Absolutely, Positively Natty

THERE’S A QUOTE I HEARD once about trusting the magic of beginnings, and I can’t remember how it goes exactly, but that probably doesn’t matter.
All I know is, right here, right now, I’m trusting the magic of this beginning. That’s what matters.
“Well, I should be getting back to Grandma and Grandpa’s. Unpacking and everything,” my dad says finally, after he fills out a million forms. “Have a good day, Natty. I know this is tough.”
“What do you mean? It’s not tough at all,” I answer, smiling. He tilts his head. “Well, I’m sorry we arrived so late last night, and it’s all pretty last minute and everything.”
I shuffle my feet on the floor a little. “No way! Sometimes arriving early to stuff gives you more time to be nervous. Now I’m just kinda thrown into it, like jumping right into a cold pool. You get used to the water much quicker that way.”
“Okay, well, um, I guess that’s one way to look at it.” He hesitates. “I’ll see you after school, okay?”
“Okay, Dad. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Natty. Take it easy.”
I stand there in the hallway and watch him walk away, and I look around: beige lockers, canary-yellow linoleum tile, a row of bulletin boards next to the office, like where people would hang flyers and stuff. Except they’re mostly empty. There’s one lunch menu from last June, half hanging off, and a very faded map of Pennsylvania. I can’t believe no one decorated them for the first day of school, when everything should be fresh and perfect and beautiful.
I wander around a little more, hoping to find a good place to
sit and go over my schedule. After a few minutes, I find the gym and peek in and then I see
a slightly cracked-at-the-top glass door leading to the track.
When I get outside, I tilt my head to the sky and feel the glorious morning sun on my cheeks. I sit down on the bleachers and take my phone out of my pocket, and at that exact second I get a text from Gracie. We’re so in sync it’s like we read each other’s minds, even from different states!
Gracie: Natty! Good luck on your first day. You’ll be amazing as always. Everyone’s gonna want to be your friend!
Gracie: Also is it weird you’re starting middle school
twice?
Me: Hiiiii. lol to starting middle school twice. Yeah, it’s technically called Junior High here, idk. Just 7th & 8th grades.
Me: Got to school sooooo early to do paperwork. Sitting outside on the bleachers rn getting tan. Good luck on the first day of 7th grade! Can’t believe I’m not there. And ILY soooooooooooo much.
Gracie: CANNOT BELIEVE you’re not here either! Miss you
beyond.
Me: FaceTime later?
Gracie: kk
I look up from my phone and see that there’s a kid running around the track. He doesn’t look like a runner-he’s wearing Birkenstocks with backstraps and baggy, khaki cargo pants and a tie-dyed T-shirt that says, “Waffle House.”
He finishes a lap and looks up at me and then he does a little salute thing. So I do a salute thing back even though at that point he’s not looking at me anymore.
Halfway through his next lap, he stops and puts his hands on his knees, bends over, and shakes his head like he’s not sure he’ll survive this. Then he starts running again and screams, “Gah! This is torture!”
“You’re doing great,” I yell back, and then cover my mouth immediately. Why on earth did I just say that? I don’t know this kid. I don’t know anyone here.
“What?” he yells back at me, almost completing the lap. I laugh. “I said you’re doing great!”
“It’s my last day of this!” He screams, still running. “Hallelujah!”
I think he needs more support. Clearly, he’s not into exercise,
so I’m not sure why he’s doing this, early in the morning before
the school year’s even started. This whole scene is very
confusing.
I stand up and shout, “You’re doing great! Keep running! You can do this!”
He pauses when he finishes the lap and makes it to my spot on the bleachers. “Did Sheila in the main office tell you to come out and cheer for me?”
“Huh?” I laugh. “What do you mean?”
He squints. “Who are you and what are you doing out here?”
“Oh, um, I got to school early to do all the new-student paperwork, so I figured I’d come soak in some sun before the day started.” I pause. “I’m Natty.”
“Okay, well, Natty, since you’re new, here’s my PSA: never skip gym. I failed last year for skipping too many times, and instead of having some kind of summer-school program like a NORMAL SCHOOL WOULD”-he yells the last part-“they told me to come run laps every day. EVERY SINGLE DAY OF THE SUMMER. That’s it. Just run laps and then someone from the main office, usually Sheila, comes to check that I’m doing it, and signs my sheet. But hallelujah, today’s my last day!”
“Well, yay for finishing it!” I say. “You’re a pretty fast runner.”
“Thanks, but it doesn’t matter, ‘cuz after today I’m never
planning to run again!” He sings that last part, like in an over-
the-top opera voice, side-smiles, and gets back to the laps.
I lean against the bleachers and tilt my head toward the sky again. So far I’d say this morning has been a win-sitting in the sun, cheering someone on-that’s putting good energy out into the universe, no doubt about it.
I take my phone out of my backpack to make sure it’s switched to silent before I walk into school and that’s exactly when it rings.
“Hello,” I say quietly since I’m not sure I’m supposed to be
taking a call on school property. “Nat. Hi. Did I catch you in time before school?”
“Hi, Mom! Yes! I’m about to go in and start the day. How are you?”
“Good, getting along.” She sounds tired. “I made a plan with Mally. Remember my old college roommate?”
“Yup! Of course! How is she?” I sit back and wave to Running Kid as he hobbles off the track. He doesn’t see me.
“Doing well….”
There’s silence on the phone and I wait for my mom to ask me questions-how the ride to Grandma and Grandpa’s was last night, if anything’s new in Miller Creek, if that little diner down by the creek with the amazing banana walnut pancakes is still open. But nope. Nothing. Silence.
So I jump in. “It’s really great here, Mom. Like honestly, so different from just coming on Thanksgiving and in the summer, like twice a year; just living here is different. Y’know? I mean, it’s only been one night, but yeah, I can totally tell how different it is; it’s really great.”
“Mmm-hmm. That’s wonderful, Natty-love. Anyway, just wanted to wish you good luck on your first day, and um, I hope you always know I’m here for you.”
“Yup. I do.” I swallow back the teeny, tiny lump in my throat. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too, Natty-girl.”
I hang up then. I feel a little sniffly after she calls me Natty-girl because she’s the only one who calls me that and now she’s not here to say it and on the phone it just feels so different.
But I push away that feeling, and I don’t dwell on it, because eventually she’ll be here. Eventually she’ll find her way back to us. To me and to Dad, and we’ll start fresh and it’ll be a whole new thing, better than it’s ever been. I’m going to make sure of it.
It’s like the quote I saw tacked to the wall above the register at the place where Mom and I used to get our nails done together.
“Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall
together.”
I think it was Marilyn Monroe who said it, and she was totally right.