Mandolyn

Cindy hated her name, almost as much as she hated Uncle Bemis. She hated her name because it was soft and cute and cuddly, all the things she strived not to be. She thought about the creaky barn door on their farm in Sugar Creek, Ohio. That door never stayed closed. Papa said the door wasn't hewn right. But Cindy Sievers knew it wasn't the door's fault. The door was made just fine. It just didn't fit there in that jam. That was the way it was with Cindy's name. It just didn't fit on her.

On her ninth birthday, she heard the whispers.

Cindy had gone to bed early that night because she wasn’t feeling well. It was on account of her decision to linger at the supper table and have a second slice of Mama’s apple cake, which she had made special for Cindy’s birthday. Since it was Sunday, and family day, they were expected to spend the evening socializing. No sulking in her bedroom with her diary or playing with her new record player. It was either a second slice of cake or one of three other choices… help Mama with the dishes in the kitchen, go into the parlor and play checkers with Papa, who would surely whoop her since he was a master checkers player and never let her win like most older folks, or go for a walk with papa’s brother, Uncle Bemis and her older brother, Louis. She knew Louis would dart off somewhere on his own and she’d be left alone with her uncle.

Despite her sour stomach, she knew it had been a good decision to have a hankering for more apple cake. But something else made her stomach ache, too. She dreaded another nightly visit from Uncle Bemis.

She yawned again and again, but pinched herself to stay awake and clenched two blankets up to her neck, too many blankets for such a hot night.

And then the whispers started. They floated in from the farmyard below. The voice, slightly feminine in nature, was enticing and mysterious, and the moonlight was inviting through her open window. Cindy dug under her bed to find her rubber boots and tugged them on, then crept out of her room. She used the back stairs, which were on the opposite end of the house, far from the other three bedrooms, where Mama and Papa and Louis and Uncle Bemis were sleeping.

As eager as she was to get outside, Cindy inched down the stairs, placing each foot toe to heel, toe to heel. If she woke anyone, she knew the whispers would stop, and her secret adventure would be over. Her right boot squeaked on the landing by the kitchen, and she stopped, scrunching up her face and listening. But the only response from the household was a sputtering from Papa’s throat, mid-snore, and the continued breathy murmur from the farmyard. The white kitchen curtains glowed neon blue in the moonlight and billowed inward with every whisper. She began to make out the words.

Well, one word, to be precise.

It was Mandolyn.

When she first stepped outside, it was quiet, save for the crickets’ rhythmic chirping and the beckoning calls of, “Mandolyn… Mandolyn…” But as she walked past the chicken coop, the hens started clucking and Daisy, their milk cow, started mooing from the barn.

It was quite the ruckus, and Cindy expected to see Papa or Uncle Bemis charging outside with the shotgun any second, fixing to shoot whatever varmint was sneaking about. Uncle Bemis had been staying with them for about a month now, and the only thing he was good at was drinking beer and shooting poor critters. Luckily, all the bedroom windows remained dark. The animals settled down again, and Cindy breathed a sigh of relief.

She followed the whispers, and in her haste, she leaped over the ravine and slid down into the mud, ruining her nightgown. A smear of river sludge darkened the pale pink cotton from hem to knees. Cindy was rehearsing credible excuses to tell her Mama the next day, when a flicker of light caught her eye from the top of the old Ash tree. The spot of light was pulsating and green, and as she neared the tree, something vibrated in her. The whispered voice was endearing and hopeful.

Was it the tree itself or something in the tree calling to her? Cindy didn’t care which it was. She threw her arms around the tree, pressed her cheek against the cool, rough wood and listened to the voice calling, “Mandolyn…” Cindy played with her dolls or read her storybooks beneath that tree almost every afternoon from the beginning of summer to the end of summer. Papa threatened to cut it down because it was full of so many bugs, and it was old and gnarly. But his biggest concern is that its long branches were a favorite perch and vantage point for black crows to spy on his precious corn. Every spring, when Papa waved his axe and hollered at the corn thieves lining the branches, Cindy tugged on his arm and begged him not to do it. And so the tree stayed.

As she hugged the tree, she asked, “Who are you? What is Mandolyn?”

