Pocket Sized

“Ooff,” I muttered, rubbing my head. I batted away the pink fluff that hung over my face and called for Yelpi. Where was she anyway? “Yelp….” I trailed off mid-yell. I had found Yelpi alright. Except something was up. Either Yelpi was really, really big… or I was really, really small. Either way, our experiment seemed to have gone exponentially wrong.

Maybe I should give you some background, to keep you from being completely lost. Yelpi is my best friend. I met her in second grade. She had braces on her legs to help her walk, and she wore glasses. My family has a rule about being kind to other people—especially people who might be left out or lonely—and this girl looked like she was going to need a friend. So, I introduced myself, “I’m Persephone. But you can call me Persi. Everyone does.”

I don’t know if I expected her to be shy or what. But I definitely didn’t expect her to laugh. At my NAME. I mean, your name’s your mark in the world, you know? I was going to be mad. But there was something amazing about her laugh that made me feel… good. Peaceful. “Persi,” she said, still giggling. “Well, my name’s Yolanda. But, maybe you should call me Yelpi or something.”

If Yelpi had been anyone else, I would have lectured her on how my name marked me as something special. Persephone was the daughter of two Greek gods, after all. And she was the bringer of Spring—new life, rebirth… The way I figured it, my name made me kind of a big deal. But right away I knew two things about Yelpi: 1) she already knew this stuff about the Greek gods without me telling her, and 2) she was going to treat me like I was sort of a big deal no matter what my name was. That’s just the kind of person she is.

Turns out I was right. Yelpi was the smartest kid I’d ever met. She was always reading something. She loved stories about far off places. And she read book after book about science—lightning, grasshoppers, chemistry. Yelpi was unapologetically a nerd. Even in the second grade. And she was also the most amazing person ever. I totally didn’t need to feel sorry for her. The braces on her legs slowed her down a little. And she kind of bounced when she walked. But it didn’t matter. She’d take on any challenge, even if it took her ten times more effort than most of the kids. Like the time we had to run a mile in PE. Coach was gonna give Yelpi a pass on that. But she insisted that she could do it. It took her the whole PE class—45 minutes!—to go the whole mile. But she never gave up. Kids respect that kind of stuff. So, one by one, as kids finished running their mile, they went back to walk with Yelpi. Coach acted like it was a big deal that we all “supported Yelpi”—whatever that means. We were just being her friend. Adults can get so weird about stuff.

Anyway, basically from the day we met, Yelpi & I have been inseparable. My mom says we’re attached at the hip. That’s silly. I mean, how could we even get around to play aliens bodysnatchers or to look for fairies in the backyard if we were attached at the hip? See? Adults = weird. But, if we actually were attached at the hip, we’d probably get in a lot less trouble. And for sure I wouldn’t be three inches tall right now.

Oh, man… I got ahead of myself again. Okay, okay. Remember how I said Yelpi is a total science nerd? Well, she got me into science, too. And our favorite thing to do on a Saturday is to look up experiments and preform them in my room. Usually, we just go to a few science websites for kids and find experiments there. But today Yelpi showed up at my house with a dusty old book that she’d found in a big steamer trunk in her attic. Bet you want to know how she even got up into the attic with those braces on her legs? I knew you were paying attention. She got them off a few months ago. Over the summer. She still bounces when she walks, but she’s gotten a lot faster. And, honestly, I spend so much time with Yelpi that I bounce when I walk, too. It’s kind of just a habit. But it is more fun to walk like that. You should try it.

So, Yelpi has this strange, big book that she’s all excited over. It’s got old, loopy script handwriting in it instead of printed words. It looks like someone spent a lot of time putting together all kinds of potions—potions for love, for curing illnesses, for getting rich. Now, Yelpi and I are in fourth grade. I don’t give a fig about love, at least not the kind of love that makes Aiden Smith always try to kiss me on the playground. And Yelpi and I are real lucky that we don’t know anyone that’s sick. So, we figured we’d try to get rich. Seemed like a reasonable way to spend our Saturday afternoon.

We gathered all kinds of stuff for the potion. Some of the stuff we had to kind of guess on—neither of us could exactly get our hands on an eye of newt or on a fragment of turtle shell stewed in sage. Maybe it was our improvising that was the problem. Because by late Saturday afternoon, we were no richer. But I certainly was smaller. 45 inches smaller, to be exact.

 

Fanciful (a microstory)

Indigo light pushed its way gently into the morning. Swiftimonds darted back and forth, their iridescent bodies lit up like prisms against the aquamarine sky. I yawned, wiping the sleep from my eyes. Swaying in time to the rhythm of the swiftimonds’ morning song, I steadily gained momentum until my hammock flipped over, sending me cascading down between the riboheth trees, gliding between their flaky, silver trunks, wings extended. My feet touched the ground, making small indentations in the velvety, fuscia grass. Marifelds sprung up spontaneously where I’d landed, rising and lifting their glittering, tangerine petals toward the sun.

Aubergine the Kind & Brave

Aubergine knew the rule about being kind to others, even if they weren’t kind to you. And she hadn’t been mean. In fact, she hadn’t said anything at all. Then why did she feel so awful?

