did you hear the one about helen keller?

[solutions]

You are the tunes in my head, the fire in my ribs
You are the voice in my heart that whispers compassion
Happy birthday Helen




She was not a princess or a fairytale heroine, though she made a promise once of rising to great heights and on occasion dressed like one. Bits of tulle and lace were left over from recitals she abandoned when limbs stopped growing -- making her the perpetual tiny dancer that her father had hoped for. Tree forts and scraped knees were never how he envisioned his only daughter spending her childhood, but she wouldn't be separated from her brothers. In the small house that looked over Montana frontier, Helen Fitzgerald learned what it meant to grow among the wildflowers.

<font color="#EE0000" size="1">[ June 12, 2005 03:13 AM: Message edited by: guerrilla literature ]</font>

[solutions]

The Fitzgerald children sat in a row. Helen, with her feet dangling, threatened to scuff the patent leather of her Sunday Best shoes each time the heels connected with the wooden legs of the chair. Arnold and James sat to either side of their sister and scuffed their shoes against the floor lightly every time their father's shadow washed over them. Each of their arms had been raised in salute as soon as their father had called for their attention. Now, Edward Fitzgerald paced back and forth across the dining room floor with a linen handkerchief occasionally swiping over his brow. Arnold, the oldest at fourteen, nudged an elbow into Helen to make her laugh silently as she nudged James who snorted which earned a stern look from their father.

"Your aunt is coming in today a--"

"Is that why we're dressed up, daddy?"

"Helen," their father's voice softened slightly when he spoke to his daughter. "Please let me finish."

Helen's mouth immediately shut and her father paused only a moment before he continued.

"I expect you to all be on your best behavior when she arrives. Your mother wanted me to remind you all that not one spot is to be on those clothes." At this, he bore holes into his sons, who were trying desperately to keep their mouths from spilling out wide grins and laughter. "That said, you may wait outside on the porch as lon--"

Their father was nearly bowled over by the parade of limbs and laughter as they rushed past in an effort to see the main road from between the posts on the porch. James jumped up on top of the railing and teetered slightly before he gained his footing and held a hand up to his brow in an attempt to ward off the sun and see past the line of deciduous trees.

"Do you see them?" Helen asked as she tugged insistently on his pant leg.

"Not yet, why don't you help Arnie with the chairs?" James asked as he shook his leg free of her hand.

"Because," Helen's mouth formed in a pout. "I want to see if they are here."

"You're too short, go help Arnie."

"Am not!" She stomped and clamored up onto the railing.

"Get down Nel'! You're going to fall off!" James hissed words at her while Arnie shook his head and drug over another chair so that the three of them could sit together.

"Get off the railing before dad comes out and sees you, Helen." Arnie's words were quiet and stern as he settled into a chair and pulled at the sleeves of his shirt.

"No! I want to see! Move!" Helen's small hands shoved at her brother who was laughing and trying to hold his ground before she wavered slightly and dug fingers into his arm.

"Careful or you're going to f--"

Helen lost her footing and rather than clutch onto her brother for dear life, her eyes flew wide and her hands windmilled backward until she landed in the middle of the black dirt still wet with the morning's watering. Both boys groaned in unison and rushed down the steps to help her out of the mess of yellow tulle and mud, just as the car pulled into the driveway.

Quickly, they stood in front of Helen who was complaining and attempting to slough off the globs of mud that had stuck to her. They offered their brightest grins and waved to the car as their mother got out and worriedly looked between the two of them and the wisp of a man in the doorway who blanched at the sight of Helen hidden behind her brothers.

"You must be very tired! Here, let's get you both inside before we handle the luggage." Edward hurriedly rushed down the steps and opened both arms wide to usher them inside.

"Nonsense." The thick syrupy southern drawl of their aunt came from inside the car as she removed herself from it casually. "I don't need to rest, I've been on a plane and in that dreadful car for hours. What I want to do is have a look at these fine young boys you're growin' out here. Now, where is my little Nelly?"

