Bloom Brian

“Can somebody tell me what it means to be a young lady?” asked Miss Minder as she opened the Friday etiquette and development class at St. Mary’s High School for Girls in Kingstown, on the island of Zahmaca. The girls in Room 3A, a tan-colored classroom with windows that opened out to face a courtyard, laughed out loud and began chatting animatedly. It was 2:00 p.m., according to the clock on the wall above the teacher’s brown desk. It was Prize Friday, where Miss Minder, the etiquette teacher, handed out small gifts to students who came up with clever answers to the subject matter at hand.

“Ladies, none of that laughing and chatting, please,” implored Miss Minder, clapping her hands. “Now, who knows the answer to that question?” she asked, scanning the room with her beady, dark brown eyes. Eleven-year-old Bloom Brian was eager to be part of the discussion on deportment, a name her mother, Irene, often used in talking about the class for these budding teenagers. Sitting in the front row, Bloom, a slender girl with large, round brown eyes and a toothy smile, promptly raised her hand, politely doing so, to get the teacher’s attention. Miss Minder walked toward her, looking in Bloom’s direction. Thinking she was about to answer the question and flashing her big smile, Bloom began to stand up, tilting her head so her two long braids, one of either side of her head, flopped slightly. Instead, Miss Minder looked beyond her and kept walking. Bloom felt the stares of the other girls in the classroom as Miss Minder walked past, dressed in a knee-length black skirt, long-sleeved white blouse that was buttoned up to the neck and flat black patent leather shoes with shiny black and gold bows. Her hair was combed in a bun and held in place with a hair clip. Bloom sat back down, her face flushed from embarrassment. Miss Minder instead acknowledged Jacqueline Wilson-Wells, a somewhat precocious, tall student who waved her hand enthusiastically, almost jumping from her seat to get the teacher’s attention.

“Jackie, you had your hand up first,” said Miss Minder. “What is your answer?”

“Proper young ladies don’t chew gum in public.”

“Excellent!” Miss Minder said, now walking toward the chalkboard behind her desk. She wrote the answer in large, scripted letters.

Miss Minder surveyed the room a second time and asked for another volunteer.

Bloom raised her hand again. The teacher looked past her a second time and acknowledged a student

sitting in the back of the room. “Brought-upsy,“ the student said, describing the behavior that defined people who were refined, spoke eloquently and dressed in their Sunday best every day of the week.

Miss Minder made it her business to emphasize these points in her weekly sessions with these middle schoolers.

“How you comport yourself in public says a lot about you and your manners,” said the etiquette teacher, waving her hands wildly. “Isn’t that so, young ladies?”

“Yes, Miss Minder,” the girls said in unison, some stifling giggles as the teacher raised her hands and eyes to the ceiling. Clenching her fist, she went on, voice rising. “Good manners separate young ladies like you from everyone else. You’re not just ladies. You are St. Mary’s ladies,” she continued, voice softening in falsetto manner. “People know you by how you carry yourself.” At that, her voice began to crescendo, and, she said, “Sit up everybody! Back straight. Put your feet firmly on the ground. No slouching. Sit up, I tell you. Sit up!! Backs straight!”

“Yes, Miss Minder,” came the chorus from the classroom.

“Does anyone else have an answer for me?” the teacher asked?

Bloom raised her hand again as she heard the snickers behind her and whispering. All eyes were on

Bloom as she attempted to get the teacher’s attention one more time. The teacher, with a slightly

impatient look on her face, finally acknowledged her.

“Yes, Bloom,” said Miss Minder. “What exactly do you have to say? Please make it quick. We need to

move on to other things in a few minutes.”

“Deportment. Manners,” Bloom said.

“Hmm. That’s a good answer, Bloom. Deportment. Just what do you know about deportment?” Why do you say that? Please stand up and tell the class why you said that.”

“It’s good behavior and manners and being nice to people,” Bloom said. “You say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’”

“You say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’” repeated Miss Minder.

“Did everybody hear that? You say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ Everybody write that down. You say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’” The teacher turned her back to write Bloom’s answer on the blackboard.

“Please and thank you,” said a voice behind Bloom, in a mock high-pitched tone.

“Please and thank you,” the voice said again. Bloom recognized it as Jackie’s and turned around.

“Look at you, Little Miss Walking Dictionary and your deportment. That’s a big word, Bloom. De-port-ment.

Bloom shrugged her shoulders in exasperation, feeling somewhat annoyed at this point. She was trying to concentrate on what the teacher was saying and was none too happy that Jackie was distracting her.

Bloom felt her shoulders rise as she began to breathe through her mouth. Bloom always reacted this way when she was nervous. Slowly, she turned back around to copy what was being written on the blackboard before another comment from Jackie forced Bloom to lose her concentration a second time.

“Walking Dictionary,” Jackie whispered as the snickering continued.

At this point, Bloom felt a chill come down her spine and the hairs stand up on her head. A wave of anger spread through Bloom’s body. Her hands felt cold and clammy, even in the hot room. She began to shake ever so slightly before regaining her composure. Her heart began to race as she clenched her fist, tightening the grip on her pen.

Miss Minder turned around. “Who’s talking?” Silence.

“I don’t want to hear any talking while we’re working,” Miss Minder warned, grabbing a ruler from a drawer and banging it on her desk. Do I make myself clear?” she yelled as she surveyed the room for the offender.

“Yes, Miss Minder,” the class said in unison, sitting up straight.

“Now, what else do we know about being a young lady?

Bloom raised her hand again. The teacher sighed on seeing Bloom’s outstretched hand. Yes, Bloom?”

“Young ladies go through puberty.”

The snickering resumed.

“QUIET, PLEASE.” Now ladies. When our bodies begin to change and we start to look like grown-ups, we go through “pu-ber-ty. It’s going to happen, whether you like it or not. It’s all part of growing up,” she said. I’m going to write that word on the board. Please write it in your blue and white notebooks. P-U-B-E-R-T-Y. Puberty.”

“Pu-ber-ty,” Jackie whispered to Bloom. Another one of your big words, Bloom. “

Bloom bit her lip and glared at Jackie as the mild shaking continued. Feeling vexed and somewhat stressed, Bloom attempted to whisper her displeasure but was tongue-tied at that moment. She again said nothing, this time fearing the teacher’s wrath as the hands on the clock read 2:15. At this point, all Bloom wanted to do was get up and go home. She felt stifled in the room, which suddenly felt hot and humid, and Bloom wanted to hear the ringing of the school bell at 3 o’clock, signaling the end of the particularly long week marked by math, spelling and geography tests. The last thing Bloom wanted was to listen to was Jackie teasing her about the use of words like ‘deportment’ and ‘puberty,’ knowing full well that Jackie already knew what those words meant. Bloom tired easily of Jackie’s periodic taunts, but felt there was nothing she could do about it. If she tried to stand up for herself, Jackie would have something nasty to say and try to gang up on her after school with a bunch of other girls. Bloom suffered in silence, feeling she had little sway against Jackie, who not only received good grades, like Bloom, but was a champion swimmer and tennis player. Jackie was part of the “in” crowd and came from a family that made its fortune in the soft drink beverage industry. When she was not in class, Jackie could be seen either at the school swimming pool or tennis court, surrounded by her friends. Jackie was tall for her age, with bronze-colored skin and thick, shoulder-length hair that she often wore in a ponytail.

With the teacher’s back again turned away from the class, Bloom ran her fingers ever so slightly on her desk and gently began a slow, rhythmic tapping. “Tap. Tap. Tap.” Bloom moved her fingers in unison with the second hand of the clock. “Tap. Tap. Tap.” This went on for a few moments as she now struggled to stay awake, hide her boredom and keep a straight face.

Bloom fidgeted on the hard surface of what felt like an increasingly uncomfortable chair. What Bloom wanted to do more than anything else was curl up in bed with one of her favorite magazines, Teens

Today, Teens Tomorrow. The popular publication had the latest information about movies, hairstyles, dating and music from around the world.

“It’s really hot in here,” Bloom thought to herself as her dark brown, round-rimmed glasses on her face began to slide down her nose. Bloom stopped the tapping for a moment and pushed her glasses back up her nose, only to have them slide right back down. “I want to go home, now,” she said to herself with another series of rhythmic taps.