Abergine’s day started like every other day. She got dressed for school in a rainbow tutu, a shirt with glitter stars, a sequined cape, and her favorite tiara. Mom sent her back into her room to change into something “a little less festive.” Aubergine tried again. This time, Mom exclaimed, “Holy guacamole, Aubergine!” Aubergine wasn’t sure what her outfit had to do with squished up avacados. But she was happy that she got to wear her favorite princess dress, cowboy boots, and reindeer antlers to school. The worst thing in the world a person could be, according to Aubergine, was boring.

After morning announcements, Mrs. Wormly began the math lesson. Aubergine loved math. She liked examining the math problems and discovering how to solve them. In the middle of puzzling through a particularly difficult problem, she heard Crawley McFarley whisper, “Girls don’t like math.” Aubergine spun around in her seat. She glared at Crawley McFarley. When it was time to go over their math work, Aubergine raised her hand for every answer. She noticed Crawley McFarley didn’t raise his hand once. Hmpf, she thought.

On the playground, Aubergine climbed to the top of the monkey bars. She flipped upside down so that she hung by her knees. She liked how the trees looked as if they grew from the sky when she was upside down. Suddenly, she was looking at a pair of brown eyes, curly brown hair, and a mean scowl. “Girls don’t play on monkey bars,” Crawley McFarley said. Aubergine rolled her eyes and climbed back to the top of the bars. She closed her eyes, touched her middle fingers to her thumbs to make the shape of an O, and said more loudly than was strictly necessary “Ooooooommmmmmmm.”

After she had Om’d for a few minutes and was feeling much better, she opened her eyes to see Crawley McFarley sitting next to her on the monkey bars. “Meditating is dumb,” he said, still scowling. Aubergine sighed, flipped down off the monkey bars, and went to play with the kids on the seesaws.

At reading time, Aubergine pulled out her book slowly. The class was reading Charlotte’s Web together. Out loud. Aubergine always felt nervous about reading out loud. The words in her head didn’t always come out of her mouth right. Sometimes, she accidentally whispered when she read and the teacher had to say “Speak up, Aubergine. Be audible.” This made Aubergine feel even smaller.

When it was Aubergine’s turn to read, she got tangled up in the very first sentence. She tripped over the first few words, then she froze. Crawley McFarley saw his chance. “I can read, Mrs. Wormly!” he yelled, waving his hand in the air. After Ms. Wormly had nodded at him to go ahead, Crawley McFarley whispered under his breath, “Who’s smart now, Aubergine?” Aubergine didn’t know what to do. So she just rolled her eyes and stared down at her book.

By the time Aubergine got home, she felt sad and angry. Why was Crawley McFarley so mean to her? She was so upset that she couldn’t even eat the dirt & worms that Mom had made for her special snack. She finished her homework, ate dinner, and went to her room to read Charlotte’s Web. She read it just fine when she didn’t have an audience of meanies like Crawley McFarley staring at her.

Then next day, Aubergine didn’t feel as excited about school as usual. In fact, she felt yucky. She got dressed in an ordinary pair of jeans and a pale blue button down shirt. Mom saw Aubergine’s outfit and knew something was wrong right away. “Aubergine, do you need to talk about something?” Aubergine paused. She knew the rule about being kind to others, even if they weren’t kind to you. And Aubergine had been kind, even when Crawley McFarley acted like a big old poopy-pants. She sighed loudly. And then she recounted for Mom all the ways that Crawley McFarley had set about to ruin her day yesterday.

While Aubergine talked, Mom nodded and hmmmm‘d. When Aubergine finished the story, Mom gave her a big hug. “You are a good kid, Aubergine. Stellar, in fact. And I think I have some ideas for you that might make today a little better.”

Aubergine didn’t go to school in plain old jeans and a blue button down shirt after all. She proudly walked through the doors of Birdnest Elementary in a superhero costume with a cape, sparkly wrist bands, and a shield. Crawley McFarley snickered when Aubergine walked in the room. Aubergine ignored him. She knew she looked amazing. And, besides, she had a plan.

At recess, Aubergine headed over to the kids playing four square. She was practically a four square champion. She couldn’t wait to play. As she reached for the ball, Crawley McFarley appeared out of nowhere. He shoved her out of the way. Then he grabbed the ball. “Girls can’t play four square.”

Aubergine jumped up from the ground and grabbed her shield. She planted her feet firmly on the ground, looked Crawley McFarley in the eye and asked loudly, “What did you say?”

“I said girls can’t play four square,” he replied. But he said it more quietly this time.

Aubergine took a deep breath: “I can play four square! I am the best four square player at Birdnest Elementary! I am super good at math. I want to be an engineer one day! News flash: girls can do anything they want to do! And, for your information, I like to read. And it is MEAN to pick on someone because they get nervous sometimes. One more thing: meditating is AWESOME. It’s like my superpower. You should mind your own business and STOP being mean all the time!” Aubergine walked over to Crawley McFarley, took the four square ball out of his hands, and said, “I am playing first, because I was here first.”

Crawley McFarley didn’t say anything at all. He just stood there staring. Aubergine couldn’t remember anyone ever standing up to Crawley McFarley. Ever. But now she had. And she’d done it without being mean at all.

Aubergine smiled. Mom was right. It took a special kind of superhero to be kind AND stand up for herself. And now Aubergine knew just what kind of superhero she wanted to be.