The Ever Part of Always: Keely Tucker's First Adventure

By Toby K. Davis

Ten-year-old Keely Rosalie Tucker is a modern-day knight with no armor. Constantly bullied by a neighbor boy, Keely struggles to find her place in the world in which she is comforted only by the stories her Gramms has told her about enchanted, faraway places, where unicorns, fairi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inks and Bindings, LLC
• Release date: Feb 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886151145

Toby K. Davis

Toby K. Davis一名作家、商人、管理官员和教师，曾随美国外交官配偶周游世界。通过她的写作，她希望激励儿童相信自己、探索他们的想象力，并发现世界。托比目前与她的丈夫罗伯一起居住在弗吉尼亚州阿灵顿。

Book preview

Foreword

Foreword

It is a great pleasure to write this foreword for Toby K. Davis’s book, which I highly recommend. The Ever Part of Always—Keely Tucker’s First Adventure is a novel about love and friendship across human generations but also about being open to giving and receiving these from nonhuman creatures. It deploys a tremendously rich and captivating vocabulary to convey beauty and wonder in the nature that surrounds us. On behalf of Keely and her friends, it finds unexpected possibilities for comfort and surprise in clouds and in rainbows and their colors, colors that become tinted rivers and homes to new and friendly, and not so friendly, creatures. The wind is a transmission belt of thought-words and sentiments, crossing great distances and different stages of the human condition. The cosmos, home to the clouds, rainbows, winds, secret caves, and dark pools, always described with great appeal to the imagination, is a constant backdrop to Keely’s adventures.

The book is soaked in imagery and situations—from thought language to wondrous unicorns and dragons—whose lineage draws from the timeless fairy tales of the past. But Keely, a heroine if there ever was one, is hardly a princess. She lives firmly in the twenty-first century, and it is not a pretty setting. Hard times; a difficult, somewhat neurotic mother; a father constantly on the road and never there for her; poor performance at school—a litany of woes befall her, all too familiar to our current age. It is her ability to turn it all off—to tune it out and step into a parallel universe of magical properties that envelop her as she takes on responsibility for her dying unicorn friend and embarks on a quest for a special potion—that makes Keely so appealing to the reader, keen to fully join in her adventures. Her canine friend, Growler, and feline boon companion, Meowcher, are almost surrogates for the kids who will read this book, wishing they could be there to ensure that Crea, the infirm unicorn, finally drinks the magic elixir.

Keely is everything any one of us would like to be. She is resourceful and quick thinking as she contemplates each new set of predicaments. She is focused on her goal to save Crea. She is adaptive as she draws water from clouds and uses dragon scales as stepping stones while descending the steep slopes flanking a magical waterfall. She is fearless in sidestepping dragons and ahead of everyone else in learning how to fly from a unicorn. The Ever Part of Always is a great book, which will perhaps encourage kids to revise their thinking of what they can do, to convert, in Keely’s words, the im- possible to the is-possible. One starts with imagination, after all, and this may be the book to spark the thought that becomes, as the saying goes, father to the deed.

—Albert A. Thibault, retired senior diplomat, served in highest positions at several US embassies abroad and is currently writing a book on US-Indian relations.

Preface

Preface

Who would have thought my shriveled heart

Could have recovered greenness?

George Herbert, The Flower (1633)

To see a world in a grain of sand

And a heaven in a wild flower

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand

And eternity in an hour.

William Blake, Auguries of Innocence (1803)

Imagination is more important than knowledge…

Albert Einstein

The Ever Part of Always—Keely Tucker’s First Adventure is about a child’s journey from despair to belief, from low esteem to feelings of self-worth, utilizing the only tool at her disposal, imagination—the key to hope. The story is filled with images that invade one’s peace of mind and characters that touch the heart. Themes intermingle as Keely undergoes the transformation; love, forgiveness, and a will to succeed push her to do things she never dreamed of accomplishing. Others around her are inspired by her tenacity to overcome her fears, to find solutions where none seemed possible. Unicorns, fire dragons, other mythical beasts, magical potions, and waterfalls from the edge of heaven to the ever part of always enrich the adventure to the final conclusion.

Sticks and stones

May break my bones

But words

Shall never hurt

Me.

Anonymous Nursery Rhyme

Chapter 1. Sticks

Chapter One

Sticks

The gold dust trickled in a slow, steady stream through the cupped, gritty palm of Keely Rosalie Tucker. Little globs stuck in the corners of her bent knuckles as she tried to slip the precious glitter into the silver mesh bag, a retired purse of her grandmother’s, which Keely had unretired from the Goodwill sack. Keely’s forehead was streaked with sweat and yellow-flecked sand. Gathering gold dust was serious business that demanded total concentration, and timing was crucial. It had to be completed before the sun reached the highest point in the sky. She must remember and utter the words exactly as her grandmother taught her nearly five years ago, on her fifth birthday. Only the wind could catch the whispers of the sounds and whistle them far away to that place no one has ever been, where mists are hung with rainbows and trees are ribboned with stars. There, unicorns breathe purple air, nibble gently on the glittery fruit, and line clouds with slivers of their laughter—awaiting the distant call of a child.

Chapter 1: Gathering gold dust was serious business.

Gathering gold dust was serious business.

What on earth do you think you’re doing? If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times: change your clothes before you start playing out here in this dirt pile. Get in the house and do it right now. One! Two! Keely didn’t want her mom to get to three, which meant automatic grounding and even louder yelling.

I’m going. I’m going. The tears slipped silently inside Keely’s eyes. The moment was gone again. Would it ever be right? Her mom would never understand. How could she when Keely was not sure she understood it herself?

