The edge of everywhen, p.10
The Edge of Everywhen, page 10
Where is Dad? Why did You let him be taken? Is he hurt? Is he even alive? It’s not FAIR!
Why did You leave me here all alone with an old lady who doesn’t like me? I can’t do this by myself! Phoenix needs me to look after him, but I can’t be Mom’s replacement. I’m just a kid!
Mr. Greene said this tree is closer to You, and I can’t even get up there!
IT’S NOT FAIR!
After a long bout of sobbing, Piper felt a cool breeze lift her hair. She opened her eyes and sat up, brushing twigs and sticks and dirt from her tear-streaked face and neck. She sniffed and looked up into the tree in disbelief at what she saw.
A hand she recognized was reaching down from the lowest branch.
“Phoenix?” she said as she stared, blinking and bewildered. “How . . . ?” She scrambled to her feet and dusted off her jeans. Then she made sure both backpack straps were squarely on her shoulders before reaching up to grab her brother’s hand.
He was far stronger than she expected. In an instant Piper was up on the lowest branch of the tree beside her brother. Then Phoenix jumped down out of the tree and ran off, leaving Piper to her thoughts.
“You have to show me how you got up here!” she called after him.
Piper surveyed her new surroundings. Above her she saw that one of the upper branches ran sideways at a right angle to the main trunk, making a perfect chair-like shape. She climbed to it easily, then relaxed against the tree and stretched out her legs with no fear of falling.
She heard Mr. Greene’s voice in her head saying, “It’s easier to sense the presence of God when you’re in a thin place.”
I can tell you, Dear Reader, that Mr. Greene is not wrong about this. My spine tingled, the ink within me sharpened, and the words that I had to share with Piper Guthrie began to well up inside my pages and seep into the air with a swirling, pale blue light.
There had never been a time prior to this when Piper had been nervous to read a book, but I could feel her heart fluttering as she ran her hand across my cover. She had read plenty of stories in the past, too many to remember, but not a single one had glowed with its own light or whispered to her beforehand. But now she was ready to hear it.
A Day in a Tree
My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the king; my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer.
—The Sons of Korah, Psalm 45:1 niv
We’re in a tree now. Breezy; leafy; fresh; birdsong; earth and sky. Close your eyes, Dear Reader, and picture it. Need a snack? How about a water bottle? Settle in for a story. Careful now; don’t tumble out.
Piper opened the front cover and flipped past the title page, her heart singing with anticipation as my greeting poured forth. The whispers grew louder, flowing from inside the pages and wrapping themselves around my Reader as I let the binding exhale, opening my secrets and suffusing the tree with light. As the mystery of the whispers drew her in, Piper found herself falling slowly down the rabbit hole with Alice, tumbling head over heels and further into familiar strangeness with every word and every page and every chapter that she read.
You see, Dear Reader, I already knew her story. It’s the one she needed to tell, the very same one she needed to read with new eyes, to hear with new ears.
Every single thing in the world that Piper loved was woven in and throughout the story. Her tongue knew the taste of the main character’s favorite hot peppermint tea in winter. She recognized the candy-sweet scent of Virginia bluebells, picking them by the armload next to a quiet stream in the springtime. Piper nodded in understanding when the character struggled to fit in at school, where even the teachers thought her odd and standoffish, and all she wanted to do was punch the bullies in the teeth and climb to the roof and read another book so she didn’t have to feel so much.
Warm spring sunshine filled the dappled spaces between the budding leaves. She sat motionless, reading, oblivious to the chirping of birds and the fact that lunchtime had approached and then was gone.
