Maureen Johnson - Little Blue Envelope 1 13 Little Blue Envelopes

13 Little

Blue Envelopes

maureen johnson

For Kate Schafer,

the greatest traveling companion

in the world, and a woman

who is not afraid to admit

that she occasionally cant

remember where she lives.

Contents

#1

Dear Ginger,

I have never been a great follower of rules. You know that. So its going to seem a little odd that this letter is full of rules Ive written and that I need you to follow.

Rules to what? you have to be asking yourself.

You always did ask good questions.

Remember how we used to play the today I live in game when you were little and used to come visit me in New York? (I think I liked I live in Russia best. We always played that one in winter. Wed go to see the Russian art collection at the Met, stomp through the snow in Central Park, then go to that little Russian restaurant in the Village that had those really good

pickles and that weird hairless poodle who sat in the window and barked at cabs.)

Id like to play that game one more timeexcept now were going to be a little more literal. Todays game is I live in London. Notice that I have included $1,000 in cash in this envelope. This is for a passport, a one-way ticket from New York to London, and a backpack. (Keep a few bucks for a cab to the airport.)

Upon booking the ticket, packing the

backpack, and hugging everyone good-bye, I want you to go to New York City. Specifically, I want you to go to 4th Noodle, the Chinese restaurant under my old apartment. Something is waiting there for you. Go to the airport right from there.

You will be gone for several weeks, and you will be traveling in foreign lands. These are the aforementioned rules that will guide your

travels:

Rule #1: You may bring only what fits in

your backpack. Dont try to fake it out with a purse or a carry-on.

Rule #2: You may not bring guidebooks,

phrase books, or any kind of foreign

language aid. And no journals.

Rule #3: You cannot bring extra money or

credit/debit cards, travelers checks, etc.

Ill take care of all that.

Rule #4: No electronic crutches. This means no laptop, no cell phone, no music, and no camera. You cant call home or communicate

with people in the U.S. by Internet or

telephone. Postcards and letters are

acceptable and encouraged.

Thats all you need to know for now. See you at 4th Noodle.

Love,

Your Runaway Aunt

As a rule, Ginny Blackstone tried to go unnoticedsomething that was more or less impossible with thirty pounds (shed weighed it) of purple-and-green backpack hanging from her back. She didnt want to think about all the people shed bumped into while shed been carrying it. This thing was not made for wearing around New York City. Well, anywhere, really... but especially the East Village of New York City on a balmy June afternoon.

And a chunk of her hair was caught under the strap on her right shoulder, so her head was also being pulled down a little.

That didnt help.

It had been over two years since Ginny had last been to the 4th Noodle Penthouse. (Or that place above the grease factory,

as Ginnys parents preferred to refer to it. It wasnt entirely unfair. 4th Noodle was pretty greasy. But it was the good kind of greasy, and they had the best dumplings in the world.) 7

Her mental map had faded a bit in the last two years, but 4th Noodles name also contained its address. It was on 4th Street and Avenue A. The alphabet avenues were east of the numbers, deeper into the super-trendy East Villagewhere people smoked and wore latex and never shuffled down the street with bags the size of mailboxes strapped to their backs.

She could just see it now... the unassuming noodle shop next to Pavlovas Tarot (with the humming purple neon sign), just across the street from the pizza place with the giant mural of a rat on the side.

There was a tiny tinkle of a chime and a sharp blast of air-conditioning as Ginny opened the door. Standing behind the counter was a pixie of a woman manning three phones at once.

This was Alice, the owner, and Aunt Pegs favorite neighbor. She smiled broadly when she saw Ginny and held up a finger, indicating that she should wait.

Ginny, Alice said, hanging up two of the phones and setting down the third. Package. Peg.

She disappeared through a bamboo curtain that covered a door into the back. Alice was Chinese, but she spoke perfect English (Aunt Peg had told her so). But because she always had to get right to the point (4th Noodle did a brisk business), she spoke in halting single words.

Nothing had changed since the last time Ginny had been here. She looked up at the illuminated pictures of Chinese food, the shiny plastic visions of sesame shrimp and chicken and broccoli. They glowed, not quite tantalizingly, more radioactively.

The chicken pieces were a little too glossy and orange. The sesame seeds too white and too large. The broccoli was so green 8

it seemed to vibrate. There was the blown-up and framed picture of Rudy Giuliani standing with a glowing Alice, taken when he had shown up one day.

It was the smell, though, that was most familiar. The heavy, fatty smell of sizzling beef and pork and peppers and the sweetish odor of vats of steaming rice. This was the scent that seeped through Aunt Pegs floor and perfumed her.

It rang such a chord in Ginnys memory that she almost swung her head around to see if Aunt Peg was standing there behind her.

But, of course, she couldnt be.

Here, Alice said, emerging from the beaded curtain with a brown paper package in her hand. For Ginny.

The packagean overstuffed padded brown envelopewas indeed addressed to her, Virginia Blackstone, care of Alice at 4th Noodle, New York City. It was postmarked from London and had the faintest aura of grease.

Thanks, Ginny said, accepting the package as gracefully as she could, given that she couldnt lean over without falling face-first onto the counter.

Say hi to Peg for me, Alice said, picking up the phone and launching straight into an order.

Right... Ginny nodded. Um, sure.

Once she was out on the street, scanning Avenue A nervously for the cab she was going to have to hail for herself, Ginny wondered if she should have told Alice what had happened. But she was soon distracted by the sheer terror that her task caused her. Cabs were yellow beasts that sped through New York, whisking people who had to be places to the places 9

they had to be and leaving terrified pedestrians scrambling for cover.

No, she thought, raising a timid hand as far as she could as a herd of her prey suddenly appeared. There was no reason to tell Alice what had happened. She barely believed it herself. And besides, she had to go.