Not Anymore

by Donna Poole

There were seven little girls, the number of perfection, or so their mother thought. Six looked just like her, blonde, blue eyed curly haired beauties. But people sometimes asked if the middle child was adopted. Her hair was red and straight, and freckles splashed across her face. Her eyes were a startling green that looked right through a person.

In order of age the six blonde girls were Anna Belle, Bonnie Belle, Clara belle, Fergie belle, Gemma Belle, and Holly Belle. Holly Belle was born on Christmas. But when the little redhead middle child was born, her dad took one look at her, named her Poppy, and declared no “Belle” would be added to it.

Poppy was a daddy’s girl from the day she was born. She was the only colicky one of the seven, and poor Mom couldn’t comfort her. Exhausted from having a baby every year, she was only too happy to have Dad come home from work and lay Poppy across his chest. The baby immediately quit the high pitched screaming she’d been afflicting the house with all day, and there was peace and quiet until Dad had to return to work the next morning. When Poppy outgrew the colic, though, she had the sunniest disposition of any of the girls. If she ever wished she had blonde curls and the name Belle after Poppy, she never said so.

The Belles were happiest playing with dolls, paper dolls, or having a tea party. Poppy liked to climb trees and play catch with Dad when he came home from work. She followed him like a puppy when he weeded his garden or worked on the car, talking non-stop about a new bug she’d found or a stray cat she was trying to tame.

“You’re my boy, aren’t you Poppy?” Dad often asked.

“Yep. I will always be your boy, forever and ever.”

Every Father’s Day Poppy made her dad a card. She drew stick figures of the two of them and signed it “I love you. From your boy.”

Poppy made more laundry than any three of her sisters. She was always falling out of trees, or stomping in mud puddles, or wading in the creek. She usually had a minimum of three bandages somewhere on her body, and at least one scab on her nose or cheek.

She wore dresses to school and church because it was the 1950’s, and that’s what all the little girls did, but she changed into her jeans or shorts the minute she got home.

People described the Belles as “beautiful” and “exquisite” and said Poppy was “kind of cute.”  

Poppy loved playing with her sisters when she could coax them into going for a bike ride or swimming in the creek, but she cringed when they begged her to play princess or come to a tea party. She obliged them because she loved them, but she kept looking at the door.

Sometimes Mom would rescue her. “Let Poppy go.” Mom would laugh. “She’s a tomboy. She’s got a whole world to conquer outside.”

And then Poppy would gratefully escape. If the tea party or princess game had been too long, she’d run as fast as she could down the road, loving the feel of freedom and the wind in her hair. If it was time for Dad to come home, sometimes she’d run the whole mile and meet him at the corner so she could climb in the car and ride home with him and hear him say, “There’s my boy.”

And Poppy would lean against him and say, “I’ll be your boy forever and ever!”

It was a fun game. Poppy loved being a tom boy. She’d never be a girly girl, but she didn’t really want to be a boy. She liked being a girl. Sometimes she daydreamed about how many children she’d have when she grew up. She decided two was a respectable number. She didn’t care if they were boys or girls, but she would not name any of them Belle.

Suppertime was the best time of the day with the whole family sitting around the table. Mom always looked tired but happy. Dad made everyone laugh with his crazy stories and jokes. Sometimes Mom smiled at the girls and said, “My seven girls. Seven, the number of perfection.”

Then Dad would say, “But wouldn’t you like to try for one more?”

Mom would sigh and say, “No, I don’t think we should mess with perfection. I know you want a boy, but we might get another girl, and I’m happy with the seven we have!”

Poppy didn’t like that conversation. She swung her legs back and forth and bit her lip. “Daddy doesn’t need a boy, Mom. I’m his boy. Forever and ever.”

And then it happened. Mom told her perfect seven she was expecting a baby. She’d already picked out a name, Izzie Belle. The girls squealed with joy and hugged her. Mom managed to smile, but Poppy noticed she looked more tired than ever.

When the baby was born Anna Belle was twelve, Bonnie Belle eleven, Clara belle ten, Fergie belle eight, Gemma Belle seven, and Holly Belle six. Poppy was nine. A neighbor lady stayed with them while Dad went to the hospital to bring home Mom and their new baby sister. The seven girls squeezed together on the couch smiling and waiting to take turns holding Izzie Belle.

Dad came in the door first. “I have a big surprise for you, girls!”

They laughed. “It’s not a surprise, Daddy,” Poppy said. “We know we’re getting a new baby sister.”

“Not exactly,” Daddy said. His voice sounded very mysterious.

Mom came in next holding a tiny bundle wrapped in blue. “Girls, meet your new baby brother,” she said. “His name is Isaac.”

The girls squealed and held out their arms, all wanting to hold him first. Then Daddy said something that made Poppy’s heart feel like it crumbled in pieces. “You can’t be my boy, Poppy. Not anymore. I’ve got my boy now.”

Poppy blinked back tears. What happened to forever and ever? I’ll never make him another Father’s Day card. And I won’t love him anymore. And I won’t love that horrid baby.

And then the tiny bundle made them all jump with a loud scream. “Oh no,” Mom groaned. “I haven’t heard that sound since Poppy was a baby.” She shoved the baby at Dad.

Dad patted the baby and tried to rock him but he flung out his little arms and screamed louder. The blue blanket slipped off him, and Poppy noticed bright red hair sticking straight up. She saw a red, scrunched up, furious face, and tears running down little cheeks. She laughed.

“Give me the baby, Daddy,” she said. “Let me try.”

Mom shrugged. “Might as well let her try. What can it hurt?”

Poppy held the baby across her chest and a funny thing happened. The screaming stopped. The little face relaxed and the baby fell asleep with tears on his cheeks.

“He’s kind of cute,” Poppy said.

“He looks like you,” Anna Belle said. And all the other Belles agreed.

Daddy cleared his throat. He looked a little embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have said what I did, Poppy. Just because you aren’t a boy doesn’t mean I don’t love you. You’re very special to me and always will be.”

“I know, Daddy,” Poppy said.

She wasn’t mad at him. And she didn’t think the baby was a bit horrid. Not anymore.  

The end

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These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Four: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter