Knots, Knovels, and Kneecaps

Wedged in between the various courts and fields belonging to Maple Ridge Middle School and Silver Creek High School lies the nondescript Oakview Park. It contains a lone gazebo, a smattering of trees, and a slide. To this park, I owe a great debt as it was responsible for introducing me to the wonderful world of novels. Well, that and crutches.

It was a warm day in February in Sage Valley, California, and several of us sixth graders had headed to the cool shade the park offered. Billy Parker, the cutest boy in our class, motioned for me to come sit by him under a larger patch of trees. Things with Billy were getting pretty serious; we had shared a plate of nachos the day before and he had given me a Valentine’s Day present the day before that. I was smitten.

What was more, as we lounged in the shade, Jessica Prescott, my best friend, whispered in my ear that Danny Ramirez was finally going to try and kiss me. Everyone knew he had a crush on me. I felt this feeling I couldn’t quite describe, that of being important. It was all so new to me that I felt almost drunk with confidence. It didn’t matter that I didn’t really like Danny. The fact that everyone knew he liked me made me feel like I mattered.

***

I had never really felt important before. My father seemed to avoid me. He was always traveling or needed to spend time with his newest girlfriend. And when my father did have time for me, it was fleeting, and all about him. By the time I was 10, I had mastered the art of pretending to be asleep just to avoid his repetitious stories of how incredible he was. That, or reading. Chapter and picture books offered an escape from his narcissism. My father never once paid me a compliment until I was almost 30. Each time I excelled growing up, he would say, “that’s because you’re a ‘Kensington’,” claiming every good deed of mine for himself.

I avoided my stepfather, Don, as much as I could. Each encounter left my ears hurting, my backside bruised, or my heart broken. My step-sisters got all his love and attention. I got whatever was left over. As children, my step-sisters and I were all on the community swim team. We had a swim meet one Saturday and my mom and stepfather had brought the camcorder to record our swimming. When my older step-sister, Lauren, swam, Don filmed every second. Then my younger step-sister, Emma, swam, and Don followed every stroke. When my turn came, Don was putting the camcorder away.

I began to read more at home, now, too. I had a hiding spot, my favorite, between my bookcase and my bed that obscured me from the door, offering me protection. Chapter and picture books offered an escape from the pain.

***

The grass of the softball field had seen better days. It was another drought year in So Cal and knots of grass heavily littered the field. As the warning bell rang for us to start heading back to class before the final bell, Danny gave me a knowing look. He wouldn’t actually try and kiss me, would he? I had never kissed a boy before, well, I hadn’t consciously kissed a boy before. Jesse in kindergarten didn’t really count. Should I make a run for it?

***

I had never been very athletic. When I was three, my mother had registered me for a toddler ballet class. After my first session, the ballet instructor suggested my mother not bring me back and offered a refund. I guess while the other students were leaping gracefully, I was “popping like popcorn.” When I was ten, as part of a family reunion on my mother’s side, we all entered a family bike race. My stepfather had gotten rid of my purple unicorn bike with sparkly streamers and replaced it with a new ten-speed yellow bike. He said it was so our family could look the part. The hills were tricky with shifting gears, something I hadn’t gotten the knack for yet, and I fell far behind. I finally just got off my bike and began walking it. My stepfather eventually found me and took my bike and threw it at me. I was grateful I knew how to pop like popcorn.

***

As Danny began to weave through our classmates in my direction, I felt a panic set over me. My legs made the decision my brain couldn’t and I began bolting from the park. Danny was gaining. My legs moved faster than they ever had before. I was halfway between Ms. Rose’s classroom and the park, when I decided to look back. Big mistake. Not only was Danny a lot closer than I imagined he would be given the burning in my legs, but my rhythm got thrown off and my footing suffered.

My left foot hit an especially troublesome knot and down I went. There was a loud pop and a searing pain radiating from my left knee. Danny, ever the gentleman, simply kept on running. Jessica reached my side and helped me hobble to the Nurse’s Office. I couldn’t move my left leg, let alone bend it. As I laid on the examination bed, I noticed the huge bulge to the left of my knee. I asked the nurse what that was; she glanced at me and then smiled and said it was my kneecap. She then called my mother to take me to the doctor but my mother didn’t answer. The nurse called the next guardian listed, my stepfather. He did answer. The only thing I really remembered after that was worrying that I would get in trouble for falling.

After a very long drive to the doctor, my mom met us there and I was quickly attended to. The pop of moving my kneecap back into place was oddly satisfying. I left with a three-month long stint in an immobilizer and crutches, my first. Definitely not my last.

At this point, you are probably wondering what all this has to do with my love of novels. A few weeks later, Ms. Rose’s class was scheduled to visit the library. Despite my excitement to visit the library (we only got to go once a month), the long walk to the other side of campus did not excite me. Moving as fast as I could with my immobilizer and crutches, I arrived with only 5 minutes left in our session. Ms. Rose urged me to hurry with my book selection.

While I had read many chapter books and even more picture books, I had never read a more grown-up novel. The chapter book section was on the far side of the library but some book carousels with novels stood close by. I hobbled over and turned the display. As I perused the selections, a book caught my eye. The cover held an image of a young woman and a beautiful rose. I grabbed it, checked out, and made the long trek back to class. The librarian kindly had put my book in a plastic grocery bag.

When I finally got home that day, I eagerly dove into my novel. From the first line, I was hooked. The story was a retelling of Beauty and the Beast. The more I read, the more I saw myself in its pages. The story told of this girl who hadn’t been very important or seen, becoming a woman who was seen for all she was. She was seen for her beauty, yes, but also for her brilliance and goodness. I wanted to be seen for that. I wanted to feel that level of importance. I wanted to feel that level of being noticed by someone who mattered to me in the same ways.

My knee eventually healed up. Billy Parker must have really loved nachos because he was sharing plates with all kinds of girls. I never sat under the tree at Oakview Park (or anywhere else, for that matter) with Billy again. Danny Ramirez and I ended up in different classes the next year.

Eventually, my mom and I moved away from my stepfather. But my love for novels has always remained.