The Next Person You Meet in Heaven(19)

“You’re … me?” Annie said.

No response.

“Say something.”

The eyes stared upwards.

“What are you looking at?”

With that, the pink snow rumbled and the five peninsulas curled in like fingers. Annie realized she was not on an island at all, but inside the palm of a giant hand.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Annie trembled. No, she thought, recognizing the voice immediately. She raised her eyes to where the angel’s eyes were looking, and the sky filled with the most familiar face of her life.

“Mom?” Annie whispered. “Is it you?”





Annie Makes a Mistake


She is twelve years old. She is starting middle school. She hopes it will be better than elementary school. By the time Lorraine finally enrolled Annie, it was midway through third grade. Annie was “the new kid.” On her first day, the teacher distributed art supplies, and, unable to grip tightly with her left hand, Annie dropped them in front of everyone. The other kids laughed.

“Now, class,” the teacher warned, “just because a student is different, that’s no reason to act differently towards them,” which Annie knew was an invitation to do exactly that. Her self-consciousness grew.

As the weeks passed, she tried to make friends, sometimes through gifts. She snuck bags of chocolate chip cookies from home and handed them out during recess. One day she heard some girls talking about Smurf dolls, and on a trip to the store with her mother, she shoplifted a box of them, hiding them under her sweatshirt. She gave those out, too—until a teacher noticed and called Annie’s mother, who was mortified and dragged Annie back to the store and made her apologize to the manager.

All through fourth grade, and much of fifth and sixth, Annie had to wear splints to keep her fingers straight. The ugly purple scars drew looks, and Annie developed a habit of hiding her left hand whenever possible—behind her back, in a jacket pocket, shielded by a notebook. She often wore long sleeves despite the Arizona heat.

Her mother insisted she do her rehabilitation exercises multiple times a day, making the thumb touch each finger, as if forming the OK sign. She did these at her desk, hoping no one would notice, until the time she got in an argument with a girl named Tracy.

“OK, Annie, OK!” Tracy yelled, mimicking the signs with her hands. Others laughed. It became Annie’s nickname, “OK Annie.” Most of the kids called her that now.

Paulo—the boy she met during leapfrog—never did. Annie felt safe around him. He smiled a lot and seemed confident. One day, in the cafeteria, he leaned over and lifted her hand into his, without even asking.

“It’s not that bad,” he said.

“It’s gross,” she replied.

“I’ve seen worse.”

“Where?”

“I saw a picture of a guy who got attacked by a bear. That was gross.”

Annie almost laughed.

“I didn’t get attacked by a bear.”

“You couldn’t. There’s no bears in Arizona.”

This time Annie did laugh.

“Would you change it back?” Paulo asked.

“You mean back to normal?”

“Yeah. If you could?”

“Are you kidding? Totally.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “It makes you different.”

That’s the problem, Annie thought. Still, she appreciated Paulo’s compassion. As she got to know him, she learned he liked football and outer-space stuff. On a trip to the library, Annie rifled through the astronomy books until she found one with a chapter on the northern lights, something he talked about a lot. The next day, before class began, she put the book down on Paulo’s desk.

“Look what I found,” she said.

His mouth curled into a smile. “What?”

“Just something I’m reading.”

She flipped open to the chapter, and Paulo’s eyes widened and he said, “No way!” Annie felt warm inside, and she pushed the book towards him.

“For you.”

“I thought you were reading it.”

“I can read it when you’re done.”

“Cool,” he said, taking it. Then he added, “Thanks a lot, Annie.”

Not OK Annie. Just Annie.



With the two of them now in middle school, Annie hopes she can see Paulo more, but her mother continues to control her every move; she drops Annie off each morning, and every afternoon she is parked in front of the main entrance, beeping her horn. Annie lowers her head and walks rigidly to the car, certain she hears other kids laughing.

One day, with classes finished, Annie is standing in the front vestibule, looking through the glass. A group of pretty girls is just outside, all with purple backpacks slung over their shoulders. Annie hesitates. She doesn’t want her mother to honk while these girls are around.

“Waiting them out?” Paulo says.

Annie looks up, flushed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Come on. I want to talk to your mom.”

Before Annie can react, Paulo is already out the door. He strides confidently as Annie hurries to keep up. She sees the backpack girls staring.

When he reaches the car, Paulo leans towards the window and offers his hand. “Hi, Annie’s mom, I’m Paulo.”