Bloom stared at the temperature gauge in the corner by the door, and watched helplessly as the mercury climbed to 91 degrees Fahrenheit, or 33 degrees Celsius. Beads of sweat had formed on Bloom’s oblong-shaped face as the sun streamed through the open windows of the classroom. Like many others like it in the Catholic school, the room lacked air conditioning. Bloom could hear what the teacher was saying even though she now wasn’t paying close attention. The room seemed stuffy and Bloom felt as if the room were closing in on her. Bloom looked down at her lavender-colored textbook on etiquette, pretending to study its contents, but not really concentrating on the words. With her blue fountain pen in hand, Bloom intended to doodle in the margins of her pale blue notebook; but as Bloom set the tip down onto the page, she looked up and saw Miss Minder watching everyone intently. Bloom straightened up, back erect, hands resting on her book. Bloom held her breath and prayed the teacher did not notice what she was doing. Miss Minder then walked past Bloom’s desk, looked the other way, and circled back toward the teacher’s desk and podium at the front of the classroom

Bloom stifled a yawn, and then another. Bloom shuffled in her chair, moving to one side, and then the other. Her shoes felt tight. Her feet had begun to itch and swell, and she could feel the little toes on either foot chafing against the leather. Bloom wanted nothing more than to remove her shoes. On top of that, her underarms felt moist and she could almost smell the musty sweat emanating from the pores.

“I just want to go home,” she thought to herself again. Even her scalp began to itch right then and there. Bloom discreetly began to scratch the offending area. It lay beneath the hairline at the nape of the neck. She knew it was a dandruff patch. Bloom’s hair had been washed the night before, but, no matter how many times Bloom washed her hair, the dandruff would not go away. If Bloom picked at the spot, it would turn red and flakes would fall onto the collar of her uniform. She certainly did not want that to happen. Bloom fidgeted in her chair some more, tried hard not to scratch the spot too hard, and watched the clock.

“Seventeen minutes past two,” she thought,” as the minute hand on the clock inched closer to the bottom of the hour.

Bloom turned her attention toward the large glass window to her right and caught her reflection.

Staring back at her was a scowling figure leaning slightly to one side of her wooden chair. Bloom saw her tired, droopy eyes hiding behind her eyeglasses, strands of slightly unkempt hair at the crown of her head, which she tried unsuccessfully to pat down, sweat forming around the sides of her face and forehead and a slightly rumpled collar on her white uniform. Bloom pursed her lips as she cupped one side of her face with her left hand, her elbow leaning on the desk, while taking the other hand to her scalp.

She watched herself twirling the hair at the crown as she tried in vain to prevent her scalp from itching. The more she patted her scalp, the more it seemed to itch. Bloom lifted one shoulder, and then the other to try to stop the itching. She felt the beads of sweat coming down the left side of her face, moistening the hair by her ear. She then stifled yet another yawn in the hot classroom. She continued to gaze at her reflection then turned to look at the clock one more time. Eighteen minutes past two. Bloom thought this day would never end. “Tap. Tap. Tap.” went the fingers again, followed by her left foot. “Tap. Tap. Tap.” She shifted from side to side in the chair. She sighed.

Bloom was already at puberty – that awkward time between childhood and adulthood - and it seemed like all kinds of problems showed up with her changing body. To add to that, Bloom began to feel the all-too familiar, yet uncomfortable sensations in her abdomen, signaling that another menstrual cycle was not far off. It would be any time now, Bloom said to herself.

As Bloom wondered what the weekend might bring or what she might do besides homework, she felt something gently hit her on the back of her head. It was a blue and gold hair tie that resembled a rubber band. It fell onto her seat and then to the floor.

“Ha, ha, ha,” Jackie whispered, as she hurled a bright red one in Bloom’s direction.

“Maybe you need one of these. You’re scratching your head. Wake up, sleepy head.”

“Jackie, stop.”

Miss Minder turned around.

“Who’s talking?” Silence.

“Who’s talking?” More silence.

“If I catch anyone talking, she’s going to stay 15 minutes after school and stand in the hot courtyard. Do I make myself clear?” she asked, banging on her desk with the ruler. “And I’ll cancel Prize Friday. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Minder,” the girls said in unison.

Bellowing again, she repeated, “Everyone sit up straight! Right now!”

There was no nodding off now.

“That was close,” Bloom said to herself.

“Now girls, as we wrap up this section on puberty and being a young lady, who can tell me some of the things proper young ladies do and don’t do in public?” asked Miss Minder in her proper, accented speech.

“Yes, Bloom.”

“Proper young ladies don’t curse. They are well-groomed. They comb their hair and brush their teeth before going outdoors,” came the soft-spoken response.

“A proper young lady makes sure her clothes are clean and neat. She also addresses her elders by the proper salutation, such as Mr., Miss or Mrs. She is respectful of her elders.”

“Thank you, Bloom. That was an excellent answer,” said Miss Minder, quickly writing the answers on the board.

The talkative Jackie, eager to have the last word, once again raised her hand, this time even higher than before. After being acknowledged, Jackie said, “Proper young ladies our age don’t flirt with boys on the bus,” in an almost triumphant tone of voice. Girls can get into trouble if they flirt with boys on the bus!”

“Excellent,” said Miss Minder, clapping her hands in obvious approval. The rest of the class giggled.

“Ladies, did you hear what Jackie had to say? Proper young ladies don’t flirt with boys on the bus, for girls can get into trouble that way! Jackie, what a brilliant answer! Jackie, would you come to the front of the room, please? Let’s all recognize Jackie for her wonderful answer today. Class, please give Jackie a round of applause.”

Everyone applauded, and Jackie beamed, for she knew she was about to get a prize. Miss Minder reached into her desk drawer and pulled out two prizes. One was a copy of the book Zahmaca Today, which detailed the island’s history, cultural diversity and cuisine. The other was a diary and fountain pen set. Jackie knew exactly what she wanted and that was a copy of Zahmaca Today.

“Jackie, what would you like to have? ’Zahmaca Today’ or the diary?”

“Miss Minder. I’d like to have ’Zahmaca Today,’ please.”

Miss Minder presented Jackie with the book, at which point Jackie said a quick “thank you” and strode to her seat in triumph. Bloom would have enjoyed reading the stories in ’Zahmaca Today,’ but Jackie wanted the book and refused to show it to anyone outside her circle of friends. Jackie was pleased with herself.

With the noise volume in the classroom beginning to climb, Miss Minder took the ruler and banged it on her desk again. The class fell silent.

“Before the bell rings,” Miss Minder said, “We have one more prize to give away – the diary and pen set. Let’s see. Who shall I give it to? I know! Bloom Brian! Bloom, would you come this way, please?”

Bloom quickly did as she was told and headed for the teacher. Miss Minder handed Bloom the diary and writing instrument. “Bloom, because you came up with some very intelligent answers, I’d like to give you this set. I think it’d be perfect for you since you like to write.”

“Thank you, Miss Minder,” said Bloom, before returning to her seat.

At that moment, it was 3 o’clock and the bell rang signaling the end of the school day. Finally.

“Children, before you leave, here is your homework assignment for next Friday. You are to compose an essay on the role of etiquette in society today. The essay is to be four pages long and written neatly on unlined paper. The margins are to be one inch on either side. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Minder,” replied the students.

“Goodbye, everyone.”

The class stood up in unison, and said, “Goodbye, Miss Minder.”

As Bloom gathered her belongings from under the seat, Jackie walked toward her, took one look at the new diary and pen, declaring, “Well, Walking Dictionary, what have we here? A diary and pen set. Hmm. Nice. I like my gift a whole lot better than yours. But I’m glad you got something, just the same, Bloom.”

Bloom knew Jackie was comparing gifts, so Bloom ignored her as best she could and prepared to leave for home.

“Congratulations to you, too, Jackie,” said Bloom in a soft voice and turned away from Jackie, who by now was walking out the door with her friends without acknowledging Bloom’s compliment. Bloom knew nothing was wrong with the diary. It was hardbound, with blue lined pages. Bloom loved the smooth feel of the pages as well as the faint rose-like smell coming from them. By now, the classroom was almost empty. Two girls stayed behind to ask Miss Minder questions, which she promptly answered before ushering the stragglers out the door.

