Getting Along & Making Things Right
The Wing and the Bird
Maeve’s bird took two whole afternoons. It had a proper beak. The wings were the hard part. One of them stuck out at EXACTLY the angle she wanted, which took four tries to get right. Now it sat on the drying rack, waiting for Friday.
Mo was going along the rack, running his finger over all the shelves, not looking, talking to Luca about something else. His hand caught the bird. Over it went. And the wing came off. Snap. Clean, in one piece, on the floor.
Mo went white. “Oh no, sorry, Maeve, sorry, I didn’t see it!” He said it about four times. He picked the wing up off the floor and held it out to her, flat on his hand. And he meant every bit of it.
Mrs. Baptiste came over and looked. It would glue, probably, on Friday. And Mo had said sorry, and that was the main thing. Then she said “there we go”, in the voice that means a thing has been dealt with. And back she went to the reading group.
So it was over. Maeve knew it was over, because Mo had said so and Mrs. Baptiste had said so. She stood there, bird in one hand, wing in the other. And the feeling in her chest was exactly the same size as before anybody said anything.
Ten minutes later: BRRRING. Recess. Everybody got up. Mo came past her coat hook. “Are you coming?” Completely normal voice. The way you say it on a normal day. Because for him, the thing had happened. And finished.
Mo: waiting by the coat hooks, coat half on. The bird and the wing: in the tray behind her, side by side. And everybody had agreed this was finished. About eleven minutes ago.
What does Maeve do?
Every choice costs something. Let’s see what.
Say “it’s fine” and go out to play
“It’s fine,” said Maeve, and got her coat. It came out sounding fine. That was the point. “Okay, cool,” said Mo, and held the door, and out they went into the yard together, like on any ordinary day.
Mo’s shoulders dropped at once. He started talking really fast about a show with a crocodile in it, and he did the crocodile with his arms. SNAP! SNAP! Maeve laughed at the right bit.
They played all through recess. Maeve ran when everyone ran. Laughed when everyone laughed. And every time she ran past the classroom window, she looked in at the drying rack. Every single time.
She had to say “it’s fine” three more times before home. When Mo checked. When Luca asked what happened. When her dad saw the bird in two pieces in the tray. By the third one it wasn’t even a sentence anymore. Just a sort of noise. Sfine. Dad crouched by the tray and looked at the wing for a long moment. “That’s a great angle,” he said, and held it as carefully as an egg.
Shout “You broke it! Leave me alone!”
Something in Maeve went up like a shaken-up soda. Pssssht. And out it came. “NO! You BROKE it! Two whole afternoons, and you BROKE it! LEAVE ME ALONE!” It came out much bigger than she meant. Everybody at the coat hooks froze, one arm in a sleeve. Luca dropped his glove. Plop.
Mo’s mouth fell open. Then his face went red, right up to the ears. “I SAID SORRY!” he shouted back. “FOUR TIMES!” For a second they just stood there, puffing like they’d run a race. Then Mo jammed his arm at his coat, missed the sleeve twice, and stomped out into the yard. BANG went the door.
Mrs. Baptiste was there before the door stopped rattling. She looked at Maeve. She looked at the tray. Maeve grabbed it and held it tight. “Nobody touches it,” she said. Her voice was still wobbly. “NOBODY.” “Not finished, then,” said Mrs. Baptiste. Not in the there-we-go voice. A different one. She cleared a corner of her own desk. Maeve carried the tray over herself.
Then Maeve went out. Not to play. She marched the long white line right around the edge of the yard. Stomp-stomp-stomp. All the way around, and all the way around again. A tiny kindergarten boy fell in behind her and stomped too, because it looked like a great game. Over by the soccer game, Mo missed the ball. Then he missed it again.
After recess, the tray was still on Mrs. Baptiste’s desk. But now there was something next to it. A glue pot. The good one, with the brush in the lid. Nobody said who put it there. Maeve looked at the glue. She didn’t open it. Not today. She kept one hand on the edge of her tray. Across the room, Mo was reading his book very, very hard. Upside down.
Say nothing and stay inside with the bird
Maeve shook her head, small, and didn’t say anything. Instead of getting her coat, she went back to the tray on the drying rack. Mrs. Baptiste, letting people out, said she could stay in if she wanted. She didn’t ask why.
Mo stood there for a second, coat half on, waiting for Maeve to say something. She didn’t. “Okay,” he said. Then off he went to the yard with Luca. At the door he looked back. Once.
Maeve sat with the tray all through recess. She put the wing against the body at the angle it used to be. Took it away. Put it back. About six times. And nobody came and told her the thing was finished.
Out in the yard, Mo told Luca that Maeve wasn’t talking to him. “Why?” said Luca. Mo shrugged. Inside, Maeve put the wing against the bird one more time, at exactly the right angle. And held it there with one finger. It fit. On Friday, with glue, it might stay.