Because She Believed In Me (short story) (2 of 2) by Leanne Dyck

Because She Believed In Me (continued)

At home, away from my classmates' prying eyes, sheltered in my mother's arms, I cry. I don't tell her why.

"Sh-h-h, honey." She tries to comfort me. "Things will get better."

I don't believe her.

One day she tells me, "The teacher says you need special help." She can't hide the disappointment in her eyes.

Recess is no longer a time to run and play--no, not for me. Instead, my "special" teacher and I are squirreled away in the only available classroom--the kindergarten room. There on miniature brightly painted furniture I struggle to catch up.

Catch up, become normal. I wonder if this is possible.

My classmates know.

"Baby, retard," they label me.

And I believe them.

"I can't" and "help me" become my most used phrases.

Despite the opinions of some educators and social workers, my parents continue to believe in the soundness of my intellect. Their challenge is to reveal it to me.

My mother attempts to teach me to cook, to back, to sew, to knit. I greet each invitation with a roar. "No! I can't! I'm too stupid!"

"I can teach her," my grandma says. "I can reach her."

My grandma says, "With tender care, among the thorns grows a rose."

My grandma is a sorceress. She works her magic on everything from seeds to flour to yarn. She chooses me as beneficiary of the secrets of her craft.

Visiting with my grandma is a treat. I love to sit beside her as she spins her magic.

When she begins to teach me to knit, I want to throw the needles, I want to storm away but I can't. I can't act that way in front of Grandma. I have to try.

One tentative stitch leads to others. My inner critical voice slowly begins to be silenced by her kind encouraging words --"You catch on so fast! Your stitches are so even! You're finished already?!"

I am empty -- she fills me.

She teaches me the knitting basics. I learn to cast on, knit, purl, and cast off. I knit a square. I knit more squares and make a doll's blanket.

I am so proud.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm not stupid.

***

One day, my mother asks, "Why don't you join the new 4-H knitting group?"

"I can't..." I begin.

"Grandma would be so pleased to hear that you are continuing to learn to knit," she says, gently pushing.

***

Organized through the school, the first day of 4-H, our regular classrooms take on new purposes. The grade eight room becomes the sewing room. The grade nine room is set aside for knitting. I creep in.

A gang of teenagers confronts me. "What are you doing here? You're too young to learn to knit! Knitting is for teenagers!"

Meekly, I reveal my knitting sample.

"You knit that?" they ask, amazed.

Thanks to Grandma's lessons, I earn my membership in this important group. Through the group, I develop friendships and for the first time in my life, I feel like I belong.

The 4-H year concludes with Achievement Day. It is a day to gain recognition for our new skill. First, second and third prize ribbons are distributed. That first year of 4-H, I am thrilled to discover a first prize ribbon placed beside my garter-stitch scarf and stitch samples.

I am proud to report that the achievements I made in knitting eventually translate into academics and I graduate from High School with an award in Language Arts. After High School, I earn high marks in university English classes. 

Because She Believed In Me (short story) (1 of 2) by Leanne Dyck

This creative non-fiction short story was published in the Island Writer Magazine:  the literary journal of Vancouver Island and the Gulf Islands in winter, 2009. Then in Kaleidoscope:  exploring the experience of disability though literature and the fine arts in winter, 2011 (re-named If Not For Her). I've also read it on local radio in 2010.

Because She Believed In Me

Here I sit in my grade two classroom, a fragile eight-year-old girl cowering in her desk, willing flesh, bone and tissue to dissolve into the steel of the seat. Please, don't call one me. Please, don't call on me. I'm shivering.
"Leanne, read the next passage," the teacher says, throwing me to the jackals.
My hands begin to shake. My forehead tightens.
"Oh, no, not her. We'll be here all day," sneers a fellow student.
I peer at the page, attempting to find sense in the swirl of words that confront me. The letters leap, spin and twist--refusing to be captured. I focus all my effort on one word, the first word. I wrestle with it, attempting to contain it.
The first letter is an "S", I tell myself. It makes the sound of a snake.
I smile contentedly. I have begun.
Next letter. I look at it.
That's a "P", I think.
I look again and in front of my eyes, the letter has undergone a magical transformation. It has become a "T".
Panic grips me.
This is taking way too long.
I feel eyes drilling holes in my flesh. A clock ticks loudly. The sweet aroma of the teacher's perfume engulfs my nostrils. Outside a bird calls. My senses are assaulted. I can't shut anything out. I can't focus.
I just want this to end. Please, please, I don't want to be here any more, I pray.
"S-sp-o-ot-t." I say feebly. Doubt in each syllable.
The class giggles. The jackals smell their prey. My face burns. My heart thunders between my ears.
"Sound it out, Leanne." Frustration, annoyance fills her voice. She is a young teacher, fresh out of university. The responsibility for the classroom weighs heavily on her shoulders.
I'm not a bad girl, I long to tell her. I want to be good. I want to do well. I want to make you happy. I'm trying. Really, honestly I am but...but...
I look down at the page. I can find no words, only tiny black marks on the white page. I find no meaning there. I am caught in a blizzard--I am blind to words.
"Stop," I blurt out, guessing.
I am cornered. The class howls with piercing celebratory laughter.
My inner voice screams. "You're dumb! You can't learn! You can't do anything! Everyone laughs at you! You are STU-PID!!
I try to ignore their laughter. I try to silence my self-debasing.
I am mustering up all my resources to continue my battle when the teacher cuts my progress short.
"Carla, please continue."
The class heaves a collective sigh of relief.
Pretty Carla sits straight and tall on her chair, her head held high. The book rests in her palms like a hymnal. She reads the words; they flow together like a song--the teacher smiles.
I am a big, awkward moose. Carla is a meadowlark. She sings sweetly and others listen. They don't laugh at her. She soars with words, I stumble and fall. She belongs. I don't. She is normal. I am a freak.

