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Authors: Gene Fehler
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to play some of the other orphans.
Annie has curly red hair and gets to sing a lot of solos. Ginny doesn’t have red hair. I guess she’ll have to wear a wig. The hair’s not important, though. What’s important is that she’s a great actress and she can sing. I get goosebumps when she belts out songs like “Tomorrow” and “It’s a Hard Knock Life.” I could listen to her all day.
She started practicing for the audition a few weeks ago. I’ve watched the movie with her five or six times, and I know she’s watched it by herself a bunch. She’s been practicing Annie’s songs, too. Ifyou ask me, I think she sounds just as good as the girl who plays Annie in the movie.
I’m really happy for her, but I’m sad, too. Rehearsals start next week. She said they’ll be rehearsing three or four nights a week most of the summer to get ready for the September performances. That means I won’t see her nearly as much. And there’s no chance now of her playing baseball this summer. First of all, she won’t have time. Secondly, she’d have a hard time singing with a puffed-up lip if she got hit in the face with a baseball again.
But it’ll be so much fun seeing her up on stage.
“Sing ‘Tomorrow’ for me,” I say.
“Now?”
“Will you? Please?”
“Are you sure?”
“I really want to hear it.”
“Really?”
“Really, truly.”
So she does.
And I get goosebumps all over.
Sixteen
poem prayers
When Ginny first said she was going to audition for Annie , I’d never seen the movie. Even when we started watching it, I never felt bad for Annie, not even when she was in the orphanage. I mean, the movie is mostly funny. Even though she didn’t have any parents and she was treated bad, I never thought about the bad things.
After I found out about Mama’s cancer, I started to see the movie in a different way. I know it’s only a made-up story, but still, none of the girls had parents. Some of them, like Annie, never knew their parents. But some of them must have known their mama. Now there they are, without any family except the other girls in the orphanage.
If God won’t cure Mama’s cancer, I’ll at least have Dad and Ken. I won’t be alone. I won’t be sent to an orphanage. But maybe God won’t be that mean. He wouldn’t. He has to save her. Maybe if I pray harder. Maybe if I can just find the right words, I can convince God to take away her cancer and make her well again.
I take out my notebook. I try to think of what I can say to God to make him listen. I know I don’t really have the right to expect him to listen to me. If I were Allison, with her faith, maybe he would.
I start to write. I want it to be a prayer, but it seems to be taking the shape of a poem.
God, are you there?
I just don’t see you anywhere.
God, oh God, why don’t you care?
What can I do to make you see
Just how much Mama means to me.
No, that’s not right. That’s not what I mean to say. Don’t do it for me, God. Do it for Mama. I’m not important. She is.
When Mr. Stone, the poet, came to my school, he told us to never throw away anything we write. But I take the page from my notebook and crumple it up. I toss it in the waste basket. What I wrote was dumb. It was selfish. Not only that, I kind of sounded likeDr. Seuss with his silly rhymes. I can’t be silly when I ask God for help.
Besides, when I said he didn’t care, that probably made him mad. It won’t help Mama if I make God mad. I start to write.
God, I know you’ll do all you can
To make my mama well again.
I cross out the “again.” This prayer will be better if it doesn’t rhyme. I read it over. I don’t like either line. I scribble them out and try again.
God, I know you are good.
I know you can do anything.
It’s so easy for you to just reach down
and take the cancer from Mama’s body.
Why won’t you do that?
I rip the paper from my notebook and ball it up and slam it down into the wastebasket. I
Annie has curly red hair and gets to sing a lot of solos. Ginny doesn’t have red hair. I guess she’ll have to wear a wig. The hair’s not important, though. What’s important is that she’s a great actress and she can sing. I get goosebumps when she belts out songs like “Tomorrow” and “It’s a Hard Knock Life.” I could listen to her all day.
She started practicing for the audition a few weeks ago. I’ve watched the movie with her five or six times, and I know she’s watched it by herself a bunch. She’s been practicing Annie’s songs, too. Ifyou ask me, I think she sounds just as good as the girl who plays Annie in the movie.
I’m really happy for her, but I’m sad, too. Rehearsals start next week. She said they’ll be rehearsing three or four nights a week most of the summer to get ready for the September performances. That means I won’t see her nearly as much. And there’s no chance now of her playing baseball this summer. First of all, she won’t have time. Secondly, she’d have a hard time singing with a puffed-up lip if she got hit in the face with a baseball again.
But it’ll be so much fun seeing her up on stage.
“Sing ‘Tomorrow’ for me,” I say.
“Now?”
“Will you? Please?”
“Are you sure?”
“I really want to hear it.”
“Really?”
“Really, truly.”
So she does.
And I get goosebumps all over.
Sixteen
poem prayers
When Ginny first said she was going to audition for Annie , I’d never seen the movie. Even when we started watching it, I never felt bad for Annie, not even when she was in the orphanage. I mean, the movie is mostly funny. Even though she didn’t have any parents and she was treated bad, I never thought about the bad things.
After I found out about Mama’s cancer, I started to see the movie in a different way. I know it’s only a made-up story, but still, none of the girls had parents. Some of them, like Annie, never knew their parents. But some of them must have known their mama. Now there they are, without any family except the other girls in the orphanage.
If God won’t cure Mama’s cancer, I’ll at least have Dad and Ken. I won’t be alone. I won’t be sent to an orphanage. But maybe God won’t be that mean. He wouldn’t. He has to save her. Maybe if I pray harder. Maybe if I can just find the right words, I can convince God to take away her cancer and make her well again.
I take out my notebook. I try to think of what I can say to God to make him listen. I know I don’t really have the right to expect him to listen to me. If I were Allison, with her faith, maybe he would.
I start to write. I want it to be a prayer, but it seems to be taking the shape of a poem.
God, are you there?
I just don’t see you anywhere.
God, oh God, why don’t you care?
What can I do to make you see
Just how much Mama means to me.
No, that’s not right. That’s not what I mean to say. Don’t do it for me, God. Do it for Mama. I’m not important. She is.
When Mr. Stone, the poet, came to my school, he told us to never throw away anything we write. But I take the page from my notebook and crumple it up. I toss it in the waste basket. What I wrote was dumb. It was selfish. Not only that, I kind of sounded likeDr. Seuss with his silly rhymes. I can’t be silly when I ask God for help.
Besides, when I said he didn’t care, that probably made him mad. It won’t help Mama if I make God mad. I start to write.
God, I know you’ll do all you can
To make my mama well again.
I cross out the “again.” This prayer will be better if it doesn’t rhyme. I read it over. I don’t like either line. I scribble them out and try again.
God, I know you are good.
I know you can do anything.
It’s so easy for you to just reach down
and take the cancer from Mama’s body.
Why won’t you do that?
I rip the paper from my notebook and ball it up and slam it down into the wastebasket. I
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