Lorie Ann Grover - Loose Threads

Margaret K. McElderry Books An imprint of Simon & Schuster Childrens Publishing Division 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 www.SimonandSchuster.com Copyright 2002 by Lorie Ann Grover All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Book design by Russell Gordon The text of this book is set in Aldine. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Grover, Lorie Ann. Loose threads / by Lorie Ann Grover. cm. cm.

Summary: A series of poems describes how seventh grader Kay Garber faces her grandmothers battle with breast cancer while living with her mother and great-grandmother and dealing with everyday junior high school concerns. ISBN 978-1-4169-5562-7 (print)
ISBN 978-1-4391-3198-5 (eBook) 1. BreastCancerPatientsJuvenile poetry. 2. Junior high schoolsJuvenile poetry. 3.

GrandmothersJuvenile poetry. 4. CancerJuvenile poetry. 5. DeathJuvenile poetry. 6.

Childrens poetry, American. [I. GrandmothersPoetry. 2. BreastCancerPoetry. 3.

CancerPoetry. 4. Mothers and daughtersPoetry. 5. American poetry.] I. Title.

PS3557.R7428 L66 2002 811.6dc21 2001044724 Bible passages taken from American Standard Version, 1901 edition. Dedicated to MY GREAT-GRANDMOTHER, EULA MERCER,
19041986 MY GRANDMOTHER, MARGIE GARBER,
19211983 AND MY MOTHER, KARINE LEARY,
B. 1943 Special Thanks to MY HUSBAND, DAVID GROVER; MY PASTOR, TOM LYON; AND MY EDITOR, EMMA DRYDEN

M*A*S*H Our living room is cozied up with laughter. Great Gran Eula smiles at the colonel and sips her iced tea. Grandma Margie snickers at Radar over her knitting. Mom laughs at Hot Lips and doesnt finish paying the bills.

I laugh so hard at Hawkeye my beanbag chair squishes under me. We finally stop laughing during the commercial, and Grandma Margie says, I found a lump in my breast. What They Know A lump? I ask. On my left side. Im sure its nothing, says Gran Eula. Probably just fluid, says Mom.

Certainly benign, says Gran Eula. Well see, says Grandma Margie. I made a doctors appointment. All Im thinking is, I dont want to see or know anything about lumps in Grandma Margie . Breaking the Silence You didnt say how school went today, Kay, Mom says. Fine, I mumble.

Anything happen? Grandma Margie asks. Not really, I say. What did you learn? asks Gran Eula. All that comes to mind is Mr. Ball spraying his air freshener in English class, trying to cover up his cigarette smoke left over from break. Tssssssssss, till a cloud hovered over us.

Smelled like we were in a flower field on fire. Most singular verb forms end in s, he chanted, his big hair cutting a passage through the room. Singular verb forms end in s, I finally answer. That they do, says Gran Eula. Other Stuff Deb, Sheray, David, and I are doing a science project together, I add. Working as a team is always fun, says Grandma Margie.

Just dont let those three leave you with all the work, sugarplum. Gran Eula clinks her ice cubes against her glass. Kay knows better than that, says Mom. I squirm down in my beanbag chair, remembering how I did do that on last years project. I was the one who pinned all those dead butterflies to the cardboard after I caught them and killed them. I hope so. I hope so.

Gran Eula gives me the eye. What to Do Maybe we should discuss the lump, Mom says. M*A*S*H comes back on. None of us watch. Now, Karine, says Gran Eula, no need for that tonight. Karine. Karine.

Grandma Margie and I watch those two go back and forth. But, Sh. Sh. Fine. Mom slaps the checkbook down. Fine my daughter will be, says Gran Eula.

Good Night We missed the ending of the show. Grandma Margie clicks off the TV. Good night, says Gran Eula. She carries her glass to the kitchen. Good night, says Mom, leaving the pile of bills on the table. Good night, I tell Grandma Margie even though it isnt one.

Good night, Kay. I look back. Grandma Margie stays in her chair, yarn between her fingers, staring at her reflection on the blank TV Bottles and Beauty We brush our hair. Natural pig bristles. Brush our teeth. Floss. Floss.

Waxed and minty. Glop on cold cream. Thick and white. Rinse. Tingly fresh. Cake on mango masks.

Pink and gritty. Smear on aloe lotion. Smooth and soft. Spray on flower scents. Sweet and light. All the stuff we do, all the stuff we use, to be healthy and beautiful doesnt stop a lump from growing, I guess.

The Drawer I open the bathroom drawer to slip my brush in. My fingers graze their three brushes. I pick up Grandma Margies and hold it close to my chest. Her hair spray, caught in the bristles, smells clean. Not like Gran Eulas, whose smells chemically and is tacky stiff. One strand of Grandma Margies hair tickles my cheek.

It matches my hair color exactly. I pull it from the brush and pray, God, please make the lump go away. I lace the hair back into the bristles and set the brush down gently next to the others. Please, God. I shut the drawer. Make it go away.

The Phone I get the phone and take it to my bedroom. I want to call Deb. And tell her what? My grandma has a lump? How gross is that? Shed say, Where? And Id have to say, In her breast. Or could I say chest? Is that too lame? Then shed be thinking about my grandmas breasts. Then maybe mine next. And what is that about? Because theres no lump in mine.

Thats for sure. So forget it. I put the phone back in the kitchen. For-get-it. 2:00 A.M. Grandma Margie stands at my door in her robe and curlers, looking at me in bed.

I fake sleep till she walks away, because I dont know what to say. I can only pray. Weve Lost Great-Grandfather before I was born, Grandpa when I was five, and Dad left when I was six. We cant lose Grandma Margie next. Comfort It is so cold with the air-conditioning turned down to sixty degrees. Gran Eula always says, Its the only way to sleep comfortably.

I slip outside onto the front porch. The night air is sweet and thick from mango blossoms. The heat burrows through my skin until I lean against our cool concrete house. A warm breeze rustles the palm fronds, then slips by my cheek like a deep sigh. And I am finally able to sigh back. Inside I climb under my covers.

The warm air still clings to my skin. I fall asleep smelling mangoes. Fine I shift my backpack so it stops cutting into my shoulder. Im walking out the door into the steamy sunshine, and Mom asks, You all right, hon? I dont answer. Kay? Yeah, I say, not meaning it. Im fine.

For some dumb reason I have to blink fast to get rid of some stupid tears. Ive never been good at saying how I feel or showing I need anyone, least of all Mom. Shes so perfect she never even cries. Im totally fine. I swallow and walk away like Im supposed to. It Seems Like Mom was the same back when Dad was around.

Maybe she was too perfect for him to stay around us. One Thing I Remember Whenever Dad came home from work, Mom always said, Put your shoes on the rack. And he never did. So I would before she could tell him again. Mom needs everything around her just right. Even a row of shoes.

So, Dads shoes were right there on the shelf the day he took them and left. Right where Mom told him to put them. Right where I put them. Right there for him to find them and walk away from her row of shoes. Work A pebble skitters off my shoe. I shrug my backpack higher.

Gran Eula always says, Going to school is your work for now, sugarplum. It sure is work. Its so big to her because she only got to the sixth grade. She likes to remind me, We each have to contribute. But what does my schooling add to our home? No one ever tells me that. Thp. Thp.

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