Magazine Launch (short story) 7/7 by Leanne Dyck

In 2009, my husband and I left Mayne Island to attend a magazine launch in Victoria so that I, as one of the contributing authors, could read Because She Believed In Me. 

Installment 6

Magazine Launch

“And, now, I’m pleased to welcome to the stage, Leanne Dyck. Leanne will read from her creative non-fiction story Because She Believed In Me. Leanne Dyck.”

            Applause. Byron squeezed my hand. I pushed my way out of the audience and onto the stage. My face cracked into a nervous smile. There are too many people here—and I don’t know any one. But… I located Byron  in the audience. He looks so nervous. I can do this. I can do this. I fumbled with the zipper, opened my purse and withdrew my index cards. “To set the scene:  I am about seven years old and we are in my grade two classroom.

            “ ‘Leanne, read the next passage,’ the teacher says, throwing me to the jackals.

            “My hands begin to shake. My forehead tightens.

            “ ‘Oh, no, not her. We’ll be here all day,’ sneers a fellow student.

            “I peer at the page, attempting to find sense in the swirl of words that confront me. The letters leap, spin and twist—refusing to be captured. I focus all my effort on one word, the first word. I wrestle with it, attempting to contain it.

            “The first letter is an ‘s’, I tell myself. It makes the sound of a snake.

            “I smile contently. I have begun.

            “Next letter, I look at it.

            “That’s a ‘p’, I think.

            “I look again and in front of my eyes, the letter has undergone a magical transformation. It has become a ‘t’.

            “Panic grips me.

            “This is taking way too long.

            “I feel eyes drilling holes in my flesh. A clock ticks loudly. The sweet aroma of the teacher’s perfume engulfs my nostrils. Outside a bird calls. My senses are assaulted. I can’t shut anything out. I can’t focus.

            “I just want this to end. Please, please I don’t want to be here any more, I pray.’ I pause. “Flash forward…wow…a lot of years and I’ve grown from an elementary school student struggling with dyslexia to a mystery author gifted with dyslexia. What happened to cause this change? Would you like to solve that mystery? Well, what you do is this…get your hands on the Island Writer magazine…flip to my story Because She Believed In Me—all will be revealed. Thank you for listening. Happy Holidays.”

            Applause. Sweet applause. I left the stage and joined the audience. They showered me with praise. “You should be an actress,” they told me. “You did a very good job.”

            Two women approached me.

“I’m Samantha Robins,” one of the woman said. “And this is” I recognize the name. She’s…she’s…a prolific author. I resisted the impulse to hug her.

“I really enjoyed your story."

I blushed.

"In fact," she continued. "I’d like to encourage you to write more about your experiences as a dyslexic.” The Author told me.

Her words stayed with me.

            In the car, I told Byron, “I want to do more readings.”

            He kissed me. “You’re amazing,” he said.

            Know what? I think he’s right.

           

           

Magazine Launch (short story) 6/7 by Leanne Dyck

 In 2009, my husband and I left Mayne Island to attend a magazine launch in Victoria so that I, as one of the contributing authors, could read Because She Believed In Me. This is my short story about that adventure. 


Installment 5

Magazine Launch (installment 6)

We walked into the hall; into a sea of people.

            It’s not my first reading, I thought as we hunted for seats. It’s not even the first time I’ve read off-island. Byron found two chairs but rows separated them. I shook my head and mouthed, “no.” But it is the first time I’ve read to this many writers. We claimed two chairs—they were in the middle of the second row. And they’ll all judging me. I grabbed Byron’s hand and held on tight. I’m not nervous. I’m not nervous. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.

