Summer Sanctuary (11 page)

“I still like Joy for a girl,” said Dad. “Everybody knows what Joy means without having to consult some book of names.”

“Joy, Hope, Grace, Faith, Charity. I don't know,” said Mom. “I like Katherine with a ‘K' and call her ‘Katie.'” Mom flipped through the pages of the book. “Katherine means ‘pure,'” she added.

“I think Dinah after a train is pretty cool,” said Mark.

“Yeah,” chimed in Luke. “Trains are cool.”

“Dinah!” chanted Johnny, drumming his tray.

“What do you think, Matthew?” asked Dad.

“I like Katherine Joy,” I said. “And we could call her Katie.”

Mom looked from me to Dad and beamed. “Katherine Joy. Pure Joy!”

Dad changed the subject. “So, who's coming with me to watch the fireworks tonight?” he asked, looking around the table.

“I am,” I said as Mark and Luke shouted, “Me! Me!” in unison.

“What do you think, Theresa?” Dad asked, turning back to Mom.

“I think I'll pack you a blanket and some bug spray so you can all watch from the field by the park,” Mom replied. “They won't start until at least 9:30, so Johnny and I will have to pass.”

There was a country club and golf course not far from the park where they set off great fireworks for the 4
^th
of July. Dad, Mark, Luke and I had gone last year. We'd taken a blanket, but had to borrow bug spray
from Kyle's mom.
I wonder if Kyle's going to get to see any fireworks tonight. Maybe I could slip away and watch the fireworks with Dinah.
I started plotting different excuses to get away from Dad and a fool-proof plan to convince Dinah to meet me there.

D
INAH WAS WAITING
for me with scissors and mirror in hand when I got to the church. I could tell that she'd already done the front and sides, and she looked like she had a plan for the back, too.

“Where'd you get the mirror?” I asked.

“Half of your neighborhood had garage sales last weekend,” Dinah said. “Afterwards the trash dumpsters were like gold mines. I got this mirror, some jewelry and a whole new outfit to wear on Friday when I see my mom. That's what got me thinking about a haircut,” she confided.

I thought Dinah's hair was pretty short already, so I never thought about her needing a haircut. The back was still real uneven, though. When I thought about it last night I figured I couldn't make it much worse.

“So, who usually cuts your hair?” I asked.

“I do, only I never cut the back until last month. Last time Mom saw me my hair was down to here,” she said, pointing to the middle of her back. “Come on.” She led me up to the bathroom beside the nursery. She already had wet paper towels spread out all around a chair.

“So why'd you cut the back?” I asked as she settled into her chair and handed me the scissors.

“Lots of reasons,” Dinah answered. “It was hot and hard to keep clean, especially without knowing when and where I'd be able to wash it. But mostly I guess it was so I'd look more like a boy and people would leave me alone.” She held up the mirror to one side. “Move over a little so I can see the reflection in the mirror behind you.”

I moved over. “How's that?”

“Better,” Dinah said. “Now, don't just cut it straight across the back. I want you to start right behind my ear lobes and kind of curve it gently in. Leave as much length as you can.”

“Like this?” I said, running my finger from her earlobe, across the back of her neck, up to her other earlobe. She had little metal posts surrounded by a plastic circle on the backs of each ear. I looked up at her reflection
in the mirror. For the first time since I'd met her, little gold balls filled the holes in her earlobes.

“Not quite that curvy,” Dinah said. “Here. Give me back the scissors, and I'll show you.” She picked up one of the wet paper towels and cut it into the shape she wanted. I held it up to the back of her head.

“Like that?” I asked.

“Can you get it any lower?” asked Dinah.

“How about like that?” I asked, dropping it another quarter of an inch.

“That's better,” Dinah nodded.

“Don't nod!” I ordered. “Just hold real still.” I pressed the pattern up against the back of Dinah's head with my left hand, and carefully cut along the bottom of it using the scissors in my right hand. Hairs of all different lengths fell to the floor, but most of them were sticking to the wet paper towels. When I was done, I used the pattern to brush off some of the little hairs on Dinah's neck. “How's that?” I asked.

