Green Patches: Part 1 of 2

She carried green patches everywhere she went. My friends and I used to stare at her between classes, watching the slow roll of her hips, the sway of her waist-length hair. All she needed was a tie-dye shirt and open-toed sandals.

The strange thing about Lily was that she didn’t care what we thought. As far as she was concerned the patches were cherished tokens, proof of steps taken to reduce the carbon footprint. She gave them to people who she witnessed recycling, conserving electricity, anything like that. Lily even gave patches to any kid who drove a hybrid car to school for the first time.

“She’s nuts,” one of my friends grumbled at lunch the day things changed. “How much you wanna bet she turns out to be a psycho-lunatic who sets fire to new houses?”

Everyone else snickered. I quashed a spike of guilt and joined in. It took all of middle school and all of freshman year to get in with the popular kids. None of them know that I was best friends with Lily until fifth grade, when she started giving out the homemade patches. Back then, they were colored pencil on recycled paper.

“No, no, no, no,” one of the guys said. “Don’t you know? Greenies are afraid to burn treated lumber now. It pollutes the air!”

The jabs went on like that, killing my appetite. I slipped away from the table and took my tray to the conveyer belt. My juice bottle fell over onto my plate as I set the tray down. It was about half full, so I grabbed it and drank the rest. I tossed the bottle into the blue barrel next to the garbage can.

“That’s one green patch for you,” a melodic voice sang behind me.

“Hey Lily.” I tried for a smile, couldn’t reach one. “How’s it going?”

She had no trouble reaching her own smile. “It’s going. Here’s your patch. Thanks for not wasting the juice or throwing the bottle away.”

She held out the token. This was a newer design. I’d heard her theory was that if she made limited editions, students would do more good in order to collect them all. I didn’t know anyone who cared.

“Um, thanks.”

It was a square with rounded corners. I wasn’t good with fabrics, but I guess it was muslin—like the stuff my grandma used in quilting—dyed green. A small lily was machine embroidered in the middle.

“These new?” I asked.

Lily nodded. “You just got the first one.” Her infectious grinned made me want to match the look. “Besides, you looked like you needed cheering up. Are you cheered up?”

I nodded, careful not to give her an opening. I’ve always been bad at subtlety, and I didn’t want to let it slip how everyone was bad mouthing her.

“Thanks, Lil’. I’ll put it with the others.”

Then she was gone, off to make her midday rounds. All the students were used to her, even that year’s freshmen. She was so, so unflappable that the bullies gave up on teasing her to her face back in sophomore year. The known routine was to thank her, accept the patch, then get away.

The rest of the afternoon went as slow as it ever had. After seventh period, I went to volleyball practice, green patches forgotten. I caught a ride home with one of my teammates. She was one of my friends at lunch that day, although she’d been as quiet as I had been.

“They were brutal,” Kim said. “Sure she’s goofy, but she’s just trying to make things better.”

“Who?” My mind was on an upcoming game, not gossip.

“Lily. Can you believe the crappy things they were saying?”

I stared out the window, watched the rain-soaked world slip by. Guilt unfolded from the small nook of my soul where I’d shoved it.

“I should’ve said something. It’s not fair to dump on someone like that.”

Kim nodded. “Me too. I mean, I laughed with them. How harsh is that? I don’t want to be a jerk, but it just happens around them.”

I leaned the side of my forehead against the cool, damp window. Kim had hit on exactly how I felt. Someone should have stood up to the others. Someone should have defended Lily. She was weird, yet she had never hurt anyone.

Kim dropped me off by the mailbox. I waved as she disappeared into the rain. Yeah, it would’ve been nice if she’d driven me up to the garage, but she was terrified of backing into the street. Besides, it wasn’t a cold rain. Just wet.

The door started rolling up as I lifted the cover to the number pad. I spun around to see if my mom or dad was pulling into the driveway. Nothing. But when the garage door got higher, I saw both vehicles, fresh mud and rain dripped from their gentle curves.

I couldn’t think of a reason for both of my parents to get home early. It wasn’t my birthday or any holiday. I swallowed against the growing lump in my belly. Something wasn’t right.

My mom met me in the kitchen.

“I saw Kim drop you off,” she told me.

“Thanks for opening the door,” I said. I took a seat at the island, on the side where the countertop stuck out half a foot. “What’s up?”

It was then I saw Mom’s eyes were red. Clear snot threatened to drip from her nose.

“Theresa, I have bad news.”

* * * * *

…to be continued