(fiction, part 2 of week 1)

When I started recounting my story in this notebook, I had in mind being super organized. I'd relate every adventure in chronological order, my art encounters lining up nicely like beads upon a necklace. But my life has never really been like a necklace. It's more like a treasure hunt, with beads rolling up under furniture and falling down air vents. I feel I've been searching all my life for the tiniest bead of an answer and just the seeking takes so much time and energy, I've never actually accumulated enough wisdom to even think of what kind of jewelry to make. My memories are all tossed together, beads in a bag in the back of a drawer that no one really opens anymore.

So, here's another. Someday I guess I can tear these scribbles out of my notebook, hole punch them, and put them back so they follow each other in time. I guess the order might matter if someone was going to read them.

But if I'm just writing for me, then I will write on, as randomly ordered as my thoughts are these days. Splish, splash, habberdash! as my grandma used to say.

Discovering I could travel into the painting in my bedroom was useful. I enjoyed exploring that world. I loved it so much, that, in my own childish mind, I decided I wasn't sure how many times I could visit. What if there was some magical, invisible punch card and if I went too much, it wouldn't work again? I couldn't risk it. So I portioned out my time, telling myself "Paint World" was a treat. I tried to only go every few weeks.

Though I didn't visit much, knowing it was there was often enough. This didn't keep me from carrying around my paintbrush however! It looked so ordinary, but I began to see it as a key.

My brush was slim, only about 8 inches long. Perfect size to slip into my pocket.

I enjoyed running the tip of my fingers over the bristles on the tip of the brush. It felt soft, and somehow made me feel less alone.

When I write these memories, I remember a day I was so glad I had remembered my paint brush.

Sixth grade wasn't my favorite year in school. My brother and sister had been born when I was seven and nine. Having more kids didn't seem to make my parents any happier. Mom often claimed I didn't help enough (I tried, but it was hard to offer to help, which was a frequent comment of hers. "Why didn't you come and ask if you could help? If there was anything else I needed?" To be honest, I would forget to. I was so thrilled for a moment of quiet once a chore was done. I would run outside to see if there were still buttercups out at the edge of the yard or head for my latest library book. I wanted to be a good daughter, but there was always so many ideas bursting in my head. I tried to hold them in, but the minute I could spare, I would follow all my little bursts of ideas. I've never been much of a metronome type of kid. I was more the type who would follow butterflies or run out to try to catch sight of the bird I could hear through my window.)

Yet again, I regress.

So, sixth grade. During one of their fights, Mom declared I was so little help, she actually needed to be rid of me. "Send her to school, see if I care. Maybe then she'd learn to be grateful!" she shrieked at my father.

"School? I thought you wanted to homeschool all of them through high school. You changing your mind already?" Dad laughed, but it wasn't the way a laugh ought to sound. It was more of a scoff than a laugh.

"Yes, get her out of here. Maybe with Serena gone, Josiah and Lynn will listen to me more. Serena is so rebellious. She's a horrible example and I need her gone."

Unsurprisingly, what Mom wanted, Mom got. I think Dad just wanted some quiet. Or at least to have one less reason for her to blame him for her unhappiness.

At first, I was really excited to go to school. School should be full of books, and so many new things to learn! How wonderful to be with a bunch of other kids, and we could all enjoy all the information the teachers could give us! I couldn't wait.

Turns out, I really didn't understand other kids.

Our teacher tried, she really did. She would say, "Listen, we're here to LEARN!" just like that, as though the word learn was written all in capital letters. I could hear the capital letters in her voice, but I'm not sure the other kids did. If they heard her, they didn't seem to believe her.

Best I could tell, the kids were there for many reasons, but learning wasn't the top one.

Some of the boys were there just to try to discover if any of the girls were wearing bras yet. I know, sounds totally insane, doesn't it? But they went about it like scientists, aiming for the middle of each girl's back, and seeing if there was anything to snap back. They seemed to enjoy it a lot more than most of the girls did. The girls would laugh, but it was this weird repetitive noise that seem to come out of their fluttering eyelashes as well as their mouths. I don't know.

I knew how to read. I figured out how to memorize ideas and concepts for tests. I enjoyed writing assignments. However, I quickly, quickly, even that very first day, discovered that I was going to earn a great big F in the main reason most of the sixth grade girls were there. Fashion. And though fashion begins with an F, no sixth grade girl ever wanted an F in it.

The first day, I didn't get much of a chance to talk to any of the other kids until lunch. Lunch time came, we all grabbed our lunches (most had really cute padded boxes, as though their lunch might be a bit psycho, you know, a little padded cell? I thought it was funny. The kids at the table with me did not. Honestly, I'm not even sure they understood my joke.)

I was just so glad I grabbed a seat at a table with girls. I had nothing against the boys really, but I wasn't wearing a bra yet, so wasn't interested in any of that back snapping while I was trying to eat.

"Wow, your sandwich looks good!" I smiled at Emma. Everyone loves a compliment right?

She grimaced. "What? What didn you say?"

