The Sky’s the Limit: My Journey with Maryellen

A few minutes later, Mrs. Larkin hurries into the room and says Carolyn just called. She forgot her ticket to the sock hop. Mrs. Larkin has to watch Tom and Mikey and finish the Thanksgiving pies, so she asks us to find the ticket and get it to Carolyn at the high school gym. Maryellen jumps up and says we can drop off our poster at the plant store on the way. Maryellen and I search everywhere, but it’s Beverly who finally finds the ticket buried in Carolyn’s top drawer under bobby pins, cold cream, and sunglasses. Beverly proudly says she’ll deliver it herself.

At the plant store, the owner is surprised how young Maryellen is, but he has her write her name and phone number on the back of the poster. Beverly says she might win, though Maryellen just shrugs. A grown-up artist will probably win. Still, it was fun to make.

At the high school, we find Carolyn waiting outside the gym. Beverly hands her the ticket, and I tell Carolyn that Beverly found it all by herself. Carolyn thanks her sister with a wink and heads inside.

Maryellen, Beverly, and I peer through the open doors at the sock hop. Old-time rock ’n’ roll shakes the gym and makes the floor thump underfoot. I can see why they call it a sock hop: shoes line the wall while everyone dances in their socks, twirling in real dance steps instead of just jumping around like the school dances I’ve seen back home. The girls wear swirly dresses, the boys wear sweaters and ties, and crepe paper loops hang between the basketball hoops.

Maryellen asks if it looks fun, and I nod. She says mostly yes, except for having to dance with a boy, and makes a horrified face imagining dancing with someone like Wayne. Beverly and I laugh. I mention that some girls at my school are already interested in boys. Maryellen insists it will be a long time before she is. Beverly asks if we want to get married someday, like Joan, and Maryellen reminds her Joan is nineteen, a long way off still. Maryellen wants college first, and then to be an artist.

Back at the Larkins’ house, hot and sweaty, we learn we can go to the beach. Mrs. Larkin, hands floury from making pies, says she could use a swim herself. Maryellen waits until we’re alone in her bedroom to tell me I don’t have to swim if I’m not ready. I manage a wobbly grin and tell myself that since Maryellen faced her fear at school this morning, maybe today is the day for me to face mine.

Maryellen finds me one of Carolyn’s bathing suits and a rubber cap patterned with fish. In the mirror, the strap under my chin makes me look almost bald.

We help load the station wagon and pile in with Tom, Mikey, and Scooter for the short drive to the beach. I help carry everything across the hot sand, set up Mrs. Larkin’s chair under the umbrella, spread her towel, and get Mikey started with his pail and shovel. But I can’t put off facing the ocean any longer.

I take off my sunglasses and take small Tom’s hand, though really he’s the one steadying me as we walk toward the waves, crashing and booming against the sand. Tom tells me not to be scared. Maryellen comes up behind me and asks if I’m ready to just get my feet wet.

I nod, and with Maryellen on one side and Tom on the other, and Beverly following, I walk forward until the water curls around my ankles, then my knees. Everyone cheers. I don’t suddenly turn fearless like Maryellen, but I splash with Tom in the shallows, and Mrs. Larkin holds me while I float on my back. A wave lifts me and I feel weightless, like an astronaut, until I try it again and get salt water up my nose. Getting used to the ocean is clearly going to take time.

Later, I use my bathing cap as a pail to fill the moat around a sandcastle Tom, Mikey, and Beverly built. Maryellen says that’s nice of me, and suggests I could babysit to earn money for my telescope. I tell her it’s a great idea. She always has the best ones.

When the sun gets low, we pack up and head home, sandy and tired. While I’m washing Mikey’s feet at the outdoor spigot, the phone rings for Maryellen. Mrs. Larkin hands her the receiver, its long cord stretching out the door. After a quick back-and-forth, Maryellen hangs up and shouts that she won the contest. We hug and jump around while Beverly squeals. It turns out the new plant store had a contest for a name, slogan, and logo, and Maryellen won, twenty-five dollars.

I tell Maryellen she could buy a great new bike, one that would really show Wayne. She agrees but says she might just keep riding Davy’s old bike instead, since that would show him even more that she doesn’t care what he thinks. Practical Beverly asks what she’ll do with the money. Maryellen says she’ll get some art supplies and save the rest for college, which is what she really wants.

Hearing that jolts me. Maybe it’s time for me to go home and work toward what I really want, too, peace with Emma, friendship with Gran, and someday a telescope. Thanks to Maryellen, I might finally be ready.