Bloom made a careful note of what items needed to go home with her. Grabbing her book bag, she tucked away an English language dictionary, followed by a bible for religious studies, and the book on etiquette. She also packed the paperback version of the latest “Growing Up and Liking It,” a book on puberty which Bloom’s mother had given to her to read. Of course, there was the diary, which Bloom inserted in a separate compartment along with the new fountain pen.

With the school day over, Bloom wondered what the weekend held in store.

Would she go to the supermarket with Irene, or would she spend the night at a friend’s house and go to the drive-in movie theater to see a Disney movie? Bloom would not know for sure until she went home and spoke with her mother. Bloom’s mind then turned to thoughts of what it would be like to go to some faraway place for a while, in a jet plane, and see a different area, like New York, or even Washington, places in America she had often read about and seen in pictures, but had not actually visited.

Bloom was an intelligent girl with large brown eyes that complemented her brown skin, a big, toothy smile and braids that stretched down either side of her face. Her soft, fine, dark, wavy hair had always been a topic of conversation for people.

From day one, Bloom stood out among people. It was not just because of her soft hair, which classmates liked to stare at or touch out of curiosity, but it was her intelligence that earned her the nickname “Walking Dictionary.” This pretty girl often had a book, magazine or newspaper in her hand and could be found reading about subjects of interest to her, like geography, history, art, pop music and culture, dance, or Spanish. She also enjoyed jigsaw puzzles and spent a good deal of her time at home arranging the pieces until they eventually fit into their appropriate slots perfectly. Sometimes, she glued the pieces together so she could hang the completed puzzles on her bedroom wall. Bloom was pleased with herself whenever she completed the puzzles, which were as complicated as she was.

Stepping outside the classroom, Bloom felt hot air rising from the pavement and into her face.

Bloom’s path crossed Jackie’s yet again and immediately developed a sinking feeling in her stomach. Bloom could feel knots in her stomach in addition to slight pangs of hunger. She tensed up as Jackie and a group of girls approached her.

In a snide tone of voice, Jackie sighed and said, “Oh, hi, Bloom. By the way, I’m having a pool party at my house tomorrow night to celebrate my prize. All my friends are coming and they’re sleeping over. We’ll take lots of pictures and I’m going to put them on the bulletin board at school,” she announced, faking a smile. “Oh, and perhaps my friends and I will get into my parents’ Mercedes-Benz and go to the drive-in theater in the heart of Kingstown. I hear there’s a Disney movie showing there. After the pool party and movie, my friends and I will play records, have cake and ice cream to eat and read Zahmaca Today. I would invite you, but you’ll probably be too busy writing in your little diary or assembling one of your many jigsaw puzzles anyway. Hah! Besides, your mother probably wouldn’t let you come – I hear she’s really strict. Just like Miss Minder.”

“That’s fine. I have other things to do anyway,” said Bloom, her eyes beginning to mist and fighting back the tears. She turned away to compose herself. Bloom felt weak and slightly light-headed after the exchange. Had it not been for a brief wind that began to blow at that moment, she might have fainted as the hunger intensified.

By this time, Miss Minder had come outside and seen the exchange between the two girls; but, she could not hear what was being said and assumed they were friends. She called out to them and said,

“Oh, Jackie. Bloom. Just a minute, please,” approaching them.

“Jackie and Bloom. I just want to say how proud I am of the two of you for speaking up in class today,” she said,” patting the two of them on the back. “Do you have any big plans for the weekend?”

“I’m having a pool party,” Jackie said. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I can’t wait to hear all about it. Are you going, Bloom?”

“No, my mother and I have other plans.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Bloom. Well, I’m glad you all are friends and get along so well with each other. That’s so rare these days. I like to see young girls turning into nice young ladies.

Have a nice weekend, girls. I can’t wait to read your essays.”

“Yes, Miss Minder,” Bloom said. “Goodbye Miss Minder,” Jackie said.

“Goodbye Jackie,” said Bloom in her customary quiet voice. Jackie ignored Bloom and walked away without saying another word.

Hungry, upset and mildly weak, Bloom quickly made her way to a bus stop, where she picked up the 1A bus headed to her neighborhood. By this time, she felt the all-too familiar cramping associated with “that time of the month” and knew her menses were upon her. Flushed, she made her way toward the back of the bus, standing as the vehicle made its way toward her neighborhood. She held on tightly to the seat in front of her, steadying herself so as not to fall. Bloom periodically looked at the back of her white skirt to make sure it had not been bloodied. Feeling a slight dampness on her undergarment, Bloom took her book bag and held it behind her skirt just the same. She kept it there for the duration of the bus ride. After the bus let her off at the corner of Dunscombe and Havendale Drives, she ran the rest of the way home.

Bloom lived at 3055 Dunscombe Drive. The pale yellow residence was the one with the black wrought iron gate and freshly-cut lawn. Pink hibiscus flowers adorned the short yet neatly paved driveway leading to Bloom’s home, along with purple bougainvillea plants and red and gold-colored roses interwoven among the hibiscus plants. Now out of breath, Bloom walked slowly through the gate, headed for the front door and entered the quiet living room, where her two green-eyed grey cats, Flo and Misty, greeted her. She was relieved to be home.

“Hi, Flo! Hi, Misty!” Bloom stroked the two cats with her hands while using her feet to kick off her shoes and socks. She walked to her bedroom with the shoes and socks in her hands, placed them by the side of her bed, and set the book bag on a chair by her dresser. She immediately headed for the bathroom, cleaned herself up and changed her clothing, washing what needed to be washed in the sink.

She then walked into the kitchen to feed the animals, which were following her, purring. After taking care of them, she fetched a chicken sandwich from the refrigerator. She ate it quickly before consuming a tall glass of water. Bloom stood quietly in the kitchen, sensing her energy level and strength returning. Her heart rate slowed and she took a few deep breaths. The cats brushed against her briefly before running out of the kitchen and in the direction of her room. As soon as Bloom washed and dried her dishes and glassware, she headed for her room to play with the animals. They always gave her a sense of comfort and peace, especially after a bad day.

It was now 4 p.m. For a while at least, Bloom would be home alone, or so she thought. The housekeeper, Vera Johnson, had the day off, and Irene would not arrive home until at least 6:00 or 6:30 p.m. Bloom’s mother was an executive secretary in a bank and answered telephones, typed correspondence, filed paperwork and took dictation for her bosses. It was a busy job, and Irene often came home exhausted. On rare occasions did her mother come home early. In Irene’s eyes, the money she earned could never stretch as far as she wanted, and as a result of her divorce from Bloom’s father Dash, she found herself living with Bloom in this small, two-bedroom, one-bathroom duplex with just enough room for the two of them.

Bloom thought about the diary that had been given to her and what she might write in it. Would she write down her dreams for the future, or would she just make note of ideas as they came to mind? Perhaps she would turn her ideas into some great novel one day. Maybe she could become a famous book author, drive a nice car like Jackie’s parents and wear really fancy clothes like they did. She began to daydream about what the future would hold. She conjured up images of international travel to exotic places and photographers snapping her picture wherever she went. She could attend premieres like the famous movie stars, arriving in a chauffeur-driven stretch limousine, and she would be oh-so fabulous in her nice clothes and expensive jewelry. Oh, the thought of a life of luxury. Bloom smiled at the thought.

“Ding! Ding! Ding.”

A knock on the gate brought Bloom back to reality. Walking to the living room and peering out from behind curtains, Bloom noticed her neighbor, Carolyn Scott, standing there. Carolyn lived two doors down and had been picking fruit from her garden when she saw Bloom run home from the bus. Carolyn decided to walk over to say hello and check up on her. Bloom liked this neighbor and was delighted to see her.

