All Alone in the Universe by Lynne Rae Perkins Read Free Book Online Page B

there, I thought it was because I felt so alone and I wanted to be in that beautiful, lonely place. The hot, gritty wind filled my eyes with tears, and some other tears from deep in my heart mixed in with them and streamed down my cheeks. The wind dried them all and left a stinging film. When I reached the comer with the birch trees and benches, the day in April came back to me and a thickness filled my throat.
    I‧m all alone, I said to myself. Then I said it aloud. “I‧m all alone in the world.” I said it over and over. It didn‧t matter; no one was around.
    “I have no friends,” I said. “None. Not any.” I got off my bike and walked it into the grove.
    “I am
so alone
!” I cried out to the universe. I could feel my face crumpling up. The garden was too far away. I sat down on a bench as the warm tears gathered behind my clenched eyelids.
    “Well, not completely alone,” said a voice. “But if you prefer, I can go away. This trimming will keep.”
    I looked around. It was George. I tried to smooth out my face.
    “Hi, sunshine,” he said.
    “George,” I said. “Hi.” I searched for words. “How are you?”
    “Happy as if I knew what I was doing,” he said. “If you came to see the roses, they‧re a little past their prime, but they‧re still blooming. Everything else is growing like weeds. Including the weeds.” He paused, then added, “That is, unless you‧re in a hurry.”
    “No, no,” I said. “That‧s why I came. To see the garden, I mean.”
    “Well, come on then,” said George.
    I leaned my bike against a tree, and George handed me a pair of shears to carry. I wondered if he had noticed my reddened, watery eyes. I pulled out a Kleenex and said, “My allergies are driving me nuts.”
    “That time of year,” said George. He pulled out a bandanna and blew his nose, too.
    We walked through the cool, shady grove and into the rich person‧s garden. I had to catch my breath. I remembered the garden as elegant and calm, but summer had flipped a switch, and now it was a crazy explosion of color, a puzzle of light and shadow, full of spicy fragrances and the sun-warmed smells of dirt and stone and things growing. I stood still and looked around, trying to make sense of it all.
    Some of the trees were heavy with fruit. The ponds were alive with goldfish. Flowers were everywhere. As my eyes sorted it out, I realized that a person was there, too, sitting at a table under an umbrella. Maybe the rich person herself, in madras plaid shorts and a sleeveless denim blouse. Her thick silvery hair was chopped short and tucked behind her ears. She looked up from her newspaper.
    “Who‧s your friend, George?” she asked pleasantly. Her voice was warm and calm and clear.
    “This is my assistant,” said George. “Linda.”
    “Debbie,” I said.
    “Excuse me,” said George. “Debbie. She‧s come to help me catch up on some trimming. Debbie, this is Mrs. Brown.”
    Mrs. Brown rose halfway and held out her hand. I went over and shook it.
    “Nice to meet you, Debbie,” she said. “Please, call me Martha.” She turned to George. “George, do you and your assistant have a few minutes to spare for blueberries? I was just about to have some, and I‧d love the company.”
    “I imagine we can spare a few minutes from our labors,” said George. “Rest our weary bones.”
    “Good,” said Mrs. Brown. And off she whisked, down a winding brick path toward the big house.
    “I guess we‧d better have a seat” George said to me. “The boss wants us to eat some blueberries.” We sat down on striped cushions tied to curved chairs of iron mesh. The tabletop was ripply glass, like a thin slice of ocean. I moved my hand down and up underneath it, watching it get blurry and then clearer.
    “So, where‧s your partner in crime?” said George. “What was her name?”
    “Maureen,” I said.
    “That‧s it” said George. “Maureen. She wasn‧t up for a marathon bike ride this