Piper and I were alone in the thin place of the reading tree. It didn’t matter that she started to cry when the main character’s life became confusing and different from the lives of her friends and classmates after her little brother’s doctor said some big-sounding words that she didn’t understand. My heart ached right along with Piper’s with love for a little brother who once squealed and laughed and spoke and then became locked in a world of mute silence. The longing to know and be known by him, her brother and best friend, was heavy for such a little girl. My words gave speech to Piper’s confusion, teaching her that it was okay to feel angry and disappointed, giving her a voice where she felt she had none. And when a group of neighborhood boys called the little brother a retarded freak, Piper laughed out loud when the story’s character exacted her revenge against them by painting their bicycles bubblegum pink.
Then came the first of the darkest parts. I believe, Dear Reader, that Piper almost closed the book when the father in the story disappeared in the jungle. She was more familiar with the character’s sadness and anger and fear than she ever wanted to be. Somehow it was okay here and now to let those bottled up tears fall where they would from her place high up in the reading tree. Piper cried in solidarity for the brave girl in the story who pushed through and kept going without her father. And Piper’s heart exploded with relief when the mother in the story woke up one day and wasn’t crying anymore, but resumed brushing her hair and brushing her teeth and cooking breakfast and kissing foreheads. My story didn’t erase the Not Knowing, but there was an agreement, a deciding not to give up hope that her father would somehow find his way back home. I felt Piper latch onto this dogged resolve as she found her own fragile hope rising.
Piper stopped reading when she realized the Biggest Darkness was coming up next in the story, the Darkness Where Mom Was Not.
Would you have continued on, Dear Reader?
Piper thought long and hard about closing the book and not reading any more of it, but that wasn’t possible. So she drank some water and ate an apple and a chewy chocolate chip granola bar. She launched the apple core as far out into the grass as she could, took a deep breath, and found enough bravery to keep reading.
All of the grown-ups were so quiet and awkward, taken to whispering around the children when their mother died, acting like none of them knew what they were supposed to say. To Piper, it felt like being set adrift in a boat with no anchor, no oars, no current, and no captain. Somehow Piper was just expected to be her own captain, but no one had taught her what a captain was supposed to do, and she didn’t have a map or a compass or lessons on how to sail. Naomi was both captain and compass for Piper and Phoenix, and now Mom Was Not.
Hot tears of relief flooded her eyes as the story gave her words to acknowledge just how much it hurt to have a piece of her torn out. Even if this girl was just a character in a book, she understood Piper in a way that no one else could.
Her heart swelled in admiration for the character’s resolve. She was brave in the doing of everyday things like dishes and homework and tying her little brother’s shoes and answering a phone that rang far too often. She wasn’t the least bit angry at her brother for being different. They had a tightly woven knot of friendship that nothing could untie.
The girl in the story prayed, real prayers, out loud, and she never acted like those prayers just stopped at the ceiling. She acted like God was with her everywhere, and everywhen, ceiling or no ceiling, parents or no parents, a Being who heard every word she said and made her believe that she mattered.
In a flash, Piper’s understanding opened up, and she saw the yellow life raft dreams for what they were: she was being carried. Even though it was dark and stormy around her, she wasn’t going to drown. She longed to be with her mother and father, but here in this thin place, she was overcome with an unexplainable peace that could only come from God.
The book didn’t have a happily-ever-after ending, like the kinds of stories that pretend all the dark things were just a dream and the characters wake up and everyone is alive and there is cake and rainbows and kissing. If it had ended that way, Dear Reader, I’m sure that Piper would have done what Aunt Beryl wanted to do and auctioned me off to the highest bidder.
The girl in the story didn’t pretend that every hard thing had some lesson behind it, or that life could be tied up in a neat little bow. The story I gave Piper left her satisfied, and perplexed, and tearful, and exhausted, and full of more questions than answers. A glimmer of hope had awakened in her soul, and my last words left her filled with a belief in the importance of her own unfolding story.
Piper blinked as she turned my last page, not realizing that the sun had begun to set and the sky barely offered enough light for her to read. As she leaned over the branches to see about getting down, she was surprised and not surprised to see Phoenix sitting in the grass beneath her, leaning against the tree with all three dogs asleep in a circle around him. She didn’t realize three big dogs could be that quiet, but the Dog Whisperer was in their midst.
