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Authors: Eileen Favorite
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on. The bugs are murder out there. Be back in time to help Gretta with supper.”
As Franny and I walked through the prairie, monarchs with their spread wings pulsed on the sunflowers. She threw her arms in the air and breathed in the spicy scent of weeds and wildflowers. “Thanks for inviting me out here, Penny. Your mother’s a good lady, but I just can’t bear another lecture!”
“Tell me about it.”
Franny had hardly eaten since she’d arrived, and her eyes were swollen from so much crying. But the prairie worked a visible magic on her. Color returned to her pale cheeks, and her thin arms started to glow pink.
“How simple it would be to live out here! You must adore it, Penny.”
“Wait’ll I show you the pond!”
“Marvelous! I know it’s absolutely too Thoreauvian of me, but I do think nature holds the answer, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. Franny was the first Heroine who had paid attention to me, and I felt like I could be myself with her. “But what’s the question?”
She burst into laughter. “Oh, Penny. You’re so right.”
We ran down the path and into the cool woods. The oaks arched over the path, a flickering canopy. Franny was easily winded, so I slowed down to let her catch her breath. “It’s been ages since I’ve left the city. You have no idea how perfectly oppressive it is!”
“My grandparents live in the city,” I said. “I hate going to their house.”
“Why?”
“It’s so fancy. And everything’s white! The couches and the carpets. It’s impossible to eat or move. My grandma practically chases me around with a dustpan, catching my crumbs.”
“That’s not really living.” Franny sat down on a bench and ran her finger along the face of a parsnip plant. “I think that’s what the question is. How do you live? How can anyone live a worthwhile life?”
“You have to be happy,” I said.
“But what really makes anybody happy? Having a swanky apartment? A huge collection of cashmere sweaters and flannel skirts? Witty repartee in a martini bar? Or having your college team win the game? Is that as happy as anyone can expect to be?”
I had never really questioned whether or not I was happy, and the substance of Franny’s list meant little in my eleven-year-old world. When you’re a kid, happiness means having fun: parties, running around outside, sweets. But I could sense that Franny had another, mystical happiness in mind. “Does saying the prayer make you happy?”
She tucked her legs beneath her on the bench, and squeezed her hands between her knees. Staring into the trees, she looked penitent and shy. “More like content. At peace. Not laughing haha happy, but relaxed, like I’ve moved out of this world.” She turned her blue eyes on me. “What do you think of the prayer?”
“It seems like it would be kind of hard. To remember to say it all the time.”
“You only have to work at it at first, then after you say it enough, it just becomes part of you.”
“Like tying your shoelaces.”
“Precisely. You do it without thinking. Your connection to God becomes automatic.”
I sat down cross-legged on the bench beside her. “I don’t think I believe in God.”
“That’s okay,” she said.
“It just seems wrong, to pray for God to give you stuff. Then what happens when you don’t get it? What does that say? It says God doesn’t like you.”
“There are a lot of different ideas about God out there. Not everyone believes in that kind of God either, one who intercedes for you. I think you’re right too. That kind of God’s pretty easy to disprove. If he doesn’t intercede and give you what you want, then he either hates you or he doesn’t exist at all.”
“You said before that you thought God was a force.”
“I guess I do. It’s a feeling, and I swear, I can sense God in these woods, in these trees and plants, far more than I do in a temple or church. I mean, I haven’t felt this marvelous in months, Penny! Just
As Franny and I walked through the prairie, monarchs with their spread wings pulsed on the sunflowers. She threw her arms in the air and breathed in the spicy scent of weeds and wildflowers. “Thanks for inviting me out here, Penny. Your mother’s a good lady, but I just can’t bear another lecture!”
“Tell me about it.”
Franny had hardly eaten since she’d arrived, and her eyes were swollen from so much crying. But the prairie worked a visible magic on her. Color returned to her pale cheeks, and her thin arms started to glow pink.
“How simple it would be to live out here! You must adore it, Penny.”
“Wait’ll I show you the pond!”
“Marvelous! I know it’s absolutely too Thoreauvian of me, but I do think nature holds the answer, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. Franny was the first Heroine who had paid attention to me, and I felt like I could be myself with her. “But what’s the question?”
She burst into laughter. “Oh, Penny. You’re so right.”
We ran down the path and into the cool woods. The oaks arched over the path, a flickering canopy. Franny was easily winded, so I slowed down to let her catch her breath. “It’s been ages since I’ve left the city. You have no idea how perfectly oppressive it is!”
“My grandparents live in the city,” I said. “I hate going to their house.”
“Why?”
“It’s so fancy. And everything’s white! The couches and the carpets. It’s impossible to eat or move. My grandma practically chases me around with a dustpan, catching my crumbs.”
“That’s not really living.” Franny sat down on a bench and ran her finger along the face of a parsnip plant. “I think that’s what the question is. How do you live? How can anyone live a worthwhile life?”
“You have to be happy,” I said.
“But what really makes anybody happy? Having a swanky apartment? A huge collection of cashmere sweaters and flannel skirts? Witty repartee in a martini bar? Or having your college team win the game? Is that as happy as anyone can expect to be?”
I had never really questioned whether or not I was happy, and the substance of Franny’s list meant little in my eleven-year-old world. When you’re a kid, happiness means having fun: parties, running around outside, sweets. But I could sense that Franny had another, mystical happiness in mind. “Does saying the prayer make you happy?”
She tucked her legs beneath her on the bench, and squeezed her hands between her knees. Staring into the trees, she looked penitent and shy. “More like content. At peace. Not laughing haha happy, but relaxed, like I’ve moved out of this world.” She turned her blue eyes on me. “What do you think of the prayer?”
“It seems like it would be kind of hard. To remember to say it all the time.”
“You only have to work at it at first, then after you say it enough, it just becomes part of you.”
“Like tying your shoelaces.”
“Precisely. You do it without thinking. Your connection to God becomes automatic.”
I sat down cross-legged on the bench beside her. “I don’t think I believe in God.”
“That’s okay,” she said.
“It just seems wrong, to pray for God to give you stuff. Then what happens when you don’t get it? What does that say? It says God doesn’t like you.”
“There are a lot of different ideas about God out there. Not everyone believes in that kind of God either, one who intercedes for you. I think you’re right too. That kind of God’s pretty easy to disprove. If he doesn’t intercede and give you what you want, then he either hates you or he doesn’t exist at all.”
“You said before that you thought God was a force.”
“I guess I do. It’s a feeling, and I swear, I can sense God in these woods, in these trees and plants, far more than I do in a temple or church. I mean, I haven’t felt this marvelous in months, Penny! Just
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