"Yes, darling, where is Helen?" Diane Fitzgerald tried her best not to break her husbands fingers as her own captured his.

"I.." Edward wiped his brow with the handkerchief in his other hand and looked toward the boys who were stammering with an explanation.

"I fell." A tiny voice from behind the boys spoke up and slowly the girl came forward, covered in mud.

Diane gasped audibly and Edward held her shoulder with his free hand in case she was going to faint. Georgia Devereaux lowered the large sunglasses that swallowed nearly half of her face and stared hard at the girl whose eyes were slowly starting to fill with tears. A lipstick smile scrawled wide on the woman's face before she let out a slow laugh.

"Well," She sighed through her laughter. "We can see who else doesn't care too much for yellow." A long set of lashes lowered in a wink before she sauntered toward the porch. "Eddie, forget the bags and get these children into their play clothes. Honestly Diane, you act like daddy's comin' down."

When Helen first saw her aunt Georgia, she thought she was a queen. Despite her brother's best efforts to convince her of otherwise.

"She's a witch, that's what I heard dad say." James whispered to her when the three children were sprawled on their bellies in front of the television.

"That's not what he said." Arnie interjected between sips of juice from his glass.

James shot him a look before he continued speaking to Helen who turned crayons in circles idly over a sheet of paper. "I think that's why we had to dress in our Sunday clothes, to ward off the devil."

"We dressed in our Sunday clothes 'cause that's what she was dressed in. Momma said it was so that she felt comfortable." Helen defended her aunt before she traded one crayon for another.

"At least someone felt comfortable. I hate dressing up," Arnie said in a huff as he picked himself up from the carpet.

"S'probably why you smell," James mumbled with a grin as Arnie passed him into the kitchen. Arnie ground fingers in the brown mop of James's hair. "She talks funny."

"She talks like an angel!" Helen threw her crayon at James.

"Sure, if angels sound like Aunt Jemima." James rolled his eyes and tossed the crayon back.

By the time it was time for the children to be in their respective rooms, their parents and aunt had returned from the porch with empty glasses in hand. Helen peeked out from her room and noted that her aunt seemed to glide with a purpose through the house with her silk floral robe billowing around her feet and elbows. Georgia caught Helen peeking out and waggled fingers at her before she took the glasses from her sister and her brother-in-law.

"I'll take care of these for you, why don't you go on to bed."

"I need to turn in my children." Diane's surprise was reflected in her tone as her now empty hand had nothing more to do than rest over her collar.

"I can turn those dumplings in, y'go'n t'bed." She shooed them both off as soon as her hands were free and shut off the light.

Edward and Diane gave each other a curious look and shuffled down the hall to their room where the door was left cracked until a sharp announcement of, "Edward" was given. Georgia filled three glasses with milk and took the first one in to James who shifted on his side and pretended to be asleep. The second she took to Arnold who accepted it and turned the page in his book without muttering a goodnight. The third she took to Helen who was balled up in her bed with the covers up to her nose.

"What's the matter peach?" Georgia's voice cooed, even though it was obvious that Helen was far too old to be soothed by the sound.

"James said you were a witch," Helen mumbled through the covers.

"Darlin', did I come with a broom?"

Helen shook her head.

"And a big ol' black hat?"

Helen shook her head again.

"And do I have a hook nose?"

Helen moved the covers from her face to examine the woman's nose before she shook her head again.

"No, but he said you were."

"Don't you listen to that boy, he's just talkin' 'cause I flew in on a big plane."

"Were you scared?"

"Of a plane? Honey, I'm more afraid of that dress y'momma put you in." Georgia smiled widely as Helen settled into her bed. "Now, if you're real good, I'll ask your momma if you can come out and visit me."

"Can I ride on a plane?"

"You'd have to, my broom's not a two-seater." Georgia winked before she leaned over and brushed a kiss to her temple.

[solutions]

The Big Brick House on the Corner looked completely out of place in between two rows of grayscale skyrises. Even as her feet shuffled over the floorboards of the verandah, she half expected red dust to gust up from the cracks between warped wood. Fingers lifted to knock on the door but paused just shy as it opened before she had a chance to gather herself.