“Look out below!” Piper called down, starting to descend.
Phoenix and the dogs made way for Piper as she jumped easily to the grass. She was thankful that Phoenix didn’t need her to say anything because her words would have failed her. She took her brother’s hand, and they walked toward the house in the waning light. Piper glanced back at the reading tree as Mr. Greene’s voice came back to her once again.
Heaven and earth are normally about three feet apart, but when you’re in a thin place, heaven is much closer.
Baffling Questions
The volumes stood on the shelves, resolute, silent as sentries with unfired weapons at the ready.
—Adeliza Livingston
Sofia didn’t seem the least bit put out that the children hadn’t bothered to show up for lunch or dinner. She had kept two plates of spaghetti and meatballs and thick garlic bread warm in the oven for supper, and she nodded with appreciation as Phoenix and Piper devoured every last noodle. “It’s good for you two to play outside all day,” she said. “So much better for you than staying cooped up in your room.”
The emotional roller coaster Piper had ridden that day had worn her out. After dinner she went straight to bed and slept a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
Out of habit she woke up at the usual time for breakfast the next morning, even though Aunt Beryl wasn’t there to notice if the children were on schedule. Piper was ushered into the kitchen by the aroma of cinnamon rolls and sausage. Phoenix was sitting at the breakfast counter already, sipping some hot chocolate and watching Sofia with something close to interest. Piper put an arm around her brother and said, “Good morning, little brother.” For a moment he leaned into his sister and rested his head against her shoulder, and a lump rose in Piper’s throat at the unexpected hint of affection. Then the cinnamon rolls with loads of melting icing appeared, and Phoenix launched into his breakfast with a peanut butter sandwich in one hand and a cinnamon roll in the other.
Quincy, Lincoln, and Teddy all thumped their tails at Piper in unison, but none of them left their posts at her brother’s feet. “The Dog Whisperer and his minions,” Piper said as she patted each dog’s head and sat on the stool beside Phoenix.
Sofia nodded toward Phoenix as she offered Piper a mug of hot peppermint tea. “Mum’s the word, but somebody had a little slumber party in his bedroom last night,” she said with a wry smile. “I went to go put the dogs in their crates, and they refused to come when I called them, so I went looking and found all three of them on his bed, pretending they couldn’t hear me.” She shrugged. “Phoenix was happy, the dogs were happy; it’s okay by me!”
“Auntie’s away and the dogs will play!” Piper said.
Piper had her fill of the luscious cinnamon rolls and the savory sausage, questions building up inside of her head while she ate. The more she thought about the story I had given her yesterday, the bigger her questions became.
After breakfast Piper looked out the window and saw another clear sky that promised warm temperatures. “Phoenix, let’s take the dogs outside to play again, okay?” She smiled at Sofia. “We’ll come in for lunch this time, though; promise!” Piper grabbed a couple of granola bars from the cabinet and added them to her book-filled backpack before hoisting it over her shoulder.
Sofia waved them off as she cleared the dishes. “Bah! Go play! You both look bright eyed and bushy-tailed after being outside all day yesterday, and it’s nice to see a little color in your cheeks.”
Over the last several years, Piper had grown used to the way Phoenix made his way through the world. Occasionally he would look at his surroundings as he walked beside his family, but often his expression was either vacant or frustrated. Sometimes when they were outside on a warm day, he would turn his face up toward the sun and close his eyes. It was one of the few times Piper could tell he was enjoying himself.
Phoenix was different today. His face was different, and his sparkling eyes were different, greener and brighter today than Piper had ever seen them. No one else may have been able to tell, but Piper knew that her brother had lost some of that vacant look. He still didn’t say anything, but there was more of Phoenix inside of Phoenix. Piper wondered if her little brother had been as affected as deeply as she was when he’d finished reading the story I’d given him.