            One of the women I had talked to earlier spoke into the microphone. “On behalf of the Victoria Writers Society, I’d like to welcome everyone here tonight. And I’m sure all of the writers, who will soon be readers, are glad you came as well. Just a reminder, each reader has five minutes. Five minutes. Please respect the audience and your fellow writers and keep to this time limit. Now without further delay I’d like to invite…” Reader after reader took the stage. I  can’t even hear him. She should look up more. I can do much better than that. When will it be my turn? We’re only supposed to read for five minutes. She’s talking much longer. Someone should say something. I envisioned a large hook and chuckled to myself. It wasn’t nice—and I was a little ashamed of myself, but… I need to read. I n-e-e-d to r-e-a-d.

Mayne Island Fall Fair Parade 2013...

Magazine Launch (short story) 2/7 by Leanne Dyck

Here's installment one of my serialized short story 'Magazine Launch'.

And here's installment two...

Magazine Launch (continued)

The inn was just as I’d pictured it—hidden away on a quiet street. The gold handled door was flanked on both sides by fragrant rose bushes. The interior was a blend of burgundy and gold. I flowed past an oval table that was covered by a white lace tablecloth and held a vase of pink teacup roses.

The well-groomed man behind the counter smiled at us. “Good evening,” he said. “Welcome to the Rosewood Inn. How may I be of service?”

I stepped behind Byron; Byron stepped behind me. Our waltz ended with me in front.

“Good evening.” I flipped open the folder and the contents fell to the floor. I squatted down to collect the pages. “Somewhere in all this mess is a…a…” I giggled nervously.

Byron found the reservation, handed it to me and took the folder.

I looked up. The man was leaning on the counter and peering down at me. He was trying to hide a grin—but not doing a very good job.

I stood up; the man leaned away from the counter and went to his computer. After clicking a few keys, he led us to our room. It was so beautiful—delicate print wallpaper, wainscoting, French doors opening to a small balcony, King sized bed draped by a duvet that matched the wallpaper. I wanted to live there forever.

Installment 3

About writing creative non-fiction...

Magazine Launch (short story) 1/7 by Leanne Dyck

My creative non-fiction story 'Because She Believed In Me' was published in the Island Writer Magazine:  The literary journal of Vancouver Island and the Gulf Islands in Winter 2009. 

Magazine Launch

It was an ordinary day. Then I turned on my computer. Then I read an email from the Victoria Writers Society. My short story will be published in the Island Writer, I thought and my head exploded. Along with the acceptance letter was an invitation to the magazine launch. Would I attend? I didn’t have to think about that question for long. Of course I would.

            “My story’s been accepted,” I told my husband. “And we’re going to the magazine launch.”

            “Have you checked the ferry schedule?”

            I hadn't. I just thought things would work out.

            He followed the maze of numbers. “The last ferry leaves Vancouver Island for Mayne Island at 8:30 p.m.”

            I glanced at the invitation. “The event starts at 8:00 p.m.” What did that mean? Did that mean—No, we have to. “Maybe the launch won’t take that long?”

            “Come on, Leanne. Think. We can’t even drive from the ferry to Victoria and back in half an hour.”

            “But I have to go. I have to. It’s my story… I’ve been chosen.”

            He heaved a heavy sigh. “We’ll find accommodations.”

            I wrapped my arms around my hero. I knew Byron would have a solution. He’s so smart. What will I wear? I had an outfit to plan, a reading to practice and mere weeks to get it all done. I have to start today.

            “You’ll have to find us a place to stay,” Byron said.

            Me? But I have so much to do… Still by the way he was looking at me I knew booking accommodations had just become my responsibility. I studied the invitation. “Out of city guests may enjoy staying at the Rosewood Inn.” Inn? Sounds expensive. “You’ll have to check—”

            “No, you’ll have to,” he told me. “This is your thing. I’m going with you.”

            Oh, Byron, you always make things much harder than they have to be.

            Weeks passed; the day arrived. Byron and I sailed from Mayne Island headed for Vancouver Island. I flipped open my paperback; starred out to sea; read a few paragraphs; stared out to sea; read a sentence; stared out to sea.

            “Byron?”

            “Yes?” He looked up from his book.

            “What time is it?”

            “Five minutes after the last time you asked.”

            Byron drove the truck out of the ferry terminal. “How do we get to the Rosewood Inn?”

            Honestly, do I have to everything? I opened the file folder that held my author reading, the reservations for our accommodations and… “I printed off a map.”

            “You did?” He sounded surprised.

            I read the street names; Byron followed my directions and I got us all the way there.

Magazine Launch 2/7

My husband snapped this photo of me while we were at the Church fair this past weekend. 

I may look a little lost but there are books in my arms so you know I'm happy. : )