"Your daddy's not in the back of that cab is he?" Georgia's voice drawled lazily from her mouth as she poked her head out of the door to peer at the yellow cab that still waited with its trunk popped.

Helen turned a look over her shoulder and blinked bright eyes before she turned back to her aunt -- who still looked the same way she had, when Helen was seven. Fiery hair hadn't lost its luster and lashes still dripped heavy in a wink as manicured nails painted in red scratched along the door to hold it open while Helen slipped inside the house that still smelled like the South. A part of her idly wondered if her aunt had simply transplanted the house in the middle of the urban jungle, but she didn't ask that question. Instead, as she peered around the foyer she posed the question of her luggage.

"My things are still in the trunk, should I go get them?"

"Oh darlin', don't you worry none about those bags. It's already being taken care of." Georgia waved a hand at her niece and clutched the silk robe she wore tighter around her neck. "Let's get you upstairs so you can see your room hm? It ain't much now doll, but it's all I could do with the summer house."

"The summer house?" Helen followed her aunt as she traipsed up the stairs in a fashion that seemed more akin to Old Hollywood than anything else.

"Of course! 'Can't do nothin' in the winter here, sugar. The cold is bad on m'feet you know." Georgia dripped a wink over her shoulder as she reached the top of the stairs and rested a hand on the banister. "Now, I heard from a little bird that you like flowers."

"Well, yes but I--"

"Good, then you'll get on just fine here darlin'! I set you up with a little in door garden you can work on while you're takin' a break from paintin' my portrait." Georgia smiled a wide lipstick smile and moved to let Helen up the stairs into the bright side room that showed the true age of both her aunt and the silk robe she wore. In little neat rows on four tables in front of a wall full of windows sat tiny pots that had yet to be seeded. Georgia paused only briefly in this room to let Helen get acquainted with the things there before she opened the door into the studio which held empty canvases. "This is where you'll paint," she spoke as she gestured to the room before moving toward the last door left unopened. "This, is where you'll sleep."

Helen was allowed to linger in this room and looked over the furnishings, which were composed of odd pieces of furniture that some how seemed to fit together. She ran her fingers over the table and sat on the edge of the bed with a pleased smile. "This is really too much! I just wanted to come visit you this summer, I didn't ex--"

"Darlin', you stay here long enough an' you won't want to go back to that po-dunk little place way out West. I know, I --" Georgia's words were stifled by the wisp of a man with shoulders curved inward as Helen's suitcases were set in the corner of the room. "You are just the sweetest boy I -- Nelly, what do you think of this boy?" Georgia asked with a wide smile as a hand snaked over the boy's shoulder.

"I, well, he --" Helen's words were cut off as her fingers knotted together as eyes went wide.

"Nonsense! He's a sweet thing, yes you are. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise, now go'n and tell your mother I said hello, won't you?"

The man nodded before he slipped out the door with a shy smile toward Helen. Georgia leaned in the doorway and narrowed her eyes at her niece as arms crossed. "I've obviously got a lot of work to do if I'm ever goin' to get you ready."

"Ready? For what?"

"For city life."

[solutions]

"How is it, Nel?"

Helen listened to her brother's voice and imagined the hardened lines of his face shifting through the nicotine smoke that was bound to filter from his mouth between pauses. She shifted the cord of the phone from the Big Brick House on the Corner around her wrist as she paced back and forth on immaculate kitchen tile.

"It's different, Fitzy."

"Don't call me that."

"Don't call me Nel."

"I'll call you whatever I damn well please."

"And I'll call you whatever I damn well please!"

"Did you meet someone yet?"

"No, and even if I did I'm not telling you anything."

"Why not? I'm your brother."

"Because you go crazy, Fitz. Remember what you did to Matt?"

"He had it comin'."

"No he didn't and you know it."

"You're startin' to sound static-like, Nel. I'll have to call you later."

"Where are you?"

"Closer than you think."