Piper stopped short as she realized something.
Wait. The book wasn’t about him. It was about me. Why would Phoenix be so interested in a story that’s all about his sister?
Piper and Phoenix walked all the way to the end of the formal garden and sat down on the low wall near the corner. Phoenix looked out toward the woods, absentmindedly tugging on Quincy’s ear.
“I read the book,” Piper said. “I know you liked it just as much as I did, and I want to ask you about it because it all seems so weird and it doesn’t make any sense.” Piper pulled me from the backpack and set me on her lap, running her palm over the cover.
“What was the book about, Phoenix?”
He stopped petting Quincy and reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a tiny scrap of paper. At first Piper thought her brother would produce a pen and write a ciphered answer to her question. Instead he came over and stood in front of her, looking hard into her eyes with his knees touching hers. He took Piper’s hand, pressed the little paper into her palm, and folded her fingers over it with a gentle squeeze. Then he spun around and began running toward the tree line with the dogs in close pursuit.
Piper retrieved The Giver from her backpack, unfolded the note, and read the single set of numbers Phoenix had written.
11-4-4
She decoded it.
The note simply said, “me.”
Wait.
He says the story was about HIM?
How did Phoenix know ahead of time that I was going to ask him that question?
Piper tried to approach this evolving mystery logically, recalling all of the puzzle pieces and trying to assemble them in her head. But not all things can be answered with simple logic. I wonder, Dear Reader, if you might agree.
Piper began to have an internal argument. A “what if” began niggling in her thoughts.
Novus Fabula. That’s Latin for “New Story.”
What if Phoenix read a different book than the one I read?
That’s not possible. Books don’t change. They can’t change.
But what if they could?
So it’s a “new” story, as in new every time someone new reads it? How is that even possible?
The rumble of car tires crunching on gravel sounded from the driveway. Piper remembered that Mr. Greene and Aunt Beryl were supposed to return from their trip into the city that morning. She returned her things to the backpack and tossed it over her shoulder as she headed for the house with determination. Piper had decided, Dear Reader, to enlist the help of her guide. After all, he is the one who knew about the “thin place.” If anyone could help figure out this mystery, it would be Original Greene.
Piper came around the side of the house just as Aunt Beryl disappeared into the front door. Mr. Greene was still unloading the bags from the car. “Good morning, Piper,” he said with a broad smile. “Did you and Sofia and Phoenix get along all right while we were gone?” His eyes twinkled. “Not too much mischief, I hope.”
She followed him into the house and through the entryway where he set the bags on the floor. “No mischief,” Piper said. “We managed to avoid caking the dogs with mud, but I hear they ditched their crates for a sleepover with Phoenix last night.”
Mr. Greene laughed, shaking his head.
Piper wasn’t sure how to phrase her questions about smelling peppermint in her dreams, Phoenix seeing the future, and books that glowed and whispered from library shelves. She figured Mr. Greene would think she had lost her marbles. “I have something to ask you though, later, when you have time,” she said.
He nodded. “Certainly. I had planned to get started on those bookshelves in your room today, so once I get the car unloaded, we can get to work and you can ask me then. Deal?”
Piper gave him a fast hug. “Yes!” she said, reminding herself not to jump up and down because Aunt Beryl was home now. “Yes! Deal!”
She looked up and saw Aunt Beryl watching her from the top of the stairs with her arms crossed and a puzzled expression on her face.
Mom would expect me to be nice to her, even though she doesn’t really deserve it.
Piper returned her aunt’s steady gaze with a sincere smile. “Good morning, Aunt Beryl,” she ventured, hoping she didn’t sound like she had practiced a speech. “How was your trip to Bangor?”
Mr. Greene made his way up the stairs with the suitcases as Aunt Beryl said, “It was quite profitable; thank you for asking.” She hesitated, clearing her throat. “I hope you and Phoenix behaved yourselves.”
