Clementine
Before Daddy died, my biggest wish was for a baby brother called Phil. He’d have chubby fingers and a toothy smile and legs that kicked when he was happy. I used to imagine the way my friends would gather around his stroller for a peek, and I would tell them importantly, Move back! Phil is sleeping. I would be the expert on Phil. When he cried, Mom would say to me, Clem, can you tickle his toes for me? and I would, and Phil would giggle. When we went to the mall, I would push his stroller so Mom could do the grocery shopping. And I would play peekaboo! with him when he got restless. I had it all worked out. I used to think about Phil all the time. I still do, sometimes. But he’s not my biggest wish anymore. My biggest wish is that Daddy was still alive.
Miss Weber stands at the front of the classroom in a red dress with white spots and blue shoes with thick soles, called wedges. “All right, class,” she says, “I’d like everyone to sit in a circle on the mat. Now, since it’s no one’s birthday today … Clementine, would you like to sit in the birthday chair?”
The birthday chair is gold with red rubies all over it, like a throne for a princess. Of course I want to sit in it. Legs sits beside me on the floor and smiles because she is happy for me. Miranda doesn’t smile. I think she wishes she was sitting on the birthday chair instead of me.
“Now, I want to hear a little about your summers,” Miss Weber says. “Why don’t we go around the circle and each of you can tell me what you got up to. Let’s start with you, Harry,” she says. “What did you do this summer?”
I like Harry. He has curly hair that is mostly brown but in the sunshine it turns gold and shiny like a coin. Usually he is really smiley, but today, he looks at his shoes. “I visited my dad in Orlando,” he says.
“Wow, Florida.” Miss Weber smiles. “Were you on vacation, Harry?”
“No,” he mutters. “My dad lives there.”
Harry’s daddy met a new mommy. They live in Florida and she has a baby in her belly and Harry says they kiss all the time and it’s really gross. But Miranda must not know this, because she frowns and says, “You mean … your mom and dad—”
“Did you go to Disney World, Harry?” I ask quickly, because Miranda can be a bit tricky sometimes. That’s what Mom calls it, being “tricky.” Being tricky is when you can make people feel bad without saying anything really mean. Miranda is good at being tricky.
Harry looks at me, and he smiles a little. “Yep. All four parks. It was awesome.”
It’s Miranda’s turn next, and she tells the class that this summer she got a real-life pony called Farts. Everyone giggles, even Miss Weber. Then it’s my turn.
“Would you like to tell us about your summer, Clementine?” Miss Weber pats me on the head, and her voice gets a little bit softer than before. “If you don’t want to—”
“I do want to,” I say. “It was very busy. I moved to a new house and I went to five birthday parties and one was a princess party and I wore real high heels. Well, they were plastic, but still real. Also, my daddy went to Heaven. I wrote him a poem.” I unfold the paper from my pocket, then look at Miss Weber. “Would you like me to read it for you?”
Miss Weber smiles, but it is a sad smile. “We’d love to hear it, wouldn’t we, class?”
“Okay,” I say, and put on my good reading voice:
Daddy, I miss you every day.
I miss the way we used to play.
You were the best dad in the world.
And I was such a lucky girl.
I miss how you always made me laugh,
When you did funny voices with my toy giraffe, Now you’re gone I want to cry.
And that is not even a lie.
Why did you have to die when I was seven?
I wish you could come back to me from Heaven.
When I look up, Miss Weber is wiping something from her eye. “That was lovely, Clementine.”
I smile. “Mom helped me with the rhyming parts.”
Freya puts up her hand. “My gramma is in Heaven.”
“Mine, too,” says Harry.
“Heaven is in the clouds,” Miranda says.
“Actually,” I say, “Heaven is in the ground. I know because I saw some men put Daddy there.”
Miranda doesn’t say anything. I feel pleased that I told her something she didn’t know.
“Heaven isn’t like going to the Hamptons,” I continue. “Because you can’t come back after the weekend. It’s a long way away, but people in Heaven can still see us and hear us.”
Everyone listens.
“In Heaven you never get sick. And you are never by yourself, because lots of people are there.…”
I don’t tell the class that I really don’t understand Heaven. That it makes no sense because it would be really hard to hear and see someone from under the ground, even if you have really good ears and eyes. And that there might be a lot of people there, but not the ones you really love. I don’t tell them this, because I just want to keep talking and feeling important. It’s better than thinking about Daddy and feeling bad.