“That’s you,” the voice said, much louder than before. Cindy looked up and saw a green beetle that glowed like a nightlight. It was about two inches long with enormous, orange eyes, and it crawled down one of the tree’s largest branches. It was coming toward her, but she wasn’t afraid. She liked bugs. She had always liked bugs and never stepped on them or tortured them the way Louis did when he was bored. When ladybugs got caught in the house, she gave them a bit of sugar water and let them go, and when she was making bouquets for her mother, she never picked red clover because she knew the honeybees savored it.

When it reached the end of the branch, the bug fluttered two little blue wings on its back, and it hopped onto her forearm. It was a strange sensation, not like a caterpillar or an ant feels when it crawls across your hand. It was warm and tingly. The bug vibrated the way their barn cats did when they were lounging in the hayloft.

“What do you mean, that’s me?” she asked the bug.

“You are Mandolyn,” the bug said.

“Well, it’s a nice name. But I’m Cindy.” And she shrugged. “Even though that’s never felt quite right.” Mandolyn. It was a good name. She wished it was true.

“It is true,” the bug said, blinking its eyes.

What kind of bug has eyelids, she wondered. And what kind of bug can read minds? The funny thing is it felt perfectly normal to stand there talking to a bug in the middle of the night. After all, she was only nine years old and didn’t know all the rules yet. Then again, maybe it wasn’t a bug. Maybe it was some kind of alien.

“Truth be told, you’re the alien,” he said. “We were here first. We’ve been populating this place for many millennia, a lot longer than you have.” He said it matter-of-factly and with a soothing, pleasant hiss. Cindy realized he wasn’t whispering at all. It was just the way he talked. “That’s why our kind has your kind outnumbered. Just look around, Mandolyn.”

“Yes, there are a lot of you,” she agreed. “But why am I Mandolyn?” Every time she said it, a smile teased her lips. Her hand raced up to cover her mouth. It was tempting to smile, out here in the dark, where no one could see except her new alien bug friend.

Smiling or wearing pretty dresses brought unwanted attention.

“You have always been Mandolyn. I should know. I’m the one who named you. You may be Cindy in human terms, but to us, you are Mandolyn.” He hummed a little, wiggled his wings and then said, “Consider it your warrior name.”

“I am Mandolyn,” she said with more conviction in her voice. Her warrior name. And it fit, all the way from her toes to the top of her head.

He introduced himself as Jaspar Kohodinan and said that he would be her guide.

“We have met before,” he said. “I came to you on the day of your birth. I was drawn to the light inside you.”

“A light? What color is it? Is it as pretty as yours?” Cindy jumped up and down a few times, and Jaspar had to cling on to the sleeve of her nightgown for dear life.

“Your light will be beautiful, but you cannot see it yet. Now, let me tell you why I summoned you,” Jaspar paused to groom one long black antenna and fluttered his blue wings. “I have three messages to give you, one tonight. I will return with a new message, once every five years, until you are grown. Are you ready for the first message?”

“Yes. Tell me! Is it a secret message?” Like all nine-year-old girls, Cindy loved secrets. Well, most secrets. Some secrets were harder to keep.

Jaspar crawled up to her shoulder and murmured in her ear. “You are smart, as all warriors are. And you will find the answers. Stop troubling your mind. Just close your eyes and listen, and the answer will be there.”

He blinked orange eyes at her and then said, “Goodbye, Mandolyn.” He opened his wings and flew straight up into the darkness.

She watched the fading twinkle of green light and sighed with a heavy heart. They’d only just met, and he was already leaving her. She repeated her new mantra as she walked back to the house. “I am Mandolyn. I am smart.” She was fixing on being a lot smarter from here on out.

Just as she’d hoped, over beside the porch, an assortment of laundry was waving from the clothesline. Thankfully, Mama was a little more relaxed about chores on Sundays.

Cindy snatched down a pair of her overalls and a t-shirt, removed her soiled nightgown, and redressed in the clean clothes. The ground was still wet from a recent rainstorm, and she got an idea. She ran over to the side of the house and found the hedge that stood beneath her bedroom window, then stuffed the nightgown down into the mud behind the hedge. She would tell mama it blew right outta her hands when she was dressing and flew out the window. That would explain the muddy stain. She felt smarter already.