Dinah moved the mirror around and turned her head from side to side.

“Hey! That looks pretty good!” Dinah said as she admired my work. “There's still that missing chunk, though.” I could see that there was a handful of hair
that was shorter on the left side. “Do you think you could just kind of cut some hair here and there to make that blend in a little more?”.

“How do I do that?” I asked.

“Here. Take this comb and run it up through the back of my hair like this.” Dinah used the comb to pull out the sides of her hair. “Then when I say stop, you stop moving the comb and snip off whatever hair is sticking out toward you. Okay?”

I had my doubts. “If you say so.” I took the comb and started combing all of the hair in the back of her head up.

“Don't cut off more than a quarter of an inch at a time,” Dinah instructed me. “You can always cut more, but you can't put it back.”

Dinah continued guiding me until she was satisfied with the way the back of her hair looked. “That's great, Matthew!”

By the time we were done, we both had little light brown hairs all over us. When she stood up, she turned around and gave me a big hug. I still had the scissors in one hand and the comb in the other, but I hugged her back with my arms. I was surprised by how sweet her neck smelled. Not like perfume or soap. More like a
banana on the one perfect day when it's not too green and not too brown. I could have stood there forever.

“Let's get this mess cleaned up,” Dinah finally said when she let go. We picked up the paper towels being careful to keep the hair on them and stuffed them into a plastic bag.

As we worked, I found myself wondering about what she'd said. “You think people are less likely to mess with you if you look like a boy?” I finally asked her.

“Definitely,” Dinah said, grabbing two clean paper towels off the stack by the sink.

“How come?” I asked. Dinah was getting the clean towels wet. She handed one to me and then started wiping the rest of the hair off the linoleum floor with the other one.

“That first night I left Jerry's I spent the night in a park downtown. I heard sirens several times through the night, and there were a lot more police cars driving around than what you see around here. I really didn't want the police to see me. And there were other people in the park, too. Mostly men. Some pretty scary women, too. And some boys. The boys all walked around like nobody better mess with them. I ended up hiding
hiding in the trees where no one could see me. I finally fell asleep.”

I took my paper towel and started wiping up the linoleum, too. “So then what happened?” I asked.

“As soon as the downtown library opened, I went in and spent most of the morning wandering around between shelves looking at books, trying to figure out what to do. All of a sudden I noticed this guy behind me in the aisle, looking real intent like he was searching for a book. I went to another shelf and pretty soon that same guy was on the other side on his knees, pawing around the books there. I went to the other end of the shelf, and it wasn't long before the guy was looking at me through the books on the bottom shelf. No matter where I went, he'd show up on the other side of the shelf.”

“So he was just watching you?” I asked.

“At first. Then he started wagging his tongue at me. It was so gross. I grabbed a book and sat down at a table near the help desk. Pretty soon he walked by and said something totally sick. I just stayed right there where a librarian could see me, hoping he'd leave. He walked by several more times and kept saying really nasty stuff. He'd say it really quick under his breath
with his mouth barely moving, so no one else would notice.”

“What did he look like?” I wondered if he'd ever been in our library.

“He was really tall with short dark hair, and he was breathing really heavy, like he had a massive sinus infection or something. He was old enough to be my father, maybe even a grandfather.” Dinah shuddered. “He was just totally dirty with a big ol' beer belly hanging out of his filthy gray t-shirt.”

“Did you tell the librarian?” I stuffed my wet paper towel in the bag and motioned for Dinah to hand me hers to stuff in the bag.

“No way,” Dinah frowned. “I waited for like an hour after the last time he walked by me. Then I went to the kid's floor, grabbed a pair of safety scissors off one of the activity tables and went into the bathroom and cut off all my hair. Then I got out of there. I just started walking as far away from downtown as I could get.” Dinah took the scissors and comb over to the sink and rinsed them off. When she was done she washed her hands and rinsed the sink.

