Petambi and the Moon

Copyright © 2013 Drew Sherer.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Inspiring Voices books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

Inspiring Voices

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.inspiringvoices.com

1 (866) 697-5313

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4624-0906-8 (e)

Inspiring Voices rev. date: 05/07/2014

Contents

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Thanks

About The Author

Reviews of Petambi and the Moon

It’s hard to resist this coming-of-age novel told with the poignancy of the first love it describes. Drew Sherer writes with a sharp eye for detail, a true comic touch, and a gift at times for poetry. The all-color illustrations which accompany this narrative are artworks themselves. This is a unique and rewarding book.

—By Tom Tucker,

author of Brainstorm (Farrar Straus)

and Bolt of Faith (Public Affairs)

She seems for the moment to be inspired by turning her images into books; I feel the results are going to be remarkable.

—Matthew McEnnerney,

President of North Carolina Arts Council, Inc.

Diane’s work is highly original, full of spirit, movement and joy. The freedom and grace in her drawings is as exciting as any art I have ever seen. Diane’s stories are lively, fun, thoughtful and unique.

—Jeremy Oberle, Watercolor Artist

You have become a really fine artist, Diane, I am aware of the beginning of the fulfillment of the ability to ‘become the other,’ not to copy but to transform.

—Sybil Shearer, dancer, Choreographer, and mentor

Diane Tucker Studios

143 South Ridgecrest St.

Rutherfordton, NC 28139

(828) 286 – 0846

(828) 755 – 4961

dtucker143@gmail.com

Introduction

Petambi and the Moon is a celebration of the faithfulness of God as witnessed by the constant presence of the moon each night. It explores the fragile, yet hilarious world of teenage life which vacillates between independence and childhood along with a budding awareness of sexuality. I rewrote my life to understand how Christ moved within. In the searching, stumbling heart of Petambi there are heroic, ridiculous battles with first love, the book of Genesis in the Bible, alcoholism, and the shock of death. Petambi’s friend, Bear, is invisible to all but her. He is fashioned after a Franciscan Friar who was a clown with me for nine years, making children laugh. I hope Petambi and the Moon brings you joy as well.

Other Books by Drew Sherer

Darby Rumbles’ Dolls

Petambi’s Story

Petambi in China

Sam, the Turtle A Christmas Story

The Wall of Faces

The Ever Open Door

Darby and Poochie

Darby Rumbles’ Cell Phone

Darby and the Drapes

Mr Pons and Lillie

How Lillie Became a Fairy

Lillie and the Lute Mute

Henry Noble and the Great Kite Experiment

In my Rose Colored Dress: The Parables of Christ in relation to Tai Chi Ch’uan

Song of Cutting Back, A love Poem

The Great Get Away

The Cherry Tree, a Love Poem.

List of Illustrations

A.  Single Moon

B.  Wish Upon A Star

C.  Dad On Ice

D.  Carol

E.  The Kiss

F.  Judy and Naomi

G.  The Bottom of The Stairs

H.  On The Phone

I.  Restful Sun and Moon

J.  Angels Taking Her to Heaven

K.  Its Cold in Here

L.  Arms of Christ

M.  Hiding Song

N.  Delight in Creation

O.  Piece of Pie

P.  JOHN BAKER ASKED ME OUT

Q.  Stormy Moon

R.  Mary Have Mercy

S.  Blue Moon

T.  The Light From the Moon Flooded Her Chair

U.  Petambi Only Wanted to Die

V.  Peach Orchard

W.  Jagged Moon

X.  Sliver of The Moon

Psalms 89

I will not violate my covenant; the promise of my lips

I will not alter. Once, by my holiness, have I sworn;

I will not be false to David.

His prosperity will continue forever, and

his throne will be like the sun before me;

Like the moon, which remains forever a faithful witness in the sky.

Chapter One

Petambi went to the bathroom and sat on the radiator. It was cold outside and cold in the house, so she often sat on the warm radiator in the winter, hugging herself, letting the heat penetrate her bottom through her skirt. She looked out the window to see snow everywhere, on the trees, covering the backyard, on top of the garages, and piled high on the cars in the driveway. The sun was setting, the sky was pink, a faded light pink, and the sun was a full orange ball behind the black trees. It cast its glowing shadow across the yard, across the cars, the garages, and the hockey rink her dad had created to play with her two brothers. The light fell through the bare trees, over the piles of snow, up the hill, and came almost to the house.

Petambi thought how solemn and somber it was, how rigid and still. There was nothing more romantic, more divinely melancholy, more profoundly introspective than a winter’s day at dusk, and she loved it. The whiteness of the snow, its pure, clear shapes, seemed a cover upon cover upon cover of all kinds of hidden secrets, of unspoken, half sensed truths. The ice, as it shone on the naked trees, made a fairyland of shimmering, delicate forms. She wrote poems about how deeply this affected her spirit. The deadness, the lack of color, the bleak and stark cold, it called to her and lifted her.

But more than this was something else about winter, something she could not even put into words. There was something, something deeply disturbing, something terrible. She often got pneumonia at this time, and often had to stay home.

Petambi stood up and shivered, wanting to think of something else. She went to her closet and got a huge, red sweater that was very warm and old. Putting it on, she returned to the bathroom and sat back down by the window. It had been a good day. After school they had rehearsal for Oklahoma, the musical comedy to be given that year. Petambi was given the part of pigtails, a dancing girl with a lot of enthusiasm. Her good friend, Carol, was fall down, her buddy that kept falling as she tried to keep up with her. They were supposed to flirt with Ado Annie’s beau, Will Parker, who’d just returned from Kansas City. John Baker played the part of Will, and when he sang Everything’s up to date in Kansas City, Petambi about died. He had a beautiful voice, a confident swagger, and a round face with full lips and light blue eyes.