Bloom opened the door and ran to the gate to let her in. Bloom was fascinated by Carolyn, a slender woman in her late 30’s with dark brown eyes, long eyelashes and thin, but neat, eyebrows. Bloom especially liked Carolyn’s hair because it was cut like no other person’s. Carolyn had really short, dark brown cropped hair accentuated with blond streaks in front. Carolyn’s hair framed her freckled face in a way that accentuated her cheekbones and made her eyes appear larger than they really were. In Bloom’s mind, the style gave Carolyn a fresh, clean look. As Bloom studied her neighbor, she thought that one day, she, Bloom, might like to have a hairstyle like Carolyn’s. As much as Bloom admired the style, she knew that having hair that short might open her up to ridicule. After all, in Zahmaca, it was customary for many girls and women to have long hair. To have short hair meant looking like a boy or man, in the eyes of some people. Although Carolyn was very feminine, neighbors often laughed at her behind her back, mocking her hair and choice of clothing.

“She jus’ weird,” Bloom overheard one neighbor saying one day in the island’s patois dialect.

“You see fi’ she outfit? Lahks I tell you! Me never see nuttin’ like dat yet! Lahd ah mercy!” Who she t’ink she is? She not one of us. Where she come fram? Stay away from she!”

Carolyn often wore flowing skirts that reached below the knee, breezy blouses with large sleeves, beads around the neck, large earrings and Birkenstock sandals. At home, Carolyn would sit on the grass in her vast backyard, with a large straw hat on her head, eyes closed, meditating. When she wasn’t meditating outside, Carolyn would pick apples, bananas, cherries, lemon and mangoes from the trees in her garden, and place them in a large straw basket that she carried for that purpose. She would walk through the herb garden plucking lavender, ginger, lemongrass and peppers from specially designated plots for use in soups, teas and other concoctions. Unlike many of the residents of Dunscombe Drive, she was more of a free spirit.

The neighbors who witnessed this really did not know what to make of this woman, so most just chose to ignore her, which was fine with Carolyn, for she cared not what they thought. They considered her a hippie from America who just did not fit into their world. They knew she was living off inherited money from her deceased parents and she could easily afford any kind of lifestyle she wanted.

In Bloom’s mind, Carolyn possessed a down-to-Earth quality that Bloom found refreshing. Carolyn seemed like a real person and when she spoke, her American accented voice had a melody all its own. Bloom just thought Carolyn was one of the most interesting people she had ever met. Plus, Carolyn’s skin was smooth and flawless. She also had a large smile and perfectly white, straight teeth that took on a glow whenever she smiled. On this day, Carolyn was wearing an off-the-shoulder white top with blue-pink-purple beads around her neck, a white flowing skirt and tan-colored sandals. Her right wrist was adorned with thin purple, yellow, white, blue and pink bangles.

“Hello, Bloom. How are you doing?”

“Hi, Carolyn. I’m fine, thanks. I just got home from school not too long ago.”

“How was school?”

“I don’t know. The same. Fine, thanks,” said Bloom shrugging her shoulders.

“All right. I just wanted to check in on you. Are you home by yourself?”

“Aha. Vera is off today.”

“Are you OK?”

“Hmm. I’m having my period. I had cramps earlier.”

“Oh, dear. That’s no fun. You do look a little flushed. I’m home all day, so why don’t you stop by for some lemonade? You’ll feel better.”

“Thanks, Carolyn. I’ll do that. See you soon.”

A few minutes later, Bloom went over for a visit.

Bloom entered the gold and white-colored house and felt immediately at peace. Carolyn’s home had a warm, comforting feeling that was punctuated by the airy smell of lavender that emanated throughout each room. She was taken aback by this unusual smell, which she had not before experienced. The dainty scent reminded Bloom of the smell that came from wood chips when moistened by rainfall. Yet, lavender also reminded Bloom of freshly cut apples. As she inhaled the scent, a serene, yet joyful feeling began to come over her. In that moment, Bloom felt centered and at peace here.

“It smells really nice in here, Carolyn. What is it?

“Thank you, Bloom. It’s the smell of lavender. I love lavender. It’s one of my favorite plants.

Do you know what it means to have lavender around, Bloom?”

“No.”

“Bloom, lavender is a special healing plant as it helps to bring out the best in each one of us. You see, while it means serenity and helps relieve anxiety, especially after a hard day, it also helps you to really be yourself. With lavender you can open up to the world. You can speak up for yourself and really express what it is that you want to say but perhaps haven’t been able to before. It basically helps you to be yourself by speaking right from the heart, right here,” said Carolyn, tapping herself on the chest.

“Lavender lets you develop that power that’s been locked inside and is just waiting to blossom, like a flower! Do you know what it means to speak from the heart, Bloom?”

“No.”

“It means to express how you really feel, not how anybody else feels, but what you are feeling inside. And when it comes out, you get people to sit up and take notice. They listen. They really listen to what it is that you have to say, because their hearts are open to whatever message you are trying to convey. You’re sincere, and that is how you accomplish great things in life,” said Carolyn emphatically.

“Lavender will do all of that?” asked Bloom.

“Oh, yes!” Carolyn exclaimed. “Oh yes! I just feel so calm and so good inside when I smell the lavender and feel like I have not a care in the world! That’s why I grow lavender plants in my back yard. I’m glad you like the way it smells. I also use the plants to make oils that I dab behind the ears when I go out. That’s the beauty of nature. You can make all kinds of oils to put on your skin to make you feel good. Come this way. I’ll show you,” beckoning to Bloom to follow her to the kitchen.

“I take the plants like I do this bunch of lavender and I cut them up,” Carolyn explained. “Then, I place them in this special presser here so I can squeeze out the oil,” pointing to the instrument. “If I want, I can mix this oil with lemon in a special blender and get a nice smelling combination of lemon and lavender that just soothes the nerves and makes me feel happy! I have some of this lemon and lavender in a little flask here on the counter. Smell it.”

“Oh, it smells so nice,” said Bloom, her mouth beginning to water as she inhaled the scent. “I feel thirsty now.”

“What would you like? Would you like some of the lavender tea, or would you like to have some of my special lavender lemonade? I just picked some lemons from my garden a few minutes ago. “

“I’d like to have some lemonade, please,” said the excited girl, as her eyes grew wide at just being with Carolyn in her spacious kitchen. Large white tiles adorned the kitchen walls, the tops of which were framed with bright yellow paint. A white stone countertop along with white cabinets further accented the kitchen, along with an off-white concrete floor. Even the kitchen sink and faucet were solid white, as were the refrigerator and gas stove. Pale yellow and green towels provided another accent to the kitchen and hung neatly on a rack above the sink.

Carolyn also owned large crystals, which she collected on her many trips to a place in America called Sedona. Two, thick, foot-high white, quartz crystals stood on either side of the entrance to the kitchen. In the adjoining living room, golden druzy crystals surrounded by pink rose quartz crystals decorated a mantelpiece, while large chunks of coral punctuated the pieces. Large pieces of amber could also be found on a nearby table, along with a large red crystal that sat in the center of the table.

As Bloom watched, Carolyn chopped up a half a cup’s worth of lavender on a cutting board, along with a dozen lemons. She filled a black kettle with cold water from a pitcher in the refrigerator and turned on the gas stove, all the while instructing Bloom on how to make the drink.

“A handful of lavender here makes about a half a cup, Bloom. And then I take these lemons and squeeze them out just so,” said Carolyn, demonstrating by cutting each lemon and rubbing them against a yellow squeezer to extract the juice.

“Now Bloom, tell me about your day and what happened. How are you and Jackie getting along, and how is that Miss Minder you once told me about?”

“Today we had etiquette class and I told the class about what it means to be a young lady. I talked about “deportment,” said Bloom.

“Ah, yes, deportment. Meaning good manners! Did the teacher like it when you said that?”

“Aha, and Miss Minder said she liked the word,” said Bloom, before her bottom lip began to quiver and tears began to well up.

“Bloom, what’s the matter?” asked Carolyn in a concerned voice. “Did something happen?” she asked, reaching for a nearby box of tissue.

The tears fell freely as Bloom shook.

“Jackie was sitting near me and was making fun of me when the teacher wasn’t looking. Her friends started to laugh at me,” she said, struggling to regain her composure.

“Oh, no. That’s not very nice.”

“Jackie threw two hair ties at me and one hit the back of my neck. I almost got in trouble with the teacher because Jackie was talking.” The teacher said that if she caught anybody talking, she would send the person to the hot courtyard to stand outside for 15 minutes.”

