Loony Lizzie is Back!

A Middle-grade piece for fun

It’s sometimes hard to know where a memoir sort of story ends and fiction begins…this one is much more one than the other.

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I woke up at the bottom of a hill in a ditch, feeling dazed, sore and mud soaked. Why had I tried that shortcut through the woods on a morning after it had rained and the path was sure to be slick as snot? We agreed to meet at the intersection of Hirt & Fall Creek to save a few minutes so that we could get to the Dairy Queen early and I was worried about making Lee Ann mad if I was late. Now this. My mind wanted to blame Lee Ann in some way...if she had not kept telling me to hurry up, be quicker, we’re running out of time, I wouldn’t have taken the short cut! I looked at my Micky Mouse watch to see how long I had lain in the ditch but that was no good, it hadn’t worked for months - I was just wearing it as an homage to the cartoon life I felt I was being forced to live.

***

Lee Ann had called that morning, ecstatic, raving that she had found out Chad Chumley was going to be at the Dairy Queen wolfing down coney dogs and chocolate shakes with his buds at high noon. I didn’t care that much about Chad Chumley, but I did care about Lee Ann liking me. How she always got this sort of intel was beyond me, but I thought it had something to do with some secret network exclusive to the cool kids – she was my new (and only) cool kid friend that summer.

“Lizzie, you got to come over quick! My mom said she would let us ride our bikes to the Dairy Queen and she wouldn’t follow us in the car this time. Chad Chumley is going to be hanging out there before the pick-up game in the park this afternoon! You got to hurry before she changes her mind, or, worse yet, decides to call your mom to make sure she’s okay with it…and we both know how that will go.”

I looked around furtively as I stood in the kitchen holding the receiver of our family’s landline phone (some kids had cells already, but of course, not me). I heard my mother milling around in the basement, and breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t be listening to my every word.

“Ok, ok. But I still have to get permission to go over to your house.”

“Well ask, already! But don’t tell her about us riding by ourselves to the Dairy Queen.”

“What if she asks about what we’re going to do today?”

“Seriously. Your mom has to have an itinerary of ALL our plans every time you come over? That’s insane!”

“Well, she doesn’t ask for details, but she gets mad when I say, ‘We’re just hanging out’, then, when I come home, I get twenty questions because apparently hanging out is suspicious behavior.”

“OMG! Then just quit saying it! Say something like…umm…watching TV or listening to music – something like that.”

I didn’t want to tell Lee Ann that saying either of those things would cause my mom to ask what we were watching on TV and if we were listening to music would a parent there to make sure no inappropriate lyrics were blasted into my young, impressionable ears.

“Ok, Lee Ann. I’ll figure something out.”

“Just hurry up! You’ve wasted all this time already!”

Click.

Down to the basement I went expecting it to turn quickly into an interrogation room once my shady plans to visit Lee Ann were unveiled. Mother was sorting laundry.

“Mom, can I go over to Lee Ann’s for a while?”

“Will her mom be there?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. Be back in time for supper.”

Wow. And that was that.

I ran outside and pulled my brand-new bike out of the garage…then I remembered I hadn’t even combed my hair. My play clothes were dirty with a couple of holes in the knees of my jeans, (and not the cool-looking holes, either).

I put the kickstand back down and dashed into the house to spruce myself up a bit.

Last year, I wouldn’t have cared about how I looked but third grade was changing me, or maybe I had changed myself in anticipation of third grade; I was worried about not being ready or mature enough. This summer, I had dropped my childish, uncool nerd friends I’d known since preschool. This didn’t make my mom too happy and I didn’t think she really liked Lee Ann. I was determined to leave behind my ‘Loony Lizzie’ image or at least I would try to leave her behind - sometimes things and people get stuck to you like that nasty paste I used to eat in kindergarten. I left behind eating paste a long time ago…now I just eat my chap stick sometimes.

***

I tried to get up from the ditch.

Mud dripped off me, bloody knees oozed, and I’ll admit lots of tears fell. My bike was a disaster, its front wheel folded upon itself, and the handlebars twisted backwards. There would be no riding that thing anywhere today, if ever again.  Without a cell phone, I was unable to call for help and no one (except maybe Lee Ann since we sometimes used this shortcut) would think to look for me here.

It hurt to walk, and I felt dizzy. No use trying to get my bike up the hill, I would barely get myself up the hill; several times I slid back as I climbed, each backslide producing a gasp of pain and more dripping, oozing and tears.

Once I reached the road, close to the intersection of Hirt and Fall Creek, I began limping my way home – the Dairy Queen was the last thing on my mind, and I was thinking about accepting a ride from a stranger should one be kind enough to stop. None were.

Suddenly, I noticed a little gaggle of bikes making their way toward me, and though I was a bit near-sighted, I was pretty sure it was Lee Ann and some of her friends. Part of me thought about diving into the bushes out of embarrassment, but mostly I just hoped someone could call my mom and get me a ride the rest of the way home.

Giggles, exclamations and whispers.

I thought they would stop for me, but they only stared with open mouths as they forgot to peddle.

“OMG, who’s that and what is wrong with her?”

The one closest to Lee Ann snickered.

I started to give a weak wave just as Lee Ann picked up speed, whizzed by me and yelled, “Who knows. Come on, we’re going to be late to the Dairy Queen!”

I hobbled the rest of the way home and had plenty of time to think.

I thought about how easily Lee Ann pretended not to know me in front of her cool friends and I thought about how differently my uncool nerd friends would have reacted to seeing me beat up and limping along the road. I remembered how desperately I wanted Lee Ann to like me, and I thought about how ever since I could remember, I was always asking myself, ‘how can I make [fill in the blank] like me better?’ I didn’t like asking myself this, but I couldn’t help worrying about such things – I was a little people-pleaser in the making. To this day, I love to make people around me happy even when it makes me a bit unhappy - it’s like gorging on chocolate cake and donuts – it feels so good to take it all in, but it isn’t at all good for you in the long run.

I told my mom about my bike accident on the way to Lee Ann’s, but I didn’t tell her about all the drama or thwarted plans to ride to the Dairy Queen. She doctored my wounds, and called our next-door neighbor, (my former best friend’s mother who was a nurse), to look at me. Verdict: bruises, scrapes, a nearly broken nose, possible mild concussion – I would live.

Lee Ann never called to check up on me. Penny (my old bestie, and obviously best bestie) and my other nerd friends came over to see how I was that same day – I guess there was a secret network for uncool kids too. Grandpa was working on getting my bike back up-to-speed. Mother got my Micky Mouse watch fixed (I think she thought I broke it in the accident), and I didn’t feel as bad about wearing it or about my cartoon life since I had proved my worth by surviving a major catastrophe.

Over the next few days, my eyes blackened, and my nose swelled up to twice its size.

Penny said, “No one will even know you when you start back to school, you can be incognito, like some mysterious new kid!” We all laughed – it hurt, but not too bad.

I didn’t apologize to Penny and my nerd friends for dumping them, but they knew I was sorry.  Besides, with a face as pitiful as mine, they couldn’t be mad at me. The important thing was Loony Lizzie was back - and the real question wasn’t whether she was ready for third grade, but was third grade ready for her?