Once inside the house, Cindy yawned and closed her eyes, and the answer was there, just as Jaspar said it would be. She snuck over to the kitchen counter and poured herself a mug of Papa’s strong black coffee. The first gulp was awful and bitter and burned her throat. But the rest went down easier after she squeezed her nose shut between her fingers, like she did when Mama made her take cod liver oil.

Well, the coffee did the trick and it kept her awake alright. When she heard Uncle Bemis outside her bedroom door at one o’clock in the morning, she hollered out for Mama.

She heard Mama and Papa’s bedroom door fly open and the thud and crash of Uncle Bemis’s beer bottle on the hallway floor. He cursed and she heard them talking for a spell, and Uncle Bemis went back to his own room. Mama, of course, came in to see what the cause for all her racket was. Cindy said she saw a monster under her bed.

After four nights of this, and varying shades of the same story, except sometimes Cindy said it was a rat she saw skittering out from under her dresser, things started to change in the Sievers household. Anyway, she guessed Uncle Bemis got caught outside her bedroom door one too many times, and Papa asked him to find his own place.

Her brother, Louis started giving her funny, longish looks after that and was a lot nicer to her, even letting her tag along when he went off to the fishing hole with his buddies.

Any kind of sibling clinginess on her part was a cardinal sin before, and she wondered what had changed. Still, it was a nice change, and Cindy embraced it. She and Louis became a lot closer that summer.

She continued to recite her mantra for the next five years, “I am Mandolyn, and I am smart.” It helped her ace many a math test. And she made honor roll every year, well into sixth grade. Cindy doodled her warrior name in her diary, on her school notebooks, old t-shirts, the rubber tips of her sneakers. When mama saw the word, “Mandolyn” and asked her what it meant, Cindy felt it would dishonor her alien bug friend to tell a lie.

She answered, “It’s my warrior name, Mama.” Her mama just laughed and said she had quite an imagination.

On her fourteenth birthday, her family had a picnic to celebrate. Everybody came. Her Mama, Papa and Louis, of course, and much to her chagrin, Louis’s new girlfriend, Annette, who was a bit too perky for Cindy’s liking. But Cindy tried to be nice to her, all the same, even if the girl’s breasts did sort of point at you. Cindy fluffed out the front of her oversized t-shirt. The thought of her own breasts being on display made her cringe and scrunch her shoulders forward.

Also at the picnic, were Aunt Gladys, who was her mother’s sister, cousin Harold and Uncle Bemis. Cindy said a curt hello to Uncle Bemis, but hugged his new wife, June, and Ruthie, her four-year-old daughter from a previous marriage. Cindy liked her new aunt and adored Ruthie. When they came to visit, Cindy played Ring-around-the-rosey and Patty cakes with the little girl, who tossed back her head of blonde curls and giggled at almost anything.

They had a feast. There were BBQ ribs, slathered in Papa’s special sauce, and corn-on-the-cob, freshly picked from their own fields, huge slices of beefsteak tomatoes and cucumbers and Mama’s homemade potato salad. And Aunt June baked her a chocolate birthday cake, which was leaning a little to one side, but that was okay, because it tasted like heaven. Cindy unwrapped a dozen or more birthday gifts, including a microscope from her parents.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She raced over to her parents, showering them with kisses for the unexpected gift.

It was exactly what she wanted, but Papa had been teasing her all week about getting her something “pretty.” She loved all the gifts, except the frilly dress from Aunt Gladys.

As the day stretched on, Cindy thought about Jaspar and wondered if he had been a childhood delusion. A visit from Jaspar would top off a perfect birthday. Perhaps he only came at night?

When everyone was busy chowing down on birthday cake and fresh slices of watermelon, Cindy heard the whispers, and knew it was her old friend calling. She excused herself from the party, saying she had to check on Daisy, and snuck off to the other side of the house, to the end of the farmyard.

Jaspar was perched at the top of the tree when she reached it. He was a sight for sore eyes, glistening emerald in the afternoon sun. He was even more beautiful in the daylight. Five years was a long time to wait.

Her alien bug friend flew down and landed directly on her shoulder this time.

“Jaspar. Finally,” she said, with a long sigh. “I was beginning to think I’d imagined the whole thing.”