“Oh, dear,” exclaimed Carolyn. That Jackie isn’t very nice, now is she? What else happened?”

“Jackie said she is having a party and her friends are going to sleep over. They’re going to a Disney movie. She invited everybody except me. She said my mother probably wouldn’t let me go.”

“Oh, dear. Did she say anything else to you?” asked Carolyn.

“She said I would be too busy writing in my little diary or playing with my jigsaw puzzles. I got a diary as a prize today. It’s from Miss Minder.”

Shaking her head, Carolyn said, “That Jackie sounds like a real bully. Do you know what I mean, Bloom?”

“Sort of.”

“You know, Bloom. Sometimes, no matter what you do, or don’t do, there’s always going to be somebody who doesn’t like you. It doesn’t matter how smart you are or how nice you are. That person is just not going to like you. And she’s going to say mean things to try to hurt you. She might even decide not to invite you to parties just because she’s being mean.

“So, let me get this straight. Jackie said she was having a pool party at her house and that she and her friends might go to the new Disney movie at the drive-in theater. She said she might have a sleepover but wouldn’t invite you. So she said she would’ve invited you but that you would be with your gifts, which you won today at Prize Friday. And then she said your mother was strict and probably wouldn’t let you go. Wow.”

“Miss Minder saw us talking and thinks Jackie and I are friends. We’re not friends,” declared Bloom emphatically.

“Wow. A real meanie, that Jackie,” said Carolyn, pursing her lips. “Has she ever said or done anything else to you?”

“Jackie called me a walking dictionary.” Fighting back the tears, Bloom said, “She made fun of me that way and everybody laughed.”

“Bloom, when did all of this start happening?”

“I don’t know. Maybe when we were in P.E. one day and I was in my gym shorts. She made fun of my legs and said I walked funny. My knees don’t meet when I stand up.”

“So she said you were bow-legged?”

“Aha. She said ‘bow foot’ to me, and she pointed at my legs.”

“She’s a real bully, that Jackie,” said Carolyn. I know that her parents are really well-to-do and well-known, but still, they could teach their daughter some manners. Good grief. I’ve read that Jackie’s father travels a lot for work and she doesn’t get to see him all that much. Personally, I don’t think her dad is that much of a family man, so I can’t imagine he pays much attention to his daughter. I know her mother well and I know she overcompensates for giving Jackie everything she wants and letting Jackie do whatever she chooses. Jackie just sounds like a spoiled brat. I wouldn’t let anything she says upset you, Bloom. I know you are both top students in your class and Jackie is obviously very competitive, like her father.

“When I was a little girl growing up in California, I went to a co-ed high school - you know – boys were in class with me. Because I was taller than a lot of the other girls, I was made fun of. The boys used to call me “giraffe” because of my height and freckles. Some of the girls ignored me altogether and wouldn’t invite me to their parties. I knew they were having parties, but I just focused on things that were important to me. For a while, I would slouch just so that I wouldn’t appear to be as tall as I was; but, one day, the school’s girls’ volleyball coach invited me to join her team. I did and I became quite good at the sport. In fact, our team would go on to win local and state championships almost every year and we’d bring home the trophies to display at our school pep rallies. When the other kids saw that I was on the team and that I was a really good player, they stopped making fun of me. In fact, some of those same bullies actually began to be a lot nicer to me. I still kept my distance, but the teasing stopped and I was a lot happier. My parents always encouraged me to follow my dreams, so I applied to college on a volleyball scholarship, went to school and got my degree in business. So, here I am today.”

“So they made fun of you too?”

“They certainly did. Thank goodness, my parents always told me to hold my head high and it didn’t matter what other people thought about me. What I thought about myself was the real issue.”

“Wow! So you were bullied.”

“Yes, Bloom. I was. And I wasn’t the only one either.

“Now that I think about it, I remember going to middle school with a girl by the name of Cynthia, who herself faced bullying.

“Cynthia was one of the nicest, kindest people in school, but she was very shy, and to some degree, awkward. Plus, Cynthia had what we called these big black, coke bottle eyeglasses that were round and had thick lenses. Some people thought she looked like an owl and would make faces at her with their fingers. Then they’d start saying, “hoot, hoot,” every time they passed her in the hallway on the way to class. Plus, they made fun of Cynthia’s clothes as well as her weight. When I was your age, girls had to wear a nice blouse with a long skirt, white socks and darker colored shoes to school. Or, we could wear a nice dress with a buttoned-down sweater over it. Sometimes the outfits had a plaid pattern; other times stripes; but we really dressed up. Cynthia’s parents didn’t have a lot money, so her mother would use dress patterns from Simplicity to make some of Cynthia’s clothes, including the ones she wore to school. A lot of the other girls got their clothes from those fancy department stores and would make fun of Cynthia because her clothes seemed – well – ordinary and plain. They would also call Cynthia “fat” or say “fatty hoot hoot” to her face because her clothes never really fit right. In fact, they would often be a bit tight on her. I remember one day, Cynthia was wearing a sweater which she had buttoned at the waist. As soon as she walked into the classroom and sat down, the button popped and flew across the room. Of course, the more well-to-do kids saw this happen and started to laugh at her. I remember Cynthia’s face turning beet red when that happened. Oh, how they would make fun of her, both in the classroom and out.

“To make matters worse, they would pick on her in the school cafeteria. Cynthia was a bit of loner and kept mostly to herself, although she did have one or two close friends; but, whenever she ate lunch by herself, bullies would come up to her and throw aluminum foil from school lunches at her. All because they thought she didn’t fit in to their world. She was very smart, though. She was in my art class.”

“What happened to her?”

“That’s a good question, Bloom. If I recall, a couple of the bullies picked a fight with Cynthia one day after school. It had something to do with a math test. Someone told the math teacher that the bullies had cheated on a test by passing paper to each other. The two bullies, both of them girls, got into trouble and had to stay in detention one day after school. Their parents got a note from the teacher also. They weren’t sure who turned them in, but they confronted Cynthia about it. Cynthia denied she was the one who reported them. So, after school, they accused Cynthia of what we called “ratting” on them. She tried to get away from the bullies, but one of them knocked her glasses off her face while the other pulled her hair and tried to shove her into a bank of lockers. Luckily for Cynthia, a gym teacher saw what was happening and broke up the fight since nobody else would step in. The gym teacher, Mr. Arnold, said something about it to the school principal, Mr. James. Mr. James suspended the bullies for two days with a warning that if the behavior continued, they would be expelled; but, guess, what? When the two students came back to school, they started to pick on Cynthia again. Cynthia told her parents, who reported the incident to Mr. James; but, since there were no witnesses other than Cynthia, it was her word against theirs. So, instead of the bullying stopping, it only persisted. Cynthia’s grades suffered. She went from being an “A” student to getting “B”s and “Cs.” You could see she was very depressed.

“What happened?”

“Well, Bloom. The school said it couldn’t really do anything about it, and the bullies were never expelled, so Cynthia’s parents transferred her to another school. Eventually, they moved out of the area. I’m not really sure what happened to her, but I had heard through the grapevine that the experience at the school really shook her up badly. She had tried everything she could to avoid the bullies, and she reported the incident, which they didn’t like her doing; but, still, they would not leave her alone. Remember, Bloom. If bullies pick on you, it’s because they think they have power and control over you. They don’t. Their goal is to make you feel bad about yourself, just like what Jackie is doing. Truth be told, she may be one of those popular girls in school, but I don’t think she’s too happy at home.

“What I’m trying to tell you, Bloom, is that Jackie making fun of you isn’t about you. There’s nothing wrong with you. Just like there was nothing wrong with Cynthia. The bullies are just trying to make you feel bad, and if you’re insecure, you’re going to believe everything bad they say about you. So, find things that you enjoy and that you’re good at and do them. Put your energies into focusing on positive things and you’ll attractive positive people, places and experiences into your life.”

“Right, Carolyn.”

