Free Up From the Blue by Susan Henderson Page B

pair of shorts but with a bib across the front, where Momma had embroidered a robin.
    “All right, then. But we do have to get you spruced up for your flight. Can you get this through your hair?” she asked,handing me a comb. “I don’t want your father to think I didn’t take good care of you.”
    Momma knew how to comb carefully from the bottom, and since she’d stopped getting out of bed, Dad had taken over—the braids not quite tight enough, the elastic tangling at the ends. I’d never tried to fix my hair myself. I took the comb, and right away, it got caught in the knots.
    “Let me try,” she said, but I never felt the comb touch my head, as if she just stood there staring at my hair, not at all sure where to start. After a while, she simply went inside without saying a word. I was glad to have my last moments there to myself, feeling the sun heat the top of my head and imagining how it would be to run to Momma.
    “Hold still,” Anne said.
    She’d come back out of the house with a pair of scissors. Sitting behind me, her legs squeezed round my shoulders, she began to snip. I sat frozen in place as three- and four-inch pieces fell around me. When she was done, she combed through the snarls with no problem, and I felt my face heat up.
    “Much better,” she said.
    I grabbed my stomach and bent over.
    “Tillie. Tillie, what’s wrong?”
    “You did it because you don’t like me,” I said, my face pressed into my knees.
    “What would give you an idea like that?” she asked.
    “The doctor told me.”
    “Walter told you that?”
    I nodded and felt the tears and snot against my legs.
    “Well, it’s just not true,” she said. “Come on. Sit up.”
    I sat up but kept my face turned away from her, embarrassed that I cared what she thought.
    “Your hair looks very pretty,” she said. “Let’s go inside so you can see for yourself.”
    There was a long mirror on the bathroom door, and she stood behind me, tucking my hair behind my ears. “See? Didn’t I tell you?”
    “I look like a boy,” I said.
    “Well, I don’t think you do at all,” she said. “Actually, I was thinking we have the same haircut now. I hope you’re not telling me I look like a boy.”
    I pouted but kept staring into the mirror because it was an impressive pout. I stuck out my chin a little more and said, “I just want to go home.”
    “You’ll be home by this evening. And I hope you’ll tell your father how good the food was. And how much fun you had taking bubble baths.”
    “I’ll show him my bruise.”
    “Here. I have an idea,” Anne said, putting her hand around my shoulder and pulling me away from the mirror. She went to the stereo and turned up the violins. Then, awkwardly, she extended her hands to me while she swayed her hips. “Come join me, Tillie. This is fun. Let’s have one good dance before you go.”
    I stood completely still, so embarrassed for her I had to shut my eyes.
    “Maybe not this trip, I guess,” she said, patting me on the shoulder. “Here, let’s get you packed.”
    “I just want to go home.”

    THE PASSENGERS IN THE airport waiting room smiled and chuckled as I hobbled past, and I waved back at them.
    “Do you want me to get your book out?” Anne asked, finding a seat.
    I shook my head. Swinging my legs, clasping and unclasping my hands, I was too excited about going home. I tried pulling my hair over my shoulder, but it was too short.
    “I can’t wait to see Momma,” I said.
    She frowned ever so slightly. “I know, whatever awaits you, you’ll do just fine,” she said.
    “I’ll tell her all about my leg.”
    “It’s just a bruise, Tillie. Remember we had a doctor check it.”
    A stewardess came to my seat and bent down in front of me. “Is this the young girl who will be flying today?”
    Anne did all the answering while the stewardess pinned flight wings to my shirt.
    “And you’ve never been on an airplane before, is that right?”
    Several times I’d peeked