This is the second week in Sue Fairchild's A to Z Blog Challenge, featuring the popular letter B.
B is for BOOKS. Books make me happy, unless they’re poorly
written, and then they BOTHER me. Misspelled words, incorrect punctuation, and
whiplash POV changes make me say BYE to a book.
B is also for BROSIUS. That’s me, at least for the last 39
years and 11 months.
Today, B is mostly for a BOOK by BROSIUS, which you may now
pre-order at
shop.myhelpinghandspress.com.
The book is
Surviving Jamaica, the
sequel with your favorite characters from
Surviving
Meemaw.
Lastly, B is for BAIT. I’m hoping by reading the first
chapter of the new book, you will take the bait and buy it. So I’m including
the first chapter on this very blog.
Chapter
1
“We’ll be perfectly safe, honey.
Jesus will take care of us.”
Why does Meemaw’s pronouncement from
several minutes ago give me no comfort as I cling to the armrest of seat 23E,
the knuckles on my right hand turning white? Oh, yeah, it’s because that’s what
she says right after she plows through a red light in her taxi cab yellow PT Cruiser.
Or when I mention, “You’re going the wrong way on a one-way street!”
My friendboy Joshua Gold peels my
frozen fingers from the armrest. “Chill, Laney. Remember what your grandmother
said—”
I cut him off even while
transferring my death grip to his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Jesus will take
care of us.” My terror almost prevents me from quoting Meem in a sarcastic
sing-song voice. Almost.
Josh has the window seat, and the
bright sunlight behind him makes me squint.
“But we’re on a plane!” I wail. “This is worse than Meem’s driving. I mean…what’s
even holding this monstrosity up in the air?” I never took physics, so I
honestly don’t know.
“The Law of Aerodynamics,” Josh
replies. “And Jesus. I’ve flown dozens of times with my parents. Flying is the
safest form of transportation, safer than walking.”
I would ask him where he went those
dozens of times if the Lucky Charms from my early morning breakfast weren’t
undulating in my stomach like the water below us. If we crash, we’ll have to
use our seats as flotation devices. It’s not really comforting to think they’ll
come apart easily enough to do that.
“Just keep holding onto me,” he
says. He gestures with his free hand. “Look how relaxed Calvin is.” Surprising
me, I hear no annoyance in Josh’s voice. He and Calvin had some mysterious feud
in their past before I knew either of them.
Calvin Berger reclines in the aisle
seat, headphones in, dark hair falling on his forehead, apparently asleep.
I loosen my grip slightly thinking
Josh shouldn’t get scars from fingernail impressions until his future wife
gives birth. Mature, religious, rock-solid Joshua Gold will make a great
husband someday. And since he got his braces off and his skin is clearing, it
seems likely he will attract a girl eventually. Maybe even Kimberly, his friend
since childhood for whom he secretly pines. I think Kim, my friend for only a
couple of months, secretly pines back.
Josh squeezes my hand and,
apparently mistaking my silence for calmness, buries his headphones into his
protruding ears and directs his gaze to the movie playing on the tiny screen on
the back of the seat in front of him.
I almost squeal as a hand slips
around my left hand. I don’t have to look to know it’s Calvin’s hand because
the zing starts in my fingertips and
quickly shoots throughout my body. I look anyway and see the smirk on Calvin’s
face while his eyes remain closed in fake sleep.
I usually love my boyfriend’s zing, but now it intensifies the Lucky
Charms’ jig in my stomach. I eye the air sickness bag tucked in the pocket in
front of the Air Mall catalog. I really don’t want to puke between the two most
important guys in my life.
I grab the bag, climb over Calvin,
and sprint down the narrow aisle toward the restroom, actually leaping over a
small child returning to his seat. I’ll have to go out for track this year.
Thank God the little room is not occupado and the toilet lid is already
up as I lose my breakfast and half my guts. I officially hate flying. When I’m
pretty sure I’m done, I flush and watch the pukey blueish liquid swirl away.
Where does it go? Into the ocean? Another airline mystery.
I lavez les mains—the sign is in English, French, and Spanish—and
rinse my mouth at the tiny sink before exiting the restroom.
I feel tons better with an empty
stomach. I proceed slowly up the aisle, trying to remember where Meemaw is
sitting. I hear her excited voice before I spot her graying red curls.
“We don’t have to remain separated
from God because He sent His Son,
Jesus, to bring us back to God.”
Oh no. Meemaw has a large Jamaican
man trapped between her and the window. He’s not getting off this flight
without considering his soul’s eternal destiny. I could save him from Meem, but
then he would know I am with her. Well, it’s not like I’m ever going to see him
again….
I slip into the empty aisle seat,
but before I can distract Meemaw, the man exclaims, “Praise ta Lawd, Mama! Do
you love my Jesus?”
As the hallelujahs elevate, I slink
away, hoping no one noticed my five-
second identification with my grandmother. Internationally Embarrassed, the story of my life. I wonder who
will play me in the movie.
I squeeze past Calvin, still
sleeping or feigning sleep, and settle into my seat.
“You okay?” Josh asks.
“Yeah, thanks. I think I am.”
“Good,
“How could we not?” I reply.
How could we not? I’m going to spend
ten days on a Caribbean island in the middle of February. So while everybody
stuck in Central Pennsylvania is complaining about the coldest, snowiest,
iciest winter in years, I’ll be enjoying eighty degree temperatures and warm
sand. With my friends from school. And my boyfriend.
And my grandmother. Crud. She’s how
I could not have an amazing time.
It’s not like seventy-something
Meemaw could be left behind. If not for her Puppetry class at Millburgh
Christian Academy, we wouldn’t be going to Jamaica. The whole senior class
joined Puppetry when they found out a mission trip to Jamaica would be our
senior trip. That’s only twelve kids plus me because our school is pathetically
small, but I’ve realized over the last few months I’d rather be with those
twelve kids than the hundred at Millburgh Area.
And then there’s Josh. He
technically shouldn’t be with us though he is by far the best puppeteer. He
doesn’t go to MCA, but he belongs to Meemaw’s other Puppet Team. When Meem
broke her hip in November, right after she started teaching the Puppetry class
in exchange for my tuition, Josh took over for her. The powers that be at
Millburgh Area even let him leave school early a couple of times a week because
Josh’s dad thought it would look good on a résumé.
So that’s why I’m cruising 31,000
feet above the ocean (according to the pilot, and why would he lie?) nestled
between my friendboy and my boyfriend, hoping to step onto Jamaican soil
instead of crashing into the cold waves.
“Look! That’s Cuba.” Josh points out
the window. “We’re almost there.”
Oh, good. Maybe we’ll crash on land
instead of into the water. Is that better or worse?