“What you’ll see, Bloom, is that no matter what they say, it’ll just roll off you. Don’t worry if they don’t invite you to their parties. You’d probably be bored anyway. Just be yourself, even if you don’t fit into their world. Remember, too, Bloom. All of you are changing and growing up especially as you go through puberty. It’s a tough time for a lot of people and friendships can and do change. The people Jackie calls friends may not be her friends a few months from now. Don’t worry about what she says to you, Bloom.

“Feel so good about yourself, Bloom and look at your strengths,” Carolyn said.

“For starters, you’re a good student and you make “A’s” in a lot of very challenging subjects, like history and geography, plus you’re a good speller and writer; you certainly have a way with words from what I can see, so don’t let anyone try to undermine your intelligence.

“Besides, the only person you can be good at being is yourself. You have qualities that are admirable – like kindness, respect for others and honesty. You care about the people around you and you take care of animals. Those are qualities to be proud of. There’s no point in comparing yourself to Jackie or anyone else because that is just a waste of time. Why would you want to be just like her? She’s not very nice. Besides, just because she and her family are well-known and go to all the parties means they have very little time to spend together at home. They must have very little privacy since they’re always in the papers or on television. What a way to live. I’m sure her mother would love nothing more to have more quiet time and rest without the phone ringing off the hook. So, remember Bloom, they may look like they have the glamorous life, but it may not be all it’s cracked up to be. OK?”

“Yes, Carolyn.”

“She made fun of my legs.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your legs, Bloom. You can walk and run, can’t you?”

“Yes, Carolyn.”

“So there’s nothing I see wrong with you. I wouldn’t let that bother you. Remember, she’s just looking for an excuse to harass you, so don’t even let that comment bother you. Besides, the bow in your legs is barely noticeable and a lot of people I know are bow-legged. Just be yourself.

“The big thing is, you have to learn to love yourself. Only you can decide to do that, regardless of what’s going on around you. You can’t depend on another person to make you happy.

“Also, remember this. We’re not perfect. We’re only human. We all go through our challenges. That’s just part of life, Bloom. That’s how we learn and grow. Not everyone is going to like you. Why would you focus on that? Just surround yourself with people who care about you. The most important thing you can do is to really love who you are. So, don’t feel bad or think you don’t measure up. Don’t strive to be perfect because you’ll drive yourself crazy. Just do the best you can every day. And take care of yourself.

“Look up at me, Bloom,” said Carolyn, who noticed that Bloom’s gaze began to shift to the floor.

“You have to do things you like and only then will you forget about Jackie. Here’s an idea for you.

“Do you like to sing, Bloom?”

“Oh yes. Mom has always said when I was younger I used to sing songs from The Sound of Music. She said the neighbors could hear me sing.”

“Hah,” said Carolyn. Are you in the school choir?”

“No, but they’re trying to get me to join. It’s called the Glee Club.”

“Why don’t you join the Glee Club, Bloom?” I bet you’ll really enjoy it. Plus, you’ll make some nice new friends there. Does that sound like something that you might like to do?

“Aha. They even sing at graduations for the older girls who graduate. The choir gets to wear these long white robes and sing in front of all kinds of important people.”

“I’ll bet you’ll really enjoy the singing. You can even write about it too. Does your school have a newspaper or magazine?”

“Aha. It’s a newspaper. It’s called Write Away.”

“I bet you would really like that. Since you like to write, you can jot down ideas in your diary and then turn them into stories for your school paper. I know you’d be good at that. You could interview people for the paper and then help in its production. Then it could be distributed to the school and you’d have an accomplishment you can be proud of. You would definitely gain in confidence there and feel good about yourself.

“And once you feel good about yourself, anything is possible. I mean anything. You start to feel different on the inside and people then begin to respond to you differently. They start to respect you because you respect yourself. They know you will always speak from the heart and tell them what they need to hear, not what they want to hear. It’s like your soul is speaking through your voice and it’s authentic. And only people who feel comfortable with who they are on the inside can speak to the world. You see Bloom? It’s about acceptance -accepting yourself and those around you. It’s about loving yourself. It’s being sincere. It’s having wisdom – what I like to call the gift of knowing. You know things because your heart speaks to you.”

Bloom looked at Carolyn and nodded, a slight smile coming to her face.

“Now, would you like to squeeze some of the lemons for me, Bloom?”

“Yes, Carolyn. I would!” exclaimed Bloom as she took some freshly cut lemons and began to squeeze the juice from them. When all the lemons were cut up and squeezed, Carolyn poured the liquid into a steel gray pitcher before going to the freezer for a tray of well-formed ice cubes.

“Cubes of ice for the pitcher,” she said, adding the ice. “And over here, special Zahmaca brown sugar, made from cane that comes straight from the cane fields. Now look here,” she said. “I’m going to take all this lavender and about a cup to a cup-and-a-half of brown sugar and combine it with the hot water,” said Carolyn as the kettle began to whistle, steam coming out of its spout. Carolyn proceeded to pour the sugar into a separate pot along with the cut up lavender and reached for the kettle, turning off the stove.

“So now, I pour this hot water over the sugar and lavender here in this pot, and I’m letting this sit for a few minutes before I add in the lemon,” she said.

“Wow!” Bloom exclaimed. “That smells nice already! Where did you learn to make this recipe? “

“It was given to me by my best friend, Blair, an actress,” Carolyn said. She introduced me to it one day and it was absolutely delicious! You’re going to really like it!”

“Blair, the famous actress,” exclaimed Bloom, eyes widening. “You know Blair?”

“Yes, I do,” said Carolyn, laughing. “She’s quite a lovely person. “I’ve known her for years.”

“Wow! You know Blair. Wow. I don’t know anybody famous.”

Carolyn laughed some more. “Yes, she’s quite a character. To know her is to love her. I haven’t seen her in a few weeks. She travels quite a bit, but I think she may be at a festival out in the country. I’ll have to call her and see how she’s doing. If I don’t get her on the phone, I’ll write her a letter.”

By now it was time to combine all the ingredients into the pitcher and Carolyn did that deftly, taking a wooden spoon to mix them. To make sure she was pleased with the result, Carolyn took a spoonful of the mixture and poured it into her left hand for a taste test. Satisfied, she washed her hands and poured a glass for both herself and Bloom, whose mouth began to water.

“Here you go, Bloom. Let me know how you like it.”

Bloom sniffed the lemonade, which was still warm but cooling. She took one sip and then another and another until soon, she had consumed the entire 8-ounce glass. The lemonade had a light, slightly bubbly taste to it. The beverage was sweet to the taste, yet Bloom could taste the earthiness of the lavender, which gave the drink a slightly minty flavor. Still, it was delicious and before long, Bloom had emptied the glass.

No sooner had she drunk the lemonade than she began to feel a chill. Something inside of her, in her mid-section above the navel, began to flutter and suddenly a wave of heat came through Bloom. She felt a tingling sensation at the crown of her head and that feeling went through her chest, arms, mid-section, spine and down through the soles of her feet. Bloom stood up straight and inhaled deeply through the nostrils. The congestion she had felt earlier seemed to disappear and Bloom simply said, “Ahhh.”

Bloom felt radiant in that moment.

The lemonade she savored was like no other beverage she had ever tasted. Carolyn laughed. “Have another glass, Bloom. I’m glad you like it.”

“Thanks, Carolyn.” Bloom drank another glass of lemonade, this time, gulping it down and licking the ice cubes in the now-empty glass.

“All right!” said Carolyn. “Feeling joyful?”

“Aha!” exclaimed Bloom, who by now felt energized and happy.

“So, Bloom, remember. It’s not about you. It is not about you.”

All of a sudden, the troubles with Jackie didn’t seem quite so bad or so hurtful. Bloom spent a few minutes letting Carolyn’s words sink in, and as Bloom thought about the advice she had just been given, realized that deep down, Jackie was probably dealing with her own demons. The only way she knew how to deal with her stuff was to lash out in Bloom’s direction. As she came to this realization, Bloom felt compassion for Jackie. Bloom never had much contact with her own father, since her parents were divorced. Bloom could empathize because she had no relationship with her father. Bloom felt she was missing out on the father-daughter relationship.

With that understanding, Bloom exhaled, relaxed her shoulders and sat up straight, a smile coming to her face.

Carolyn said, “Now, let’s focus on something else. How about we play some music?”

