Ms. Zephyr's Notebook (9 page)

He stretched up and flipped on the tiny light above his head only to discover it was burned out. But the light over the next seat flickered on when he touched it, so he slipped in beside the window and opened Abbie's notebook. He could see the next notation was from Kip — something about happiness and chocolate cake. He remembered writing something for Abbie about happiness as well. What was it?

In the hospital, it was easy to forget how to be happy. That's the problem with happiness, isn't it? Just when you think you have it in your hand, it's gone and you're left with a fistful of air and nothing else. Logan tilted the notebook toward the light and began to read.

November 18

Kip G.

Did you see, Abbie? My mom brought in my laptop. Dr. Robbie said I could use it to do my school work so from now on I'm going to use it to type all my journal entries for you. My mom also brought me a printer cable, so at night when everyone in the office goes home, I can print off all my work.

Here is my journal entry for today:

My Laptop by Kip Graeme

My laptop is a great machine. I'm really happy because now I can play all my computer games instead of Xbox. Computer games are way better. My favourite is Battlescene Historia, because I get to replay all the great battles in history.

I also really like watching anime and drawing my own anime with a program on my laptop. This is why my laptop is so great. I showed it to Jacqueline and she said she liked it, too, and even showed me how to type her name. Logan didn't want to see my laptop, for some reason. Maybe tomorrow.

Also, Jacqueline doesn't have the tube thing hanging out of her nose anymore. They took it out today. That sentence wasn't about my laptop, but I
still thought it was interesting and you said journals should be interesting.

From,

Kip

November 19

Kip G.

Hi Abbie,

Logan got mad at me this morning and I feel pretty sick today. That's all my news. But I know you like to read my journal, so I will write a little bit on what you asked.

What Makes Me Happy

by Kip, 6th Grade

Three things make me happy. Playing baseball with my dad is one. Eating my mama's chocolate cake is another. But the best is not being in the hospital. I don't have to stay for so long this time, do I? Is a week up yet?

From, Kip

November 19

Logan K.

Too early.

Okay Abs, today you want me to write about something that makes me truly happy. (Stupid assignment, by the way. The little weirdie is going to force you to read all about butterflies and moonbeams and crap like that, y'know. And what would she know about Carl Sagan, anyway? That chick is such a know-it-all.)

So, what makes me happy?

Beer.

Logan

November 19

Jacquie H-M.

1:00 p.m.

Dear Ms. Zephyr,

This was to be a journal of celebration, as Medusa and Dr. Valens have finally opened their eyes to the amazing progress I am making in here and have withdrawn my feeding tube. However, the joy of that event has been
quashed by something I have read in your notebook and I really feel I must protest.

As you know, over the weekend I submitted a ten-page essay on the subject you assigned: happiness and fulfillment. Ten pages. With footnotes! And when I return to check my mark in your notebook, not only is my essay (which I sincerely believe deserves an A+)
missing
, but I see by Logan's entry that he was allowed to submit nothing. Not even a single page! With the exception of the ridiculous paragraph he submitted earlier today, of course. I also notice that some time ago he was allowed (may I even say encouraged) to present some sort of comic strip as a substitute for a journal entry. I would not ever want to accuse you of favouritism, Ms. Zephyr (and certainly no teacher in their right mind would favour him over me) but I feel righteously indignant enough to share my concerns with you.

Please feel free to inform Mr. Logan Kemp that I prefer to be addressed as Ms. Hornby-Moss or even as Jacqueline.
NOT
Little Weirdie. It is true that I have relinquished my birth name, however the whole subject is none of his business and on top of that, his substitute is entirely unacceptable.

And while you are speaking to him, perhaps you might inform him that due to circumstances beyond my control, I have been forced to examine the night skies extensively in my life. As a result, I have developed a deep
and profound interest in astronomy. I have read widely from the works of Carl Sagan and he was even friends with my Nona. And not once — NOT ONCE — did he ever say “I'm outta here.” (He would never use such a vile contraction, I am quite sure.)

Back to my original point, Ms. Zephyr. I truly understand how little Kip is allowed such a brief entry. After all, he is only eleven years old and really is feeling poorly these days. But Logan is in tenth grade — a full year ahead of me. Justice has not been served here.

Jacqueline H-M.

November 19

Logan K.

Later.

