You Can't Eat Your Chicken Pox, Amber Brown Read online

  Saying goodbye to my mother, who was trying not to cry, was not easy.

  She was so upset that I forgot to warn her to watch out for bugs because I got a couple of bites while sleeping.

  Once Aunt Pam and I went through the door and got our passports checked, I couldn’t get out to see my mother again. Aunt Pam says that’s what happens when you go to foreign countries.

  So we’ve just been sitting around in the waiting area and playing Travel Yahtzee® games.

  An announcement is made. “All people who need extra time to board should go now . . . also people with small children.”

  Aunt Pam motions me to follow her and the cart.

  I, Amber Brown, am so embarrassed.

  “Aunt Pam,” I whisper, “I am NOT a small child.”

  She turns around. “I know. But you are young enough to board early . . . and, trust me, that’s a very good thing to do.”

  We enter the plane and walk through an area with great big chairs.

  “Can we sit here?” I ask, taking off my knapsack.

  “In your dreams,” Aunt Pam says. “This is first class, much too expensive for us.”

  My knapsack goes on again.

  The flight attendants are giving out newspapers and drinks to the first-class passengers.

  We go back farther and get to a section where there are more seats . . . and the seats are a lot smaller.

  “Here we are.” Aunt Pam opens the storage space above our seats and puts in her carry-on bag. “You want to sit by the window, right?”

  “Right.” I jump into the seat, forgetting that I have my knapsack on.

  Aunt Pam helps me take the pack off and we put it under the seat in front of me.

  I, Amber Brown, am so excited.

  This is my very first plane trip.

  I look around.

  A lot of people are in our section of the plane now.

  Some of them are trying to stuff huge amounts of things in the overhead rack.

  A guy is rubbing his head because he’s been hit by a birdcage that someone dropped while trying to put it in the overhead rack.

  Another person, holding her arm, got hurt when someone walking past accidentally whammed her with an umbrella.

  Pointing out the hurt people, I say to Aunt Pam, “Now I know why you want to get on early.”

  “Trust me. I’ve been going to London at least once a year for the last fifteen years. When it comes to traveling, I know what to do.”

  She pats the top of my head.

  “I am not a dog.” I hate to be patted on the head.

  She smiles and says, “Oops. Sorry. But it could be worse. I could pat you on the head and call you ‘Roverino.’”

  Sometimes the people I love drive me crazy.

  More and more people get on the plane. Some of them have so much stuff that soon there’s no room in the luggage racks.

  Finally, everyone is sitting down and everything gets put away.

  I wonder what the flight attendant did with the empty birdcage.

  I wonder if the bird who normally lives in that cage is flying over on his own and will meet the owner in London.

  I wonder if the bird has got a passport.

  I wonder if this plane is ever going to take off.

  Putting on my seat belt, I realize that I’m so excited I can hardly stand it.

  The pilot’s voice comes over the loudspeaker and says that the plane is going to London, Heathrow Airport, and anyone not planning to go there had better get off right now.

  A screen gets pulled down by the flight attendant and a movie explains all about safety and what to do if something happens.

  That makes me nervous.

  I look over at Aunt Pam, who is looking at a piece of paper.

  “Pay attention, please.” I tug at her sleeve. “You’re the grown-up here.”

  She looks surprised and then she says, “Honey, I make this trip every summer. I know what to do. Don’t worry.”

  The plane starts to move along the ground for a while and then it stands in a line of planes for a long time.

  Just as I begin to think that we’re never going to move, we do and the plane takes off.

  It’s so exciting.

  I, Amber Brown, am up in the air.

  Something tells me that this is going to be two weeks that I’ll never forget.

  Chapter

  Four

  “Amberino, finish unpacking.” Aunt Pam rushes me. “And then we’ll shower, change, and take the tour bus.”

  I am so tired. Usually, as my mother says, I am “one very perky kiddo.”

  Right now, I’m too pooped to perk.

  Flopping down on the bed, I plead, “Oh, please. Can’t we take a nap first? Please, oh please. I’m so tired.”

  “Up, my dear.” Aunt Pam tugs at my arm. “There’s a five-hour time difference. Getting on schedule right away is a good idea.”

  There are reasons besides the five-hour time difference why I’m tired. The plane left late. We ate, watched a movie and tried to sleep. Good movie. Bad food. Hard seat. Got served breakfast very early.

  When we got off the plane, there was a long walk, a long line and a long time to get our passports checked at immigration, a long wait for the luggage, a long wait for a taxi cab and a long ride into the city.

  Finally, we’re in our “flat” (that’s what apartments are called in England, Aunt Pam says).

  Personally, I, Amber Brown, am one very tired traveler and would love to sleep on the living-room sofa bed.

  “These two drawers are yours.” Aunt Pam points to the bottom of the bureau in her bedroom. “I’ve unlocked your suitcase. Put your things in there.”

  Pulling out my clothes, I see that my mother has put in a few extra things, all wrapped up.

  “May I open these?” I hold them up.

  “Yes, you may . . . while I’m taking a shower.”