“OK,” said Bloom.

Carolyn walked to a turntable that sat in a corner and reached for a record that sat in its protective case. She removed the black vinyl record, placed it on the record player and set the needle on it. A jazz song Bloom had never heard before began playing. A woman with a warm soprano voice began singing the up tempo phrase, “Free Free…” and “Love,” and “Be Me,” accompanied by saxophones, piano and other instrumentals in the background.

Unable to conceal her joy, Bloom lifted her hands in the air, stood on the toes of her feet and again began to dance, hands in front of her, hands behind her, opening herself up and lifting her palms to the sky in exuberance. She felt alive and free in this moment, as if nothing else mattered. Her excitement brought a smile to Carolyn’s face.

Bloom did not immediately recognize the voice, so she asked, “Who is that?”

“That’s Blair. This is her song, ‘Free.’”

“Blair is like a sister to me,” Carolyn said, leaning in. “She is a childhood friend. She used to live next door to me. When we were young, we liked to play dress up with our mothers’ clothes, shoes and jewelry, and put on fancy hats. We would stick feathers in our hats and take our mothers’ feather boas, and dance around in the living room to music on the radio. We used to pretend that we were movie stars on a stage and sing to the tunes on the air. And then when we were done, we would pretend that there was an audience in front of us, clapping, throwing flowers at us, and clapping again, demanding an encore.

“I love Blair! Bloom said as she danced around the room to Blair’s music. Bloom really liked that song and kept moving to the tune, twisting and turning and moving her feet to the left and then to the right and back to the left. When the music stopped, Bloom collapsed into a recliner, and put up her feet.

Bloom was so happy to be in Carolyn’s home, where she felt comfortable and relaxed. She still was brimming with excitement over the fact that Carolyn was a friend of the famed actress Blair. That was big news for Bloom. For Bloom, that piece of information just reinforced her already strong opinion of Carolyn as one really fun person who knew the most interesting people in the world.

Carolyn beckoned for Bloom to walk to the living room so Carolyn could show her some pictures in a photo album.

Turning the page, Carolyn said, “These pictures are from some of my travels. This one was taken on a trip to Sydney, Australia with Blair a long time ago, and this one over here was with Blair on a trip to Machu Picchu, Peru. Over here in Peru, Blair is petting a llama. She’s very much into nature and animals,” Carolyn added.

“Wow! You’ve gone everywhere!“ exclaimed Bloom, looking at the pictures of sites like the Sydney Opera House and the tall mountain ridges of Machu Picchu. Bloom still marveled at the connection to Blair as she and Carolyn perused the album. Bloom was beaming and grinning from ear to ear. She was just so happy to be in Carolyn’s presence.

Excited, the curious girl continued to look all around her as she could not get enough of Carolyn’s house. Bloom turned her attention to a shelf with dark blue bottles that Carolyn had purchased, along with old soft drink bottle caps that lay neatly on the surface. Also on the shelf lay a pack of special Wisdom Cards that Carolyn used. Bloom thought the cards were very pretty and jumped out of her chair to look at them.

The 88-card set contained pictures portraying the heavens, winged angels, seascapes, sea creatures, nature trails, the moon, the sun, stars, plants and animals of all kinds. The cards each had names, such as Love, Hope, Education, Charm, Joy, Happiness, Health, Honesty, Integrity and Breath of Life. When Carolyn had a question about a pressing concern, she would turn to one of the decks, pull five or seven cards at random, and interpret the meaning. Carolyn also liked to read her horoscope in the paper. Bloom and this woman had much in common. Bloom also liked to read the horoscope, although she risked her mother’s anger. Irene preferred that her daughter spend her time reading a bible or a good book instead.

As Bloom admired the cards, Carolyn’s Siamese cat, Blush, brushed against Bloom’s leg. Bloom bent down to pick up the purring animal with the soulful grey eyes and long whiskers protruding from each side of her face.

“Carolyn, I was just looking at your cards and wondering if you could teach me how to read them. I really like your cards.”

Carolyn took a long, hard look at the curious girl and said to her, “Why do you want to learn how to read them?”

“Your Wisdom Cards are really pretty, Carolyn. I remember seeing cards like yours in a gift shop and always wanted to have a set. My mother won’t buy a set for me, so I was wondering if you had any extra ones.”

Again, Carolyn stared at the girl with a long, piercing gaze. Carolyn’s horoscope for the day did say to expect the unexpected, but this was not what she had in mind.

“Bloom, does your mother want you to know how to play with these cards?”

“No, she doesn’t.

“Carolyn, Mom always said she likes to follow her mind when she does things. I like to follow my mind also, and I just thought I’d ask. They’re really cool.”

Again, Carolyn stared at Bloom holding Blush, which by now had fallen asleep in the girl’s arms. Carolyn knew by looking at Bloom’s eyes that the girl possessed wisdom well beyond her years. Carolyn knew that even at age 11, Bloom had a sense about the things and people around her. Bloom knew beyond a shadow of a doubt when things seemed right and when they didn’t. Carolyn thought back to the days when she was a child, discovering who she was as a person.

“What exactly would you like to know, Bloom?”

“I want to be able to see things as clearly as you do,” was the reply.

“I see,” said Carolyn, as stared at the persistent pre-teen with the longing eyes.

Carolyn guided Bloom to a table adorned by a purple cloth and proceeded to remove another deck of cards from the drawer. Carolyn beckoned for Bloom to sit at the table. By this time, the cat had woken from her nap and jumped out of Bloom’s arms, choosing to sit at the girl’s feet.

Carolyn shuffled the deck, had Bloom think of a question in her mind and quickly spread out the cards in the shape of the letter “T.” Carolyn proceeded to take a deep breath followed by another long breath. Slowly, she opened her eyes and began to interpret the cards spread out in front of her.

“What do the cards say, Carolyn?” asked Bloom, eagerly.

“Bloom,” said Carolyn, “I know that living with your mother is not easy. She thinks she always knows what’s best for you, but only you know what’s best for you and what makes you happy. I see you having an adventure, where you’ll meet lots of interesting people. You’ll learn a lot from them, and they’ll help you to grow. You’ll see. Just enjoy the adventure.”

“Really?” said Bloom. “Tell me more about this …”

Suddenly, Carolyn gestured for Bloom to stop talking. Carolyn’s eyes grew wide, a big smile formed on her face and she put her hands on either side of her head. Carolyn’s eyes lit up and she nodded her head. “Ah! I know where you’re going! I see it as clearly as I see you!

“You will be going to the Artist’s Festival at Sugarcane. That’s where I see you going! And you’re going to meet some very interesting people along the way. Come to think of it, Blair is at Sugarcane. Remember, she’s the one who gave me the lavender lemonade recipe. You’ll like her! She’s a lot of fun. These days, Blair has reddish-brown hair that stretches into her back, but sometimes she’ll wear her hair on top of her head and hold the front in place with a headband. At times, her hair will be styled into thin braids. She’s really beautiful. You’ll recognize her immediately.

“I’ll bet you anything you’ll meet Blair, because she lives in that area. It’s probably like nothing you’ve ever seen before. I’ve been there several times. I learn something new every time I go.”

“And when am I going there?”

“I can’t say for sure, Bloom, but you’ll see,” said Carolyn. You may go sooner than you think. “You’ll see,” nodding her head with knowing eyes as she stared at Bloom.

“Can you take me there?” Bloom asked.

“No, Bloom. I cannot take you there. We would both get into trouble with your mother, and I know she doesn’t like me all that much. I know for a fact that you’re going to the festival. Um, hmm. Don’t worry. Just have fun. Enjoy the adventure. Go with the flow and trust yourself.”

Carolyn then looked up and noticed the sky outside darkening. Heavy rains often pelted the tropics at this time of day. Carolyn knew Bloom would have to get home before her mother did, or Bloom would get into serious trouble. As the sky turned from pale blue to dark gray, Carolyn felt goose bumps on her arms and the hairs on the nape of her neck begin to stand up. She quickly folded the deck and said, “Look. The weather is turning foul. You need to leave before the rains come. Besides, your mother will get upset if she comes home and you’re not there. I’m not going to give you a deck of cards right now, because you’re not old enough to have a set, but I am going to give you something else.”