"Uh....good sandwich?" my voice trailed off. This conversation was already sinking. Mayday, mayday!

"What are you like, hungry or something? I mean, I can't blame you. Your lunch looks....did you grab it out of your garden today? You do have that garden gnome look about you? Short, squat, kind of cute in an 'OMG, she's fugly' way!"

This time the whole table laughed. I looked down at my cucumber sandwich, with carrots on the side. I had been reading earlier this week about how at elegant English teas, they always served cucumber sandwiches, so, of course, that's what I packed. I was sure all the girls would be impressed with my genteel choices.

"I.... I have to go." I threw my lunch back into my paper sack (no padded cell for my crazy food) and rushed for the classroom.

Thankfully the door was unlocked.

I ran to my desk, throwing myself into my chair. I rested my head on my arms. What, how did this go so wrong? I had tried to smile, to compliment, to find positive things to say.

I didn't think I looked like a gnome! Seriously, a gnome?

I wondered why, of all the magical creatures Emma had picked a gnome. I laid my three new pencils neatly next to my pencil sharpener on my desk and looked up. On the wall in the back of my new classroom was a poster with a stack of words. The cutest little red-haired gnome (he had a beard to match!) pointed with a big smile on the poster of words.

I stroked my red braids (which, by the way, was somehow another fashion don't. Turns out I was the only sixth grade girl with my hair braided like Laura Ingalls.)

I looked into the face of this stupid poster gnome then read the words: "Reflect, Solve, Create, Grow, Think." Ms. Wilson had been so clever picking this poster. One letter in each word was green. If you read the green letters vertically, you could see they spelled "Learn."

I wasn't hungry anymore. I put my hand in my pocket and let the tip of my paintbrush tickle my finger. It felt soft. I wanted to go home.

My eyes were tearing up again. Suddenly I was steaming mad.

I got up and strode right over to that stupid poster. At first, I was going to tear it down. How dare those kids call me a gnome! I didn't have even a single chin hair!

But as I reached for the poster, I had an idea. I pulled out my paintbrush and jabbed it right at the smiling gnome. I felt like I was falling, as I heard a strong, deep chuckle.

"Don't you tangle my beard now, lassie."

I was standing...where? The floor (if it was a floor) was white though I did notice three small stones. I looked down and the cute gnome was grinning up at me.

"You're a tall one, ain't ya?" He laughed again. "Part giant, I imagine?"

"Oh no, sir, not a giant. Actually, I'm ... "(to say short would be impolite, wouldn't it?)

"You came for a lesson, eh?" He winked. "Well, Glimmerfoot's the name, but learning's the game, isn't it? And you look like a smart giant anyways."

"Well, thank you, your gnomeness. I mean, sir."

"Nice, polite, I guess I can try to underlook your height. I would say 'overlook,' but not sure that's possible. I'm sure you understand." He pointed up.

I smiled. Why couldn't Emma and the other kids be more like Glimmerfoot?

"Well, lass, obviously, you came here for speech, so I'll help you see their figures." He whipped a cute pair of round spectacles out of his pocket. "I think you can manage with these. They are bigger than mine, you know!" He winked again.

I giggled. Glimmerfoot just made me feel happy. Maybe I was part gnome after all. I put on the spectacles.

"Wow!"

The word "Reflect" now seemed to be made of letters cut straight out of a mirror.

"Shiny, ain't it? Now you understand, right? Pause, think, connect. Reflect is all about how to find how what you know and who you are connects with what you just thought or read."

"Reflect. I get it!"

I looked a bit lower. The word "Solve" seemed to be made of ...little sticks that kept moving and unfolding, like some kind of mechanical puzzle.

"Solve," Glimmerfoot said, "Now that takes a bit more time but ..." he reaches up and flipped the letters around and "ding," a chime rang as he flipped the words into a perfect cube, kind of like my Rubix cube at home.

"Solve, it's all in the flick of the brain. Just think of it like moving a puzzle around.."

I looked at the next word. Create.

The letters began to dance. The C started swooping around. The R turned into a paint brush. The E started moving around, every time the tail of the E moved, a bell would chime. The T...

"Serena! Serena!"

I jumped. I heard Ms. Wilson calling me.

"Don't worry," said Glimmerfoot. "But soon as she dips out of here, I think you'll need to go."

"But I... there's so much." I didn't want to leave.

"We can't risk it, not today. But I'm always here. Just give me a wink. I've always got a smile for you, lass." He winked, then looked down meaningfully at the three small stones on the white ground.

"OK. Til ...another time?"

"Never say goodbye, always say, 'Til next time."

The last I saw was his little hand waving as I fell into the classroom.

Just in time too. As I stood up, suddenly the other kids streamed into the room.

Emma walked up to me and said, "No, gnome girl. This is my desk."

I danced like a C and swish, swished my way back to my desk, channeling the R in "Creative."

"See, like I said! A retarded gnome, retarded with a capital R!"

The other kids giggled, but I didn't care as much. I sat down, touching the paintbrush in my pocket. Maybe gnomes were nicer than sixth graders. And maybe there was a place for me at this school after all.