  She goes into the bathroom and I open the packages . . . three books, a jar of grape jam, a tiny troll ring, and English money to take Aunt Pam and me out for pizza.

  Resting my head on a sofa cushion, I look at the presents.

  The next thing I know is Aunt Pam is waking me up. “Honey, Shower Time. Don’t sleep now or you’ll never get on London time.”

  Stumbling into the bathroom, I try to keep my eyes open.

  Finally, I get showered, dressed and ready . . . as ready as I, Amber Brown, can be.

  Aunt Pam says, “Let’s make a fast call to your parents to let them know that we’ve arrived. I promised them that we would call.”

  For a minute, I forget that we have to make two calls, not one, that they aren’t together anymore.

  We call France first.

  Aunt Pam says that way, with the five-hour time difference, we are giving Mom some extra time to sleep.

  She dials my father at work, since it’s an hour later in France.

  I can’t wait to talk to him.

  Aunt Pam starts speaking to someone in French and then waits.

  She looks at me and makes a face. “I hate being on hold. The only good thing about it right now is that the stuff that’s taped to listen to while waiting is in French.”

  “Let me listen.” I reach for the phone.

  She hands it to me.

  I don’t understand one word . . . . But it sounds good.

  I wonder if my father is going to have a French accent.

  I wonder how much French I’m going to learn while I’m with him . . . . I’ll probably learn to say stuff in French like “I love you, Daddy,” “Where’s the bathroom?” and “Can we buy that?”

  Maybe I’ll learn enough to write a letter to Justin in French.

  I bet nobody in his new school can do that.

  There’s a click on the phone and a voice says, in American, “Hello.”

  “Daddy,” I yell.

  “Amber.” He sounds just like my dad, no French accent. “I was in the conference room in the middle of a very import
ant meeting . . . but I told them that we’d have to take a break . . . that my favorite person in the world, my little girl, was on the phone and in the next country.”

  “I can’t wait to see you.” I am so excited.

  “Me too.” He sounds as excited as I feel. “You’re going to love all of the things that I’ve planned for us.”

  I’m grinning so much that it feels like my face is going to break.

  He asks how the trip was.

  I tell him.

  In the background, I hear someone say something to him in French.

  My father answers that person in French.

  I try to understand what he is saying but I have no idea. Maybe he’s saying, “Wait a minute,” or “I want a tuna on rye,” or “Jump in a lake. I’m busy. My wonderful daughter is on the phone.”

  He gets back to me. “Honey, the meeting is restarting in a few minutes. I’ve got to go but first let me speak to Aunt Pam.”

  I put her on the phone and they talk.

  Then she hands the phone back to me and says, “Your dad wants to say goodbye.”

  I grab the phone and before he has a chance to say goodbye, I say, “Daddy . . . . Let’s have a kissing contest.”

  “Honey, the meeting.” He sighs and then he laughs. “Oh, O.K.”

  “On your mark. Get set. Go,” I say.

  We both start making fast kissing sounds for as long as we can.

  My lips start to hurt.

  “You win,” he says, quitting.

  I, Amber Brown, almost always win the phone kissing contests with my dad.

  We’ve been having the contests since I was a real little kid.

  “Honey, we have to hang up now but when you get here, we’ll be able to spend all of our time together, no business. I’ve taken vacation days.”

  I can’t wait.

  We hang up.

  I grin at Aunt Pam, who grins back. “Now we’ll call your mother.”

  She dials and in a second says into the receiver, “Rise and shine, little sister.”

  She and Mom chat for a few minutes about the flight.

  “Aunt.” I stand in front of her and try to reach for the receiver.

  She grins and hands the phone to me.

  “Hi, Mom. . . . I miss you. . . .”

  I tell her about the plane trip, all the waiting, everything. I thank her for the presents and start to tell her about what the apartment looks like.

  Aunt Pam reminds us that this is a longdistance call, a very-long-distance call.

  I hand the phone back to Aunt Pam, who listens to my mother for a minute and then says, “Everything’s arranged.”

  Then I get to say goodbye, and Aunt Pam hangs up and looks at me. “Wagons Ho.”

  Chapter

  Five

  “Elevators Ho,” I yell as we enter the elevator.

  There are mirrors in it.

  Aunt Pam looks really good. She’s wearing a flowered sundress and carrying a really pretty sweater.

  Her long blond hair is in one long braid.

  And she has makeup on and this really pretty-smelling perfume.

  On her feet are walking shoes.

  Aunt Pam is ready to show me London.

  I look in the mirror.

  I’m wearing a long purple shirt. The shirt is so long that it’s hard to see the denim shorts under them.

  I’ve got sandals on.

  My hair is just hanging there.

  It was too tired to get put into ponytails or anything.

  I am not sure that I am ready for London.

  In the elevator, Aunt Pam tells me that elevators are called “lifts” in England.

  She also tells me that the lines we waited in are called “queues.”

  As we leave the building, I hear someone call out, “Pam, welcome back.”

  Aunt Pam turns and smiles. “Amber, I want to introduce you to Mary. She’s the housekeeper here . . . and over the years has become a friend.”

  “Welcome to London, Amber. Is this your first time in our city?”

