by Marie Davis & Margaret J. Hults
Contrary since birth, it was during the first snowfall of second grade when Lizzy finally realized that she was alive—and odd. She reckoned she was a lima bean. Her olive complexion had not ripened and she was more the color of puce. Puce arms, puce face, and puce legs—lima bean puce—distasteful to all children.
Maybe, Lizzy was a lima bean? Lima beans are sad and bashful. If an adult asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, Lizzy would struggle to sincerely utter, “Succotash.” Her only other inkling—she might really be a pirate. She could be an adventurous pirate with an eye patch, peg leg and a fierce snarl. No, that was for fairytales. Yes, it was certain. She must be a lima bean.
On this second grade snowfall, elfin snowflakes were twinkling from the clouds. CLANGGGGG! The school bell cried relief. Children raced from the classroom out for play period. Dodgeball competed with tag for athletes. Blades of grass donned their mittens. Gray clouds wrapped scarves around their necks and tallied up the necessary workload to dish out a few snowmen. Giggly little girls pranced, bullies plodded, and teachers supervised. Snowflakes charmed everyone but Lizzy, she was blue-green cold.
Dodgeball, jump rope, swing sets were not for Lizzy, she spent most of second grade jealously admiring the girls in her class. She marveled that they wintered so well. How could such glossy hair dangle untangled from under coat hoods? Those heavenly girls with their rosy, cherub knees, umbrellaed by short skirts.
Hazards in elementary school include the perilous sight of a pretty girl on playground equipment. This light snowy day, cutesy classmate Sandy, in her princess-pink coat and plaid, wool jumper, was crossing the monkey bars swinging from one bar to the next. Hypnotized at the sight of her knees Lizzy stood entranced in the path.
Grunt and swing . . . rung one.
Grunt and swing . . . rung two.
“Lizzy, watch out!” The teacher called from the swing sets.
Grunt and swing . . . rung three, and so forth.
Covetous, winter turned each puff of Sandy’s sweet breath into fog and snatched it up. What was that stench? Oh, Lizzy’s foul lima bean breath hung under her nose.
“Wizzy!” Sandy slurred, missing her two front teeth, “Get outta my way,”
Grunt and swing . . . rung six.
“Lizzy dear, step aside so Sandy can get by.” The teacher shouted for a second time.
Grunt and swing . . . rung seven.
Spellbound, Lizzy squinted and tried to count the dimples on those heavenly knees. She muttered, “One, two, three, four . . . ”
“Lizzy Parker, I said you’ll have to move so Sandy can get by.” The teacher firmly yelled with a knowing skepticism in her voice that Lizzy was too young to understand.
Grunt and swing.
“MOVE IT, WIZZY!” Sandy ordered as she swung her legs and saddle-shoed feet.
Lizzy didn’t budge. Snow collected on her shoulders. A pigeon piddled on her coat.
MOOOV . . . ” Sandy commanded one last time, just as her legs swung and the tip of her saddle shoe clipped Lizzy in the face.
Grunt and SMACK!
Blood gushed. Without a doubt the pain must have be terrible! Lizzy, numbed by young cherub-knee-love, felt nothing. Dodgeball stopped to gawk. Jump ropes snickered. Peers jeered. Every bad student, every bully, every good student, every popular child, every brain, every athlete, every eyeball stared. Mortified, Lizzy stood vulnerable, besieged by public humiliation. She could feel the warmth of her self-esteem tinkle down her leg into her sock and out of the sole of her shoe. What was that smell? Her shadow turned its back; it couldn’t stomach the catastrophe. While her face was blushing florescent puce, tee-hee-hees skipped right up, pulled her hair and tweaked her nose. If her nose had more chutzpa, it would have up and run away.
“LIZZY PARKER! OH MY GOD!” The teacher shrieked.
Lizzy dropped her head. PLOP! A bright, red blop of blood fell from her face and landed smack dab in the middle of the urine puddle circling her shoe. She stopped breathing. Seesaw, merry-go-round, slides and jungle gyms began to wobble, swirling together like chocolate in milk. Lizzy fainted.
Cherub knees, that’s how Lizzy lost her first baby tooth and her only left eye. Her tooth grew back and for years Lizzy hoped her eye would grow back too. It never did. By eighth grade, she was feeling less lima bean-ish and more pirate-ish. She figured if the last thing her eye ever saw was that pair of cherub knees—perhaps that eye had done well for itself after all.