Page 3 of Barefoot Dreams
Julie Birdy Lovinski
Julie – Age 15
“Julie, where are you off to?” my mom, Lily, singsongs just as I come to a halt at the front door. My long, ivory skirt tangling around my ankles, and the little flower beads I sewed onto it tickling me.
“Just going to Fifi’s, Mom. I need more seeds for my garden,” I answer just as she rounds the corner, her soft, warm, green eyes smiling at me. They are the same color as mine and I love that we have that in common.
“You already planted everything you had?” She wipes her hands on the towel she has shoved into the waistband of her apron like she always does. Today, it’s the one with the bees on it.
We don’t use paper towels because they are made from the beautiful trees out there and if there’s something we can do to help the planet, we sure will. Plus, towels are so much cuter.
“Yep.” I pop thep. “But I still have some room left, maybe another row of tomatoes? The tiny ones.” I clap my hands with excitement, my long red hair bouncing around wildly as it usually does.
“I think that sounds lovely,” Mom agrees with a smile, glancing at my bare feet. “No shoes already?” I nod. “You are starting earlier this year.”
I nod again, opening the front door.
As soon as the weather turns warm—or warm enough—I prefer to walk barefoot, and the planet welcomes it. She gets abused with everyone marching across her lands like it’s their right and not a privilege already.
“Say hi to Fifi for me,” Mom calls out.
“I will,” I answer, my feet already skip-hopping toward Love Street where most of the stores are at. Our town is small but the best of the very best.
A lot of kids in my class always talk about how they can’t wait to graduate and leave Loverly Cave, but I’ve never understood them. Who’d want to leave our colorful, fun paradise with the never-ending, magnetic ocean on one side and huge, green mountains with all those wildflowers growing on them for those stuffy, polluted gray streets with glass buildings.
No colors anywhere, no lungful of fresh salty air mixed in with evergreens. Only constantly rushing people who didn’t bother to stop to say hello to one another. Not a word.
Here in Loverly Cave, we always say hi. We also smile. A lot. The streets around us feel alive with all the vibrant-colored buildings. I like to think they talk to us as well, but who’s talking to you in those gray and dull mazes?
See? It’s amazing over here.
Our parents took us to San Francisco once but after I burst into tears seeing all the destruction to the beautiful land, we never went back. Santa Cruz is a little better. It’s a lot closer to us, so we do make the drive there from time to time because my brother, Callum, likes the roller coasters on the boardwalk while I spend my day at the beach there. But still, it’s not the same.
I continue skipping over the pebbled streets as a new melody gets stuck in my head and I start humming. Somewhere behind me, I hear giggles and unmistakable taunts thrown my way, but I choose to ignore it. No doubt it’s someone from my school and as much as easy as it’d be to get upset over their name-calling, I’m not.
Back in the first grade, when my classmate, Owen, first called me Stinky Carrot, I got very upset and ran home in tears. Mom found me huddled under the blanket and asked what was wrong. When I explained what happened, she asked if I tried to smile back? I didn’t understand what she meant, but then she said, “The next time someone is being unfriendly or mean, simply smile, honey, they need it. They are using those hurtful words to cover their own pain, maybe even their own cry for help. And what do we do for those who need our help?”
“We lend them a hand, a kind word, an ear, and a smile,” I said through sniffles, remembering Mom’s teachings, and she smiled warmly. Instantly, I felt lighter as if seeing her smile alone, took all that hurt away, and I understood exactly what mom meant.
It took a while for them to realize I wouldn’t respond or give them the reaction they were used to because I always preferred to smile my way through the day. Things did get worse before they got better because now, they couldn’t understand why I was happy all the time.
It made me sadfor them. How terrible it must be to live in a world without happiness? Life is infinitely better that way, so I smiled even more, even brighter.
One more turn and I was on the Love Street where all the main stores and business were. I passed Peace-Out Diner, Movie theater by Loveter, Serendipity Groceries and Tough Love gym until I stopped at the empty storefront. It has been like that for the past couple of years after Mrs. Lovzel passed away and her store with fabrics shut down.
I missed it dearly. Just as much as I missed Mrs. Lovzel herself. She was the best kind of person who showed kindness to every soul and loved to walk barefoot too. Coming here was like stepping into a magic book, it was always filled with live textiles, colors that took your breath away, as well as nature inspired ones.
She taught me all I know about sewing and often babysat me when my parents needed it. I still have a few rolls and some of her beads in my sewing cabinet. But now it looks empty and sad, as if all the magic in the world was gone.
“One day, I’ll bring it back. I promise, Mrs. Lovzel,” I said to the empty window, staring right through it as if I could still catch a glimpse of my favorite person when Griffin’s voice broke through my haze.
“Little J?” He stood right behind me in all of his tall, handsome glory. Griffin was the tallest of all the boys I knew and had the prettiest brown eyes. They were like the color of the earth in the morning light, glinting with speckles of gold when the sun shone on them at just the right angle. His hair was much the same and I’ve fought the urge to touch it. To feel it against my skin once more.
About six months ago, the guys—Callum, Griffin, and Luke—were watching a movie in our living room and I asked to join them. All the seats on the couch were taken, so Griff slid down to the floor, offering me his. I was already feeling all tingly at his proximity but then his head shifted, and my fingers accidentally grazed against his hair.
I withdrew my hand quickly, as if being zapped, thanking the sun and the moon it was dark in the room and no one could see my ruby-red cheeks. It felt forbidden to touch him. But I was already in love with him at that point, and I wanted to feel it again. It was almost like a rush of some sorts and an addiction. Something I couldn’t imagine living without any longer.
“Hi,” I said chirpily, but he wasn’t alone. A stark reminder that hewasn’tmineat this moment. Kimmy was with him but that was nothing new these days.