  I smile and nod. “It’s Amber’s first day and we’re off to see Trafalgar Square,” Aunt Pam tells Mary as she takes my hand and walks up to the curb to get a cab. Even though I’m too big to hold hands anymore, I hold her hand. “Amber, do you remember what I told you about cars in this country?”

  I’m so tired . . . and the cars are driving on the wrong side of the road, just like Aunt Pam told me.

  I repeat her instructions, “Look both ways. Remember that the cars are on the wrong side of the road and look down at the sidewalk where it will either say ‘Look right’ or ‘Look left.’ You also said to be careful or I will turn into road pizza.”

  “Excellent.” Aunt Pam gets us a cab. “We’re on our way to Trafalgar Square, where the tour buses are.”

  There is so much to remember and I am so tired.

  When we get into this great big black cab, I notice that the driver is sitting where passengers in America sit.

  I wonder if they know that they’ve put the steering wheel in the wrong place.

  I wonder how they drive when they go to other countries.

  I wonder if I’m going to be able to sit in the car without screaming “Watch out.”

  Scratching at a bug bite on my arm, I think about how we really are in London.

  The cab stops.

  Trafalgar Square . . . here we are.

  Chapter

  Six

  Trafalgar Square.

  For a square, it looks pretty round to me, with fountains in the middle and a road running around it.

  When Aunt Pam said that we’ll be going to Piccadilly Circus, I was really excited, really looking forward to seeing clowns and elephants. Then Aunt Pam told me that, in England, circuses are circles.

  We get on a bus.

  I’m so glad that they call it a bus, too.

  It’s a great bus, a double-decker.

  There’s no roof on the top.

  Rushing up to the top level, I get seats near the front.

  Aunt Pam joins me. “Honey, put on your baseball cap, your sunglasses and suntan lotion. Don’t forget that we promised your mom that we’d make up a scrapbook of this trip. Your camera, notepad and pen are in your knapsack.”

  I was hoping that she’d forgotten about the scrapbook.

  “Tomorrow,” Aunt Pam says, “we’ll have a chance to see some places up close. Today we’ll have an overview.”

  I scratch at my arm again. “And when we get back to the apartment, I mean flat, can we go to a drugstore and get some bug bite spray?”

  She nods. “Remind me. Sometimes aunts forget.”

  I grin at her.

  She grins back. “You know, I just love doing things with you. It’s so nice when you come stay with me. And now, I’m really glad to show you London.”

  We sit in the bus, waiting for more passengers to get on.

  A family gets on . . . a mother, a father and a little girl.

  “Wouldn’t it be fun if Mommy and Daddy were here, too?” I ask.

  Aunt Pam takes off her sunglasses and looks as if she wants to say something about what I’ve just said.

  I decide to talk before she has the chance to give me the LECTURE about how my parents love me very much . . . about how they just didn’t love each other anymore . . . about how they’re never going to get back together again. . . .

  “Aunt Pam,” I quickly say, “I really want to get a special souvenir for Justin. What do you think I should get him?”

  She blinks and then thinks for a minute.

  I wait to see if she’s going to talk about my parents or about the present for Justin.

  Shrugging, she puts her sunglasses back on, smiles and says, “There are a zillion souvenir places around. I’m sure that we’ll find him something wonderful.”

  The bus tour begins.

  She kisses the top of my head and then takes the lens cap off my camera.

  I take pictures of everythi
ng . . . Westminster Abbey . . . the Houses of Parliament . . . the Tower of London. . . .

  It’s so exciting.

  I, Amber Brown, am seeing, in person, all of the things we studied in school.

  We drive up to Buckingham Palace.

  The guide tells us that it has a nickname, Buck House. He also tells us that the flag is not on the top of the palace because the Regent is not home.

  I’m going to start doing that at my house. I’ll fly my Yankees baseball pennant that I got when my father took me to a game.

  I keep taking pictures.

  There’s so much to see.

  I can’t wait until tomorrow when we will actually be able to go into some of the places we’re looking at now.

  Some guy keeps standing in front of me just as I get ready to take a picture.

  When my film gets developed, I bet that I’m going to have a lot of photos of the back of his head to put in my scrapbook.

  The bus pulls back into its spot at Trafalgar Square.

  “Off we go,” Aunt Pam says, getting out of the bus.

  “Nap Time?” I ask, scratching again. “Bug Spray Time?”

  “Almost.” She puts her hands over my eyes. “But first I want you to see something.”

  I can hardly wait.

  Chapter

  Seven

  We haven’t gone anywhere.

  We’re still at the fountain at Trafalgar Square.

  There are people dangling their feet in the water.

  I look at Aunt Pam.

  She nods.

  Taking off my sandals, I sit on the fountain ledge and put my feet in.

  It feels great.

  While Aunt Pam takes pictures, I dangle my feet and look around.

  There are lots of buildings, an art museum, a church.

  People are feeding the birds.

  The birds are actually sitting on some of them.

  I decide that’s something I really want to do.

  Taking my feet out of the fountain, I put on my sandals and rush over to Aunt Pam, who has just taken the eighty-seven thousandth picture of me.