“Hello, Mandolyn. I see you have grown into a fine, young maiden.”

She blushed at his remark. “Thank you. And you haven’t changed a bit. Tell me, Jaspar.

Why can’t I see you every day? Or at least every year? I missed you!”

“I have other work to do, you know. But you are one of my favorite charges, I must say.” He jittered his wings and stood up on his back legs. It seemed as if the distance between her shoulder and her ear had increased since their first meeting. “Now to the order of business. The second message. Are you ready to hear it?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Young Mandolyn… you are brave, as all warriors are. You will stand up for what is right.

You will fight against what is wrong. You will not be afraid to speak the truth.”

She smiled at him as he moved down her arm and onto the tip of her index finger.

“I am brave,” she said. “Thank you. But do you have to go so soon?”

“I’m afraid so, my friend.” He flew away.

When she got back to the picnic, Cindy noticed Ruthie sitting in Uncle Bemis’ lap. He tightened his hold around Ruthie’s waist, and flashed Cindy a smile. Every encounter with Uncle Bemis happened in slow motion, and she remembered them in great detail.

She wished she had the benefit of a poor memory. She knew what his semi-toothless sneer meant, and it sickened her. Was he visiting Ruthie’s bedroom at night? The little girl’s red polka dotted skirt was bunched up, and he blew raspberries into her soft neck. Ruthie didn’t laugh, but Uncle Bemis did it again and again.

“Ci Ci!” Ruthie spotted her and called out in her baby gibberish way. “I want Ci Ci!” Her pudgy little arms were outstretched toward her as she walked past. Cindy dipped into the ice chest for a beer and handed it to Uncle Bemis.

“A fresh brew, Uncle Bemis? It’s okay. I’ll take Ruthie for a while.” She didn’t give him a chance to protest and pulled Ruthie up into her arms. “Come on, sweetie.” Cindy snuggled Ruthie and carried her around on her shoulders for a while. Then, seeing Uncle Bemis looking their way, she carried Ruthie to the front porch where her Mama and Aunt Gladys were sitting, where it was safe.

Mama said, “Oh! What a little pumpkin you are. Come to auntie!”

“Oh no! You had her for quite a spell already,” said Aunt Gladys. “My turn!” Both women held out their arms, competing for Ruthie.

Cindy handed her over to Mama, deciding it might earn her brownie points the next time she was late feeding the chickens. Aunt Gladys stuck her tongue out at Mama.

Jaspar’s words came to mind. “You are brave, as all warriors are.”

Cindy turned and headed straight for Aunt June and asked if they could talk. And she did as Jaspar advised. She wasn’t afraid to speak the truth. Until that day, Cindy had never told anyone about Uncle Bemis, but that little girl’s life was a good reason to start talking. At first, Aunt June was agitated, even angry, when she heard what Cindy had to say about Uncle Bemis and his nighttime visits. But then Cindy saw something in her eyes that said maybe she’d think about it, or maybe some things had already happened at home that made it worth thinking about, maybe keeping an eye on. She knew how much June loved her baby girl, and she’d do right by her.

It wasn’t long after that June kicked Uncle Bemis out of the house and filed for divorce. Uncle Bemis called Papa, trying to bunk at our house again, but Cindy guessed Papa had a long memory of the last time he came to stay with them, and Papa said no.

After that, Uncle Bemis moved upstate, and they didn’t see much of him. But June and Ruthie stuck around and continued to be part of the family.

Louis went off to New York and was studying law. Cindy graduated from high school and received a full scholarship to the College of Agriculture - University of Kentucky, where she studied to become an Entomologist. Her plans were to discover new, humane methods of pest-control, which were organic and non-toxic. She owed it to Jaspar and the alien bugs on their planet. She legally changed her name from Cindy Sievers to Mandolyn Sievers, which confused both her parents and her brother, but they adjusted.

At last, she felt like her true self, wearing her warrior name every day.

On a visit home in August, she and her parents celebrated her nineteenth birthday.

Louis couldn’t make it home that summer, and everyone knew it was because of a girl.