Abbie, be reasonable. Beer does make me happy. You should feel good that I'm not smoking dope. Half the team smokes, but those stupid idiots have no eye for the future. I want a scholarship to get me out of this puny town. Smoking dope makes a person too content to lie around in their own shi feces.

So how's that? Are you happy now?

Logan

November 19

Logan K.

Sometime after the overcooked spaghetti they tried to pass off as dinner.

Sheesh, Abbie. This is not fair. You get to go home to your regular life and probably some kind of great dinner like pizza and I'm stuck here with the nurse from hell enforcing no TV until I make a third freakin' stab at this homework. Give me a break, Abbie — I even asked the little weirdie how to spell feces. You are one hard dudette, Abs. (Hard Abs — good one!)

But you hold all the power, so here goes:

Happiness
by Logan Kemp

After giving this subject some deep thought, I have decided to write about rugby. Any fifteen-year-old guy in his right mind likes football, right? But the truth is that it takes a special type of guy to play rugby. Rugby is more physical than football. The players don't wear all the pansy padding that football players wear. We're only forced to wear helmets so the opposing team doesn't tear off our ears in the scrum.

It's faster and you need a strong, clear ability to communicate. My favourite part of the game is the scrum. This is where the forwards all work together,
shoulder to shoulder, to try to gain control of the ball from the other team. Sometimes it feels like you are trying to make it down the field with the entire opposing team on your back.

You just don't see that kind of action in football.

I also like how after the game the whole team lies on the side of the field because we are too tired to move. We drink Gatorade and pretend it's beer. (Just pretend. Of course, I know that no kids in high school ever drink beer. We just don't like it. Right.)

And so, to make a clear concluding paragraph just like you asked, what makes me happy is playing rugby followed by not drinking beer.

I'm going to ask the nurse to call you and read this to you, so you can tell her to let me turn on the TV.

Logan

November 20

Logan K.

Some crappy morning time

Today I feel like crap. The whole world is crap. And writing this journal entry every day is the biggest crap deal of all. I don't need English skills to be a rugby star. I just need someone around here to solve the problem of whatever is eating my gut out. Who was this Crohn guy, anyway? And why does he hate me so much?

I'm not really up to this journal stuff today.

By the way, I don't care that I've been kicked out of that crappy little store. Who needs them, anyway?

That little weirdie isn't helping. Okay, I give you that I shouldn't call the chick a weirdie. But there is no way I'm going to call her by some stupid, made-up name. And there's no denying she is weird. I mean, even before
she broke her wrist she was trying to starve herself to death. And here's me who CAN'T eat because it kills my gut. It's just not freakin' fair. The truth is, that's why I kicked your wall in that time, Abbie. I was so mad at that chick. She could have a perfect life and she just chooses not to.

What kind of teacher keeps her notebook on the desk for anyone to read, anyway? I hate it when the weirdie looks at my stuff and then bugs me about it. Little Miss A Student is pretty quick to criticize other people. Maybe she should just keep her eyes on her own work and go eat a banana split or three. And have a look in the mirror while she's at it. Baby, she's got problems of her own.

I know Carl Sagan was an astronomer dude. I know he used to look at the stars a lot. The man must've said “I'm outta here” at some point in his life. And who gives a shit about Carl Sagan or what he said, anyhow? You can't see the stars from in here.

Logan

November 20

Jacqueline H-M.

9:06 a.m.

Hello Abbie,

Well, there you have it. You have broken through my natural reserve. I have never called a teacher by her first name before. I have to admit it feels a little strange, even in writing.

But after our amazing discussion yesterday I just feel free to do as you have asked. I had no idea you were so interested and informed on the subject of astronomy. What a thrill for me to chat with such a knowledgeable resource! Plus, today is a day of celebration. First full day since Medusa finally removed my gastric tube, not that I needed the thing anyway. I feel quite sure I have turned a corner and am on my way to recovery.

Only nine days to my birthday — can you believe it? Abbie, I feel ready to become a whole new person. New name, new age, and new slim and attractive body. The NG tube removal means that I can start eating food again, and though I have some firm thoughts on the choices I must make, I am happy to get back to normal. You'll see on the wall of my room I have put together a collage of the world's most beautiful women, cut out of magazines from the waiting area. My art therapist suggested I make the collage to represent what I want in life and I am thrilled with the results.

I know I can never be as beautiful or as willowy as these women but I hope that even when I am old and grey I will always retain a certain sense of style.

Jaqueline H-M.