“And you ended up out here?” I asked, picking up the scissors and comb and drying them off with another paper towel.

Dinah shook her head. “The next night I ended up in the barn with the farting cows. That was no good. So then I walked back this way and found the park over by the YMCA.” Dinah put the last of the paper towels into the plastic bag and tied it shut. “I'll throw this away in the park later,” she said. “Let's go play some music before it's too late.”

A
S WE WALKED
into the sanctuary, I said, “Speaking of going to the park later, there'll be tons of people at the park around 9:30 tonight to watch the fireworks.”

“I love fireworks!” Dinah said. “I was thinking I'd have to walk all the way downtown to see some tonight.”

“The country club has great fireworks,” I told her. “My dad and Mark and Luke and I will be sitting on a blanket in the park to watch them.”

“What about your mom and Johnny?” Dinah asked. I liked the way she smiled when she said Johnny's name.

I shook my head. “Too late for Johnny. I was thinking we might be able to hook up in the crowd and watch them together.”

“What about your dad?” Dinah asked.

“I could tell him that I have to go to the bathroom,” I schemed. “As long as Mark and Luke didn't say they
have to go, too, he'd let me go alone. Then I could meet you by the ship. The top of the ship would be a perfect place to watch the fireworks.”

“Sounds like a plan,” nodded Dinah. “And if you don't show, I'll know you couldn't get away. Either way, I'll get to watch the fireworks!” Dinah skipped along beside me. She pulled out her harmonica and started playing that John Phillips Sousa march that I don't know the name of, but I started singing, “Be kind to your web-footed friend, for a duck may be somebody's mother …”

We started marching up and down the aisles of the sanctuary as Dinah played. Dinah led the march, and I followed behind, pretending to play the piccolo. All at once Dinah sang, “You may think that this is the end. And it is!” She stopped marching so suddenly that I plowed right into her, knocking her onto the steps of the altar. There she was on her hands and knees, harmonica in hand, laughing. She turned around and sat on the steps. I sat down beside her.

“I like to come in here at night,” Dinah said. “I sit right there in the middle of the aisle and play my harp in the dark.” Dinah pointed down the center aisle. “Every night I want to light those candles up in front
there, but I know I better not.” We both stared at the long white candles in candelabras on either side of the pulpit. “Do you ever light those candles?”

I nodded. “Kyle and I were acolytes last year. Every Sunday morning at the beginning of the church service we'd walk down the aisle and light the candles. Then at the end of the service we'd put the little brass bell end of the lighter over them to put them out.”

Dinah stood up and walked over to the pulpit. Compared to my dad, she looked awful small standing behind it. “Do you want to hear my candle poem?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said, taking a seat on the front pew.

Dinah stood tall. Her eyes swept the sanctuary. I felt swallowed up in a crowd. Like the church was packed. Dinah rested her hands on either side of the pulpit and began reciting her poem:

Light me a candle

Breathe a prayer for me

Lend me a flicker of hope

That I might be able to see

Light me a candle

Brightness is what I need

I would gladly follow

If you would only lead

Light me a candle

For this moment may quickly pass

But don't let my moment of truth

Cast a shadow on anyone else

“How do you come up with all those poems?” I asked her.

“I don't know,” Dinah replied. She came back around the pulpit. “They usually start with a feeling. Then I play my harp a little, and eventually the words just come.”

“Will you e-mail me your poems as you write them?” I asked, thinking I'd probably have a whole book of poems by the end of the year.

Dinah looked at me intently and then smiled. “Sure,” she said. “But right now I want to hear you play piano. I don't know when I'll have the chance to hear you again.”

I nodded as I stood up and walked over to the piano bench. I lifted the lid and pulled out the classical music book.

“Play the hymns, Matthew,” Dinah requested. “I like the songs you pick from the hymn book.”