Pieces of Georgia

Mrs. Yocum called medown to her office today. She's the counselor at school who Ihave to go to once a week 'cause I'm onsome "At Risk" list that I saw once on the secretary's desk.(Ronnie Kline, Marianne Ferlinghetti, Sam Katzenbach,Danita Brown–and some others I forget–are on it, too.)Most of them have substance abuse next to their names,but I have financial/single parent–father/possible medical?next to mine.Anyway, when Mrs. Yocum called me in, I satin her big green chair, and she satacross from me in her big blue chair–blinking at me like a mother owl through her oversize glasses–and it all started off as it usually does,with her asking me about my stomachachesand if I had raised my hand more often in classand if there was anything particular on my mind I thoughtI needed to talk about.Then all of a sudden she asked me if Imiss you. She neverasked me that before, and I couldn't make the wordscome out of my mouth, they seemed to bestuck in my throat, or maybe they were just tangled upwith the rabbit I seemed to have swallowedthat started kicking the sides of my stomach,desperate to get out.I guess it must have been four or five minutes we sat there,her making notes in her folderand me with that rabbitthrashing around my insides and still nowords coming out.I started to draw on the top of my binder,like it seems I always dowhen I don't know what else to do, so Ididn't notice that she was trying to hand mea red leather notebook (this very one I'm writing in),and she said: "Georgia, why don't we makea deal? I will excuse youfrom coming to Guidance for a while, provided–you promise to write down your thoughts and feelingsat least a few times a weekin this diary. You don't have to show it to me, or to anybody,unless you want to,and it might be a good idea if you tried–sometimes, orall the time if you want–to write down what you might tell, or what you might ask,your motherif she were here."So, Momma, that's how I've come to startwriting to you in this pretty red leather diarythat I keep in the drawer of my nightstand.But I'm not sure what I'm going to tell you, 'cause my lifeis not all that interesting, but anywayit will filla few minutes after schoolor maybe that half hour or soafter dinner, after homework, after doing the dishes,when I'm stretched out in the back of our trailer and Daddyis trying to keep the TV down so I can fall asleepbut loud enough so he can still watchwhatever game is onand I'm trying to remember what it was like six years agowhen we were a familyand Daddy was happyand you were here.2.Today I turned thirteen.As usual for mid-February, it snowed a little bit, then thesun came out like a tease, 'cause it never got abovethirty-two degrees.As usual, it was just me and Daddy having my birthday dinnerat the fold-down table in the kitchen.I said I could make chicken, baked potatoes, and peas,but he brought home a pizza after work(with anchovies and green peppers)and we ate it right out of the box so it'd stay hot,'cause it wouldn't fit inside our oven.Then Daddy carried in a cakehe'd been hiding in the closet, but when heuncovered it, he got madbecause a heat vent was right next to itand the icing around the edges meltedand the "Happy Birthday" ran allover the middle until it looked likea big pink puddle.But I didn't mind. Last yearhe forgot my birthday altogether untilhe saw the mail and the annual$20 bill from Great-Uncle Doug in Atlanta.The cake was good–chocolate with chocolate icing.I had seconds and Daddy did, too, and I knowyou would've joined us.Afterward, I went through the mail and Igot a card and the $20 bill from Great-Uncle Doug.The card had a clown and balloons and was really madefor a little kid, but still,it was nice of him to remember.Daddy gave me those jeans I'd seen in the Army Navy Store,a new pair of shoes,and a "blank inside" card like he always does,one with a flower on the front, same as always,and his big, slanted lettering inside:Georgia–Happy Birthday.DaddyCan I tell you something, Momma?Every year since you died, I've been waiting for himto write Love, Daddy inside,but after all this timeI think I should wake up and stopmy dreaming.