Carolyn went to a closet and pulled out a rag doll, which was the most beautiful doll Bloom had ever seen. Bloom had never seen a doll quite like this before. The soft, foot-long doll was caramel colored, with large, painted dark black eyes and long black eyelashes that turned up from the edges toward the ceiling in a swirl. Her black eyebrows were thin but elongated; her nose, a small bump near her dark pink lips. Her cheeks were a rosy pink that matched her lips. The doll’s hair was silky and black. Strands were bunched together into braids that were adorned with yellow, pink, green and blue beads. A tiny, thin white headband decorated with pink roses was wrapped around the head.

The doll was clad in a matching lemon yellow dress with pink and white embroidery around the scooped neck. Six small gold buttons decorated the front of the dress, while the hem was stitched with navy blue thread and decorated with light blue beads. The edges of the short sleeves also were stitched with the navy blue thread. The doll’s feet were adorned with frilly baby white socks that came up to the ankles and soft, jade green baby shoes. Bloom fell in love with the doll the moment she saw it.

“I want you to have this doll,” Carolyn said. “Her name is Agnes, and she’s very special. I got this doll from my grandmother, whose name just happened to be Agnes Louise. I named the doll after her. My grandmother was a very wise woman. She was someone anyone could talk to. I could share my thoughts with her on just about anything and she would help me see things clearly. Grandmother Agnes Louise had insight about all kinds of subjects and could dispense very good advice. People were always knocking on her gate or calling her on the phone to seek out her wisdom. She was very well respected and very well loved. She really had that gift of knowing – because she knew things through her heart and was an excellent judge of character.

“I know that the doll would be very good for you to have. You can talk to her every day. She’s a good listener and, like my grandmother, will help give you clarity.”

“Thanks, Carolyn. I like this doll very much.”

“Yes, I can see that,” said Carolyn, with a knowing look on her face.

“I’m sure you will enjoy playing with Agnes. She’ll be there for you. You’ll see. Here too, is a case just for Agnes so you can keep her clean when you’re not playing with her. Let’s put her in this case so you can take her home safely.

“Now, Bloom, go on. Run along. You really must get home before the rains begin. I don’t want you or Agnes to get wet, and I certainly don’t want you to get into any trouble with your mother. Let me give you a quick hug. Hug!”

“Hug!” Bloom repeated with a smile on her face.

Now go on home. Run!”

Carolyn opened the front door of her home and stiffened as a gust of wind made its way past her and into the house. The first raindrops had started to fall, prompting Carolyn to usher the girl out the door quickly after a brief hug.

“Good bye, Carolyn. Thanks again! You’re the best!”

“Good bye, Bloom. I’ll see you soon,” said Carolyn, watching Bloom dart up the street as the rain began pelting the ground.

Bloom made it to the door of her house, stopping to shake some of the rainwater out of her hair and remove her wet shoes. On the way in to the house, she stopped to pick up the Zahmaca Daily newspaper which had been delivered earlier in the day and lay at the doorstep in protective plastic. After opening and then closing the door behind her, Bloom headed to her bedroom, placed the doll case on the bed and changed into a T-shirt and jeans. She placed her wet clothing into a clothes hamper and retrieved the diary from her school bag. A feeling of warmth immediately came over her as she held the diary in her hand, pausing briefly to inhale the scent emanating from the pages.

The diary was a source of great pride for Bloom, for in it, she could express her deepest thoughts and feelings. Bloom decided to keep the diary hidden from her mother, for her mother was inquisitive and wanted to know every detail of her life. Bloom was about to write down her feelings about the diary when she heard someone opening the gate outside. Irene had arrived in her older model two-door white Capri with the black vinyl top.

Bloom glanced at the clock radio in her bedroom. It was 5:35 p.m.

“What is she doing home so early?” Bloom thought to herself. “Mom doesn’t usually get home before 6:00 or 6:30 p.m.”

Bloom quickly put the diary in the bottom of a drawer full of assorted items and headed to the living and dining room area with the newspaper in her hand. Bloom knew better than to discuss the diary with her mother. It would be a key to Bloom’s thoughts that she knew needed to remain away from her mother’s prying eyes.

Irene was a strict, temperamental woman, who was even more so during times when she worried about how to make ends meet. She was a tall, imposing woman with shoulder-length black hair combed into a bun, dark brown, piercing eyes that seemed to see everything, and red-rimmed, oval-shaped glasses. Irene was by all accounts an attractive woman but whose face, particularly around the forehead and mouth, bore the tell-tale frown lines of worry.

Bloom wanted to give the appearance that she had been busy reading the newspaper, so she set the paper down on the dining table, and opened it to the comics section, which included the daily horoscope.

Irene opened the door, greeted her daughter and walked to the table where Bloom had been sitting. Irene turned to look at what her daughter had been reading. As soon as she saw the horoscope section, she frowned, gave her daughter a disapproving look, and ordered Bloom to stop reading the page.

“Bloom,” Irene began, “How many times do I have to tell you not to read the horoscopes? We do not read the horoscopes in this house. We do not believe in horoscopes. We believe in The Holy Bible. You know full well no one can tell the future. So stop reading the horoscopes. I don’t want to catch you reading the horoscopes ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Mom,” Bloom argued, “I was only reading the comics and the horoscopes for fun. Everybody else at school reads the horoscopes for entertainment. I even saw something about horoscopes on TV and in the magazines. I was just checking to see what it said about my date of birth.”

“Look, Bloom, I don’t care what everybody else is doing. You know better than to read this trash! If you want something to read, go and read a book, or The Holy Bible. In fact, if you really want to make use of your time, here’s something for you.”

Irene turned to a bag that she had brought in with her and pulled out a jigsaw puzzle. It was a puzzle of a map of the world, featuring animals from around the globe. Irene handed the box to her daughter and said, “Go and do this instead of reading that garbage in the newspaper.”

“Thanks, Mom,” said Bloom. She began to walk away with the box when her mother said to her, “How was your day? What did you do today in school?”

“Oh, we went over etiquette lessons, Mom. We were told to write a paper on etiquette and turn it in on Monday. It’s supposed to be four pages long.”

“Since today is Friday, you’ll start on your lessons either tonight after dinner or first thing tomorrow. There is no time to waste. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mom.”

Bloom had grown accustomed to her mother’s flashes of anger, which seemed to come out of nowhere at times. Bloom dared not tell Irene about the time spent at Carolyn’s house or how Carolyn gave away the doll Agnes. Irene would surely become upset and demand the doll be returned.

Bloom did as she was told, going upstairs with the puzzle. She put the puzzle on her bed. She opened the doll case, removed Agnes and stared at her intently. Her softness and beauty were at once a source of comfort for her. Bloom placed Agnes on her left shoulder, and hugged her for several moments. Looking at Agnes again, Bloom had a sense that something was very different about her. As she stared at the painted-on eyes, she could feel what appeared to be a soul-like depth and warmth. Agnes seemed wise, full of love, charming and elegant. Above all, Agnes seemed kind. All of a sudden, a feeling of warmth came over Bloom. She held Agnes a while longer, cradling her as if she were a baby and looked at her intently.

Bloom took a deep breath, exhaled and placed the gift from Carolyn gently back in the case. Bloom placed the case next to an assortment of toys where it would not draw her mother’s attention. She turned her attention to the new diary, removing it from her book bag. She held the diary to her nose to inhale the faint smell of roses and opened it.

Bloom carefully rubbed her hand against the first page and picked up the new fountain pen to write down her thoughts.

Dear Diary,

“Today I got a really cool doll from Carolyn. She’s my neighbor. The doll is really pretty. Her name is Agnes. I really want to play with Agnes and talk to her. I can’t tell Mom about it though. Mom’s in a really bad mood again. Maybe she had a bad day at work. She got upset with me because I was looking at horoscopes in the paper. Everybody looks at horoscopes. Big deal. So Mom gave me a jigsaw puzzle. She said I was to do it instead of reading the horoscopes.”

As soon as Bloom had written those words on the page, her mother called out to her.

Bloom had the distinct feeling that this evening was going to be extraordinary, but she did not know how or why. She would soon find out.