The Sky’s the Limit: My Journey with Maryellen

But not yet. I’m not ready to go back to the deep freeze of unhappiness and accusation on the ski race awards platform. Still, the next day, as we get closer and closer, I start to get nervous. The Larkins believe they’re driving me home to my new family’s house. Of course, I have no family in Washington D.C. There’s no house either. What am I going to say when they ask me what my new address is? I glue my nose to the car window as if the answer to the problem is out there.

Maryellen asks if I’m excited about seeing my family soon, and I nod, showing a weak smile. Maryellen says there’s many famous places in Washington D.C. What do I want to see first? The Lincoln Memorial? The Smithsonian?

I tell her those all sound great, but most of all, I want to go to the Naval Observatory. The truth is that the Observatory is the only place I know about in D.C. because they have huge telescopes there that track the planets and the stars. Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve been fascinated by the night sky. Last summer, I wanted to go to astronomy camp, but Emma didn’t, so I gave in as usual and we went to ski training camp instead.

Maryellen asks me what I would do at the Naval Observatory. I tell her I’ve always dreamed of looking through one of the huge telescopes to see the moon and stars up close. I get shivers just thinking about it. I’d also like to see the clock that’s the official timekeeper of the United States. I glanced down at the watch on my wrist with a secret grin. I bet the people at the Observatory would get shivers if they knew what my watch can do.

Maryellen unfolds a big paper map of Washington D.C. on her lap. She says we should find the Observatory on it. I squint at the maze of lines and labels. I’d have more luck navigating by the stars the way the ancient travelers did than I would using a paper map like this. Of course, GPS and smartphones haven’t been invented yet. So I watch closely as Maryellen finds the Observatory, labeled H4, on the map’s list of place names. Then she traces the lines with her finger until she finds where the line labeled H crosses the line labeled 4. Finally, she says the Naval Observatory is at 3450 Massachusetts Ave., Northwest. Maryellen says she likes how maps use just dots and lines to show you a place. I point out that her doodles do something similar.

Maryellen shows me how to use the map to follow the route to Mr. Larkin’s friend’s house. We watch the street signs out the window, and then find the streets on the map. Maryellen can tell her dad to turn left or right, and how many more blocks to go before he does.

And before we know it, we’re pulling into Mr. Blanchard’s driveway. We’ll park the trailer here and spend the night, and then tomorrow the Larkins will deliver me to my family. Dave Blanchard is a hardy, jolly guy who seems very pleased to have the Airstream in his driveway. He and Mr. Larkin disconnect it from the car and then he takes us all out to dinner.

After dinner, Mr. Larkin announces that we are going to the National Theater to see a ballet. Beverly is speechless. She sits on the edge of her seat in the car, and when we get to the theater and the ballet begins, she sits on the edge of her seat there, too. She’s not so much seen the ballet as consuming it. Maryellen nudges me and says that Beverly is wishing she had her tutu. She could pirouette her way all the way up to the stage and dance with the ballerinas. And Carolyn is enraptured by the music. Her fingers move on an invisible keyboard hovering above her lap. It’s wonderful to see both of them so absorbed. It’s as if they’ve been transported into another world the way the watch transported me.

That night, when Maryellen and I settle in for last night in the trailer, she sighs. She says this is our last night together. She wishes we could have more time. Then, she sits up, as if her popcorn-popper of a brain came up with a great idea. She asks if my family thinks I’m flying here tomorrow night. I nod. Maryellen says there’s no reason why I should be taken home first thing in the morning. Maybe Mom and Dad will let us have one last day together. They can drive me home tomorrow evening. I tell Maryellen that’s a wonderful idea. And I love it. It’ll give me more time to figure out how to part from the Larkins, and it will give me more time with Maryellen.

The next morning, Maryellen presents her idea to Mr. and Mrs. Larkin. They are just as happy as we are with the plan to keep me. We drive the car, which feels very zippy now without the trailer, into the heart of Washington D.C. We park and set forth on foot. Maryellen uses her map skills to lead us from the Lincoln Memorial to the Washington Monument to the Capitol to the Library of Congress. After lunch, we go to the National Gallery.

Beverly complains that her feet are tired after just looking at a few rooms full of sculptures. Mrs. Larkin says that she can take Beverly to the museum restaurant while we tour the museum. We can meet together at three. Mr. Larkin says he could use a cup of coffee, too. Carolyn, Ellie, and I will be all right on our own. Carolyn gaily parts with her parents and we all take off together. As we enter the section of the museum that has paintings, Maryellen stands still. She says the paintings are famous. They’re by the greatest artists who’ve ever lived. There are ones by Leonardo da Vinci, Vermeer, and Van Gogh. It’s amazing to see them in real life. She stands and stares at every painting, almost as if she’s walking into it. She wants to examine every brushstroke to see how the painter created such beauty. She moves so slowly that Carolyn and I get ahead of her and have to go back to look for her.

We find Maryellen in a room full of modern paintings. They’re colorful and weird. There are splashes of color and crazy shapes spread across the canvases. Maryellen says she gets really excited when she sees paintings like these. Some artists paint people and landscapes the way they really look. But others paint with wild imagination, so their people and scenes look like something from a dream. She says the museum signs say some of the artists were criticized for being different or painting pictures people thought were strange. But now they’re hanging here. In a grand museum. So art doesn’t have to be one certain way. There’s lots of different ways of seeing things, and showing things, and doing things.

I see Maryellen’s sketchpad tucked under her arm. I notice that with her usual remarkable talent for doodling, she has captured some of the paintings in just a few lines. I tell her I don’t know how she does it. She draws just the bare bones, and somehow, her sketches help me see the paintings more clearly. I tell Maryellen that when she goes back to school, I think she should ask if she can be the cartoonist for the school newspaper, not a writer. Maryellen and Carolyn turn to me in shock. I tell them that it’s a good idea. Kids will like Maryellen’s funny sketch of a cow better than an essay about milk. Maryellen looks doubtful and I tell her that her doodles are brilliant. They’re quirky, goofy, and smart. No one draws quite like Maryellen. I tell her to promise me that she will do it. She hugs me and grins. She promises.

Carolyn looks at the clock and says it’s time for us to go meet the rest of the family. We wind our way through the halls in the museum, and when we get to the restaurant, Mrs. Larkin says that she bought postcards of the White House. We can send one to Grandmom and Grandpop. Maryellen takes one and writes the date on the top of the postcard. I get the funny feeling when I read it. Tuesday, November 29, 1955. Why is that significant to me? It’s driving me crazy. I know that something happened on this day. But what?