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Dedication
For Sarah,
my amazing flying girl
“Something has come to pass, you think,
something more important than
a mere flight over the ravine.”
— Gwendolyn MacEwen,
“Fragments from a Childhood”
ONE
This morning I wake up on the ceiling.
Which is odd, because I’ve never woken up there before, not that I remember, anyway. I’m pretty sure I would remember something like that. It’s not exactly the kind of thing that happens every day.
At least, not to me.
I wake up, and for a moment I can’t figure out where I am. My carpet is on the ceiling. I can’t understand why I am looking up at my bed, or why Cassie, my fat brown and white beagle, is also sitting on the ceiling.
My arms are floating out at my sides, too, and my long brown hair is dangling, well, up.
That’s when I start to wake up and figure it out.
I’m up. Too far up. Up on the ceiling, in fact. And everything that is generally on the ground (like the carpet and my dog), is too far down. I’m not sure what to do. I try pointing my toes toward the carpet, but nothing happens. My feet just rise again and rest softly on the ceiling behind me.
I slowly circle the room, making swimming motions with my arms. Cassie circles around beneath me, worried, looking up, whining and wagging her tail. That’s when I hear someone walking along the hallway toward my room.
My mom knocks on the door. “Gwennie! Are you up?” she calls.
“Yes! Yes, Mom, I’m up! Don’t come in!” I call back.
I certainly am up. Way up. I get a little panicky. I do not want my mom to come into the room and find me stuck to the ceiling, like a little kid’s party balloon. I can’t begin to imagine the freak-out that will cause. I have to do something.
I air-swim gently along the ceiling in my pink nightie until I bump into the top of the bedpost, which I grab with both hands. As soon as I touch it, I fall like a rock and smack hard onto the floor.
My mom opens the door. I’m sitting beside the bed, rubbing my behind, which took quite a beating when I fell.
“Gwennie, are you okay?” She looks concerned.
“Yeah. Yeah, Mom, I just fell out of bed. I’m fine.”
She looks a little worried but seems convinced. “Okay, hurry up and get ready for school.” She leaves and shuts the door.
Cassie comes over and licks my face. My dog is the only one who knows what a liar I am.
This is an interesting start to the day. A troubling and unusual start, but definitely interesting.
You might think that I’d be disturbed at waking up on the ceiling of my room. You’d be right. I really should feel disturbed and perhaps a little worried about my sanity, but honestly, I can’t say that I am. A lot of weird things have been going on with me lately. Mostly puberty, I guess. I mean, growing three inches in three months, getting your period, and growing boobs isn’t exactly normal. Well, everyone says it is, but it doesn’t feel so normal.
So what’s a little early-morning floating around your room compared to that?
It happened. I wasn’t dreaming. I woke up on the ceiling.
So what am I feeling?
Nothing. Just more of the same nothing, I guess.
TWO
I wash my face, brush my teeth, and get dressed. I go down to the kitchen. My little brother and sister are arguing over the breakfast cereal, which I grab then pour them both a bowl.
“Can’t you two share anything? It’s not that hard,” I say.
“He’s always grabbing stuff!” Christine says. “It’s rude.”
“She always wants everything first. It’s annoying,” Christopher says at the same time.
Yes, you heard me. Unfortunately, their names are Christine and Christopher. They’re twins. I begged my mother not to name them the same thing. What were we going to call them for short? I’d asked her. How would they feel about having practically the same name? And wouldn’t they hate their names? Wouldn’t they each think their name was really meant for the opposite sex? Christine would think her name was a boy’s name, and Christopher would think his name was meant for girls.
It was a bad idea all around, but it didn’t seem to bother my mother. Since Dad wasn’t around when they were born, I didn’t have anyone else to try to talk sense into her. Sometimes when I talk to them both at the same time, I call them C2 if I’m feeling nice, or the Chrissies if I’m not because they both hate the name Chrissie. It makes them cry.
My mother deserves that, she really does.
I eat my toast and jam, sneak a cup of really strong coffee, which I’m not supposed to have, and get the twins’ lunch ready.
Mom drops us off at Bass Creek Junior School, and I walk the Chrissies to the front door, but they walk themselves to class. They’re pretty self-sufficient, having each other to rely on and everything.
I walk to my school next door, Bass Creek Senior School, for the grade sevens and eights: the schizophrenic years. Us grade eights share lunchtime with the little kids from the junior school, but we have gym with the giant grade nine girls from the high school down the street. It’s like no one can decide if we’re children or teenagers.
The town planners weren’t very imaginative, either, since our high school, our public schools, and our town all have the same name: Bass Creek.
Which is odd, because there isn’t a creek, a stream, or a puddle anywhere near town. There’s one of the great lakes, though, an hour to the south. Mom says there was a creek once, a long time ago, before the highway was built and all the local rivers and streams (and creeks presumably) were diverted or buried. It always seemed unfair to me, forcing water to do something other than it wants to, but I’m not in charge here.
My first class is English, a class I’m never too crazy about. I’m not much of a reader. Our teacher, Mr. Marcus, wants us to write