John Baker was a senior, short, not really very smart, but friendly, popular, and on the football team. John Baker was a good dancer, a really good singer, and incredibly good looking. She loved his eyes, the fun in them, and his capacity for goofing around. He always seemed so easy, so sure of himself, so much in control. Just that afternoon he actually kissed her in the lobby. He kissed her and then Carol several times as they practiced part of the dance in Oklahoma! They each danced up to him and then he kissed them on the mouth during the chorus.

Petambi had never really been kissed before, except by her art teacher, Moby, who tasted of cigarettes. Sure, she went steady with Stan Abrams in the eighth grade, but he had braces and she honestly never wanted to kiss him.

She was not prepared for this kiss. It was so full, so sweet, so gentle, and so good. John had beckoned to Carol and her to follow him to the lobby, and all of the sudden, this kiss. Since she had it she was in some kind of a trance. Petambi swooned a little inside.

What you doin? Gramma? Fanny came into the bathroom. She was a very large black woman with a round face, smiling. Fanny was the cook.

Nothing, said Petambi, jumping off the radiator. She left the bathroom and went into her room. The smell of Fannie’s hair dressing filled the hall. It was heavy and sweet, oily. Petambi was used to it. It was exotic to her, speaking of another world, another culture.

What’s for dinner? she asked Fanny as she went to her room.

Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and peas, answered Fanny.

Good, it’s better the second night, Petambi said as she entered her room.

Her room had an alcove with a slanted roof, and that was where her desk was.

She worked there late into the night to get all of her homework done. Next to the desk was a window with a seat below it. She went there, to continue to look at the sun on the snow. I wonder if we’ll practice again tomorrow she thought.

Petambi was a sophomore in high school. She had geometry with Mrs. Critchett, a spindly mouse-like creature with a small voice. Next came English with Mrs. Yelton who was pregnant. They were studying Genesis, the creation of the world, as literature, and watching Mrs. Yelton’s belly grow. English was 2nd period. Petambi liked the rhythm of Genesis, the repetition in it. Notice how God ends each day by looking at his work and saying, ‘It is good.’ Notice how round each statement is. Everyone listened politely, thinking how round she was and bigger every day. She was a short woman, not pretty, with dish water blonde hair, but there was a glow about her, a radiance, a quiet joy. Nothing irritated her, and everything was funny somehow. English was a real treat. Even the trees and winter scene glowed outside as they read Genesis and studied it.

Petambi looked out at the ice on the trees in her backyard. Her stupid poems had been rejected. She tried to get into the literary journal with them, but no one wanted them. Those creeps don’t know what soul is, they just like really hard to understand things. I never like the poems they choose anyway, she thought bitterly. Then she remembered that kiss.

John was short, with a wonderful voice, and a swagger, a graceful kind of walk, and charm, some Irish, blue-eyed charm that was both confident and playful. He was irresistible because there was something underneath, some quality that made him different. Petambi thought about that kiss all the way to dinnertime, and right before she went to sleep, she peeked out at the moon, and wished upon a star that John might like her even half as much as she liked him.

After English Petambi had French with Monsieur Fugart, a young man who was French. She worked hard in this class, but never felt she was good at it. They were reading Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo. It was a wonderful story, so full of dark characters and sad events. Petambi liked the sound of the language, and her favorite times were when they’d read Les Miserables aloud and translate. She hoped to go to France someday and speak French.

After lunch she had biology with her new friend, Leslie, who was her lab partner. Leslie had long stringy brown hair, and she was good in science. Petambi liked her because she didn’t dance. All of Petambi’s other friends, Carol, Naomi, Peggy, and Ellen, were dancers, and she saw them every day at rehearsals and in class. Leslie was different, she liked sports, and she wasn’t interested in Oklahoma. Petambi’d told her all about John. Leslie wasn’t impressed, but listened as they dissected their worm.

Petambi hated science, chemistry, and physics, they made her ill. She preferred to think of water as being whole, not split up into hydrogen and oxygen. Leslie was a great help in biology, she actually enjoyed dissecting a stupid worm.

Petambi was so utterly taken with John Baker she could not tell any of her other friends, she said nothing to Jerry, her sister, or to her mother. It was almost making her sick to her stomach how much she missed him and thought about his kiss. He came walking by her biology lab the next day, and after that she was ready for him when they had their break. Her heart was pounding as if it might explode soon and blow her to bits. Her stomach hurt, it felt like a tight ball. She stood by the door looking nonchalant. This she practiced a great deal at home in front of the mirror. She really had it down. You shift your weight to one side; half peek at one of your nails, and smile slightly. Not a big smile, not a direct look, but a tilted, slightly unfocused, ever so indifferent half-smile. I’ll just think of the moon and of how incomplete it is, and just think of how often it changes, Petambi thought as she practiced her nonchalant look. Then, with a toss of the head, a shift of the weight, a tiny, surprised look, she’d said, oh, Hi, ever so casually. This all sounded very good and felt good, but unfortunately John Baker walked right by her the first time as if he hadn’t kissed her the day before. Shoot, Petambi thought.

The next time went better; he looked at her and said, Hi, as he walked past.

After this she