Mandolyn thought he was selling out. She had yet to feel any attraction toward the opposite sex. She kept her head in the books and on her studies. And though she exhausted every resource, asked every professor in the entomology department and poured through numerous field guides, there was no reference to a species of glowing green beetles. Finding one with the capacity for language and telepathic powers was definitely out of the question.

On the night of Mandolyn’s birthday, she heard Jaspar’s whispers again. They drifted in through her open window, and she followed them to the tree. His voice was a little tinny, a little hoarse, compared to previous visits, and she wondered if alien bugs aged.

Jaspar crawled very slowly down the branch and onto her shoulder. “Happy Birthday, Mandolyn. I was happy to learn your human name and your warrior name are one and the same, as it should be.” His glow was barely perceptible now, and a thin peach-colored film shrouded his once-bright orange eyes.

“Yes, I am a warrior, through and through now. I have changed so much since our first meeting. I used to be afraid of so many things.” Mandolyn kissed the tip of her finger and touched his domed back. “Thank you. I’m so happy to see you, my friend!”

“My time is short. Let me give you your final message.”

That was Jaspar, always getting to the business at hand. “I am ready.”

“Are you ready?” He asked again, peering up her with clouded eyes.

Mandolyn’s heart ached. Perhaps Jaspar’s hearing was going, as well as his eyesight.

“Yes, I am ready for my message,” she said with complete reverence.

“You are beautiful, as all warriors are. Your light shines from the inside. Do not conceal your inner light. Let it out and stand proud. Let the world see your beauty.”

“Beauty? Warriors are not beautiful.” She almost shouted it. It felt like her last message was a complete farce. She waited five years for this?

“It is not a farce,” he said.

Damn. Mandolyn forgot his powers of telepathy.

“And I can hear every word you’re thinking, despite my auditory deficiency.”

“Sorry,” she croaked.

“Yes, warriors are beautiful,” he said. “Anything that is both wise and brave is also beautiful because it inspires hope in others to achieve the same greatness. Think, Mandolyn. One cannot stop gazing at a bright light. It is mesmerizing. You have that light in you.”

He flicked his wings and descended her arm. “Your final message is to be vulnerable, allow your light out so that it can inspire others to equal greatness. If you fail in this, you will have wasted our decade together. And yes, your children will have that same light.”

“Me have kids? Yuck,” she said. “I think that decision is up to me.”

“You will marry and bear children, and your daughter will come to this tree. And she will receive her first message from my son. That’s the cycle of life.”

“Far out,” she said, with a little more enthusiasm, but also a touch of sarcasm. But who was she to question an alien bug prophet?

“Time to go. Our last goodbye.” Jaspar curled his antennae up and lifted off.

As his light faded high above her, Mandolyn realized that her life would have been vastly different without Jaspar, and she wondered if his last message, however silly it seemed, would have as great an impact on her life as the others had.

The answer is yes. But it took a while longer than the others to put into practice. At first, Mandolyn hesitated to heed Jaspar’s advice. It was such an alien -- pardon the pun -- concept. Beauty had never played any part in her life. But she came to realize that a true warrior walks in the light, not cowering in the shadows.

Over time, she embraced her beauty. Mandolyn started by dressing like a girl. For the first time ever, she bought a dress and wore it out in public. Dressing pretty did invite attention, but she laid her fears to rest and blossomed into a true warrior woman.

During her final year at college, she met a fellow entomology student and fell in love.

His name was Raif, and he was kind and good. And he shared Mandolyn’s love of insects. An opportunity arose when her parents retired and moved to Florida. She and Raif had been married a few years by then and were thinking about buying their first home. Moving into the farmhouse in Sugar Creek made complete sense.

The farm needed some fixing up, and the first thing on their list was the barn. That old barn door still refused to stay closed. And so they took it off and found a new home for it, where it fit perfectly. It became the front door to their new office. And on it, they mounted their company sign, which read, “Jaspar Organics. Healthy bugs mean healthy food.”

Swinging on the front porch one cool April evening, Raif reached over and held Mandolyn’s hand. With her other hand, Mandolyn rubbed her swollen belly and looked out across the farmyard toward the old Ash tree. She saw a tiny green glow at the very top, and Raif said, “Look at that. It’s early for lightning bugs.”

And she said, “No, he’s right on time."