut Hill for what's called the Sunrise Hum. My grandma Jenny always drives down from Michigan.


We all stand facing east in a huge huddle because it's always cold before the sun rises. All the trees around us are dark and sleepy. Then a sliver of gold begins to glow on the horizon, and that's when somebody starts the Hum. It's sort of a low “um” sound. Dad says it's like what the monks in Tibet do. Pretty soon everybody joins in, and the Hum gets louder and louder and higher and higher as more of the sun peeks out. And when the whole sun is visible in the sky, the Hum turns into what is called the Humdinger, which is like a big cheer. After that, we huddle around the grills and make pancakes and hot chocolate.


Then we have a parade and all sorts of contests and music in the town square for the rest of the day. At sunset we all go back to the state park and do the Sunset Hum, which is like the Sunrise Hum, only backward. Usually it's my favorite day of the year. Even better than Christmas.


There's no way I can go this year. Everybody will be teasing me about Johnny.


—F.


 

Dear Frankie:


I think you should go to the Fall Festival and try to have fun. If anybody teases you, don't pay attention. Remember an old African proverb: Ashes fly back in the face of those who throw them.


Yours,


Ayanna


 

 

Dear Ayanna:


You remind me of my favorite teacher, Ms. Young. She always says wise things.


—F.


 

Dear Frankie:


I'll take that as a compliment.


 

 

Dear Ayanna:


No offense, but I still think that naked mole-rats sound horrible. How the heck did you get interested in them in the first place? Why didn't you pick something cute, like koalas?


Curiously yours,


Frankie


 

Dear Frankie:


My father kept a vegetable plot behind our house in Kenya. When I was about Nutter's age, I noticed a small hill of dirt forming near the vegetables one early morning after a rain. I crept
over and saw a spray of dirt being kicked up by some kind of little animal from below. I couldn't see the creature's face. In fact, all I could see was a scrawny, little, ugly, white butt.


I ran for my father. He explained how there are little creatures that live underground and eat crops from below. He ran to get a shovel. He, of course, wanted to open their tunnels and get them to leave his garden. I remember standing there in my little cotton dress, staring at the empty hole (our noise had scared the mole-rats deep into their tunnel), being both afraid and curious. Was there really a secret world of creatures digging under my feet? Part of me wanted to run away and the other part wished that I could become small enough to dive into the hole and see their underground home for myself.


After that, I read every book I could find about burrowing animals and insects. Often when I walked to school or to the village, I would try to imagine what the world under my feet must look like, all busy with unseen activity. I still do it when I'm walking in Rock Creek Park. Sometimes I even do it when I'm standing on the sidewalk in front of my apartment. Underneath all the concrete, if you
dig deep enough, you find life! Somehow that makes me appreciate all life even more.


Deeply yours,


Ayanna


 

Dear Ayanna:


What you wrote reminds me of Nutter. He has a thing for worms. He is abscessed with worms. He has to pick up every rock in order to see if there are worms squirming around in the mud underneath it.


I guess you figured out that Nutter and Skip don't have debilitating diseases. They are still annoying.


I've never thought about what is happening underground. But sometimes I stand still and imagine what it would be like to be deaf or blind. If I could
see
the creek splashing over the rocks and not hear it, would the creek look different? Would I
see more colors in the water? If I could
hear
the treetops rustling in the wind and not see them, would the sound become visible inside my mind?


Thinking about what it would be like to be blind or deaf makes me appreciate what I see and hear even more.


Thoughtfully yours,