My Name Is Not Easy - By Debby Dahl Edwardson Page 0,4

A M E I S N O T E A S Y

anyhow, hollering weak little noises into the bristly black shadows, feeling more hopeless every step I take.

I’m done for. Mother Mary, help!

Suddenly I see something familiar: a fi fty-fi ve-gallon oil drum lying on its side. I look around real good because it goes to fi gure that where there’s oil drums, there’s people.

So now I’m standing here looking at that drum real hard, like it has to have the answer to my problem locked up inside it.

“Which way?” I whisper. “Which way?” Everywhere I look seems full of black shadows. Th en I get

another idea. I pick up a piece of dead wood and start banging on the side of that drum, yelling like crazy.

“Help!” Bang! Bang! “Help!”

I keep at it, hollering and banging with such a passion, I don’t hear anything else and don’t even realize there’s someone there until I see a fl uttering of white emerge from the black trees like a ghost. And believe me, this is a sight that scares the sound right out of me.

Th

en I realize it’s one of the nuns.

“Sister!” I bellow, running at her.

“My goodness,” she says. “What in the world is going on here?”

She’s really tall, tall as a tree, but something in her voice sounds more like a mother than like a nun.

“I . . . I got lost.” My voice feels small, and there’s a big, stinging lump of tears in my throat.

“What on earth are you doing out here?” 14

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L O O K I N G F O R A T R E E / C h i c k i e

“Looking,” I say, tears starting to roll down my checks.

“Looking for a tree.”

Sister sits down next to me, and before I know it, I’m crying for real.

“Looking for a tree,” she says with a little laugh. “Well, it looks like you found one.”

And all of a sudden, I start laughing, too, laughing and crying at the same time. Me sitting in the middle of an endless forest looking for a tree!

“You’re not used to this kind of woods, are you?” I shake my head.

“Me neither,” she says. “We have bigger trees where I come from, but not so many. It’s a bit intimidating, isn’t it?” I nod because even though I never heard that word before, I can tell what it means by the way she says it. Intimidating is the way these trees close in around a person, like they might try and choke you.

“It feels like this wilderness goes on forever,” she says. I don’t say anything because it seems like she’s talking more to herself than to me. And anyhow, it feels good sitting right next to her, feeling warm and not having to worry about intimidating things.

“Th

e garden is right over there,” she says softly, pointing back the way she came. “See? You weren’t really lost.” Off in the distance, I can hear the sound of a door banging shut and a hint of kids’ voices.

“We just made a batch of cookies. Would you like one?” I nod.

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M Y N A M E I S N O T E A S Y

“What’s your name, dear?”

I sure like the way she says that word— dear.

“Cecilia Snow,” I tell her. “But people that know me always call me Chickie.”

“Well, I’m Sister Mary Kate,” she says, standing up, “and it’s almost time for dinner, Chickie, so you and I had better hurry up inside.”

And so we do.

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Never Cry

SEPTEMBER 6, 1960

LUKE

—

Sacred Heart School is gray and shadowy, crouching in the trees like a big, blocky animal. I don’t like the look of those trees, either, especially not in the dark. Th ey’re black and

grasping, and they make strange fl apping noises, like something mean’s leaning over you, trying to suck the wind right out of you.

How could a person even breathe here? Back home, it doesn’t get dark so early in the day this time of year, either, which make this place seem really wrong. Me and Bunna and Isaac are just standing here in front of the school, staring.

Th

is place doesn’t look anything at all like those schools in Life magazine.

I can feel Mom’s voice, whispering deep down inside—

Take care of your brothers—and right now all I want to do is grab my