Keely stood and brushed off the precious sand from her favorite outfit— dark indigo, boot-cut jeans, and a stripy red and white T-shirt, layered with last year’s faded blue, double-pocketed, western shirt—sleeves rolled up. Her gray and white skinny striped socks, reserved for good days, peeked out at the ankles from deep purple, laceless, look-alike Converse sneakers. All of the pieces, past birthday gifts from her grandmother, were bought on final clearance at Wal-Mart or Target stores in Memphis. However, Keely was the one who put the outfits together to match her mood. Her bangs nearly covered her brows, and she took a moment to flip back her self-made, slightly lopsided, double ponytails—the one on the left side riding higher above her ear than the right—unveiling the deep emerald eyes flashing with resignation. Small clumps of mahogany hair escaped the red scrunchies, scrunched too tightly against her head.

As she turned to walk toward her house, she realized she had forgotten her gold dust bag and returned to fetch it from the other side of the dirt pile. A loud, familiar voice challenged her, Hey, dimwit! Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you. Get over here and scrape the mud off my bike. You know what I’ll do if you don’t do it now. Gads, I can hardly believe that I’m allowing such a loser like you to touch my bike. You’re too stupid to realize the special honor I’m giving you, but my daddy always told me to be kind to dumb animals, and that’s what I’m doing. You know, they should call you Dum-dum Tucker, or better yet, Dumbo, cause you’re so slow and so dumb. Dumbo, Dumbo, D-u- m-b-o, Dumbo is your name-o, sang Darrell. Don’t try to use grass either. Polish the fenders with your shirt.

Darrell was the biggest kid in the fourth grade and Bully was his middle name. He teased kids, trying to make them cry; stole cookies and puddings from lunch boxes; and twisted arms, giving out rope burns as presents if any kid told the teachers. Darrell preyed on the weaker ones, those who were afraid of him and never fought back. Unfortunately, he was Keely’s neighbor and lived four houses down the alley from her. Harassing and teasing her were Darrell’s main hobbies, and he was constantly following her so he could yell mean things and try to make her cry.

At the moment, Keely stood in no man’s land, as Gramps used to call that space where you never wanted to be—too far from the house to make it, even in a dead run, and out of earshot to call for her mom’s help. She turned toward Darrell, a few steps away. There was no escape.

Keely’s inaudible sigh joined the tears within the secret pool in her heart, where she tried to store all of the bad things. She heard her own heart pounding with fear. I’ll do it, Darrell. She slowly approached the big, black bike with a bolted-on metal strip to replace a broken pedal and fading decals of flames curling across the fenders. She longed to tell him to take back the words, but Darrell had threatened her before, and she knew he would do it again if he were disobeyed. Her grandmother, Gramms to Keely, taught her this trick of sliding bad words into a bottomless pool deep within herself, drowning their pain, but it didn’t always work, and this was one of those times when she wasn’t succeeding. The pain kept rippling, boiling on top of the bubbles, refusing to sink, like other times when her mom lashed out at her with angry words or when her teacher put her in the punishment, time-out corner for four hours for missing all of the spelling words. As she recalled those incidents, her chin trembled ever so slightly and a sigh escaped, and with it, a single tear.

Darrell’s reaction was immediate. With a bounding leap, he was on her, beating the ground around her with the intricately carved, driftwood cane he always carried, letting it land just in front of her forearms with every third whack to scare her even more. Keely backed away from the stick. She was more afraid of the cane than Darrell, as it appeared to have dragons’ heads and devils engraved by the sea, their voices bruising her with each stroke. You’re nothing! You’re worthless! You’re stupid!

Darrell’s own words were dim ricochets of ones she had heard before—I saw that tear. I’ll give you something to cry about.

And he did. The words left welts on her arms, even though the stick never touched her.

After Darrell finally left, Keely attempted to open the battered, repeatedly mended kitchen screen door and slip in the back door. She wanted to shuffle unnoticed by the kitchen, where her mom sat sorting the bills into the pay-now and pay-later piles, with the pay-later pile even higher than normal this month. Keely self-consciously yanked on the rolled-up sleeves of her layered shirt, trying to stretch them into long ones to cover the imaginary dragon and devil bites, and wiped away her tears of fright with her fist. Her mom had enough problems but could never resist the urge to turn Keely’s problems into Keely’s fault. This was no exception.

Well, Keely, what happened to you? Have you been crying? Did that nasty neighbor kid threaten you again? I saw him earlier hanging around the alley on his bike and told him to keep out of our yard. I thought I told you to stay out of Darrell’s way so he couldn’t tease you. When will you ever learn to leave bullies like him alone and keep your mouth shut so he won’t use that as an excuse to bother you? I’ve talked to his mom and tried to get her to control him, but that hasn’t worked, so it’s up to you. Run away. Don’t let him bully you.

But—

Don’t ‘but’ me, Missy, her mom continued. And don’t come sniffling to me when you don’t do what you’re told and bring this stuff on yourself. Get cleaned up and fix us some lunch. Get out the Jim Beam too; a fresh drink will help me concentrate on getting these bills paid. Jim Beam also helped her get through the long, lonely nights when Keely’s dad was on the road on one of those interminable, generic business trips that could stretch into weeks. Keely never knew exactly where or why her dad traveled, but the when was obvious. Bottles of Jim, Kentucky’s finest, yet one of the cheapest bourbon whiskeys, always appeared when he disappeared. The problem was that Jim often unleashed her mom’s tongue and left Keely with word volcanoes to drown in her secret pool.

Keely changed clothes first and tiptoed to the kitchen, keeping her eyes down, her shoulders hunched over, and her stomach clenched in as tightly as possible, trying to vanish. She prepared lunch on the Formica-topped table, cracking, yellowed with age and stains of dinners past—the pattern of stardust, deglittered, destarred forever, rubbed invisible with Clorox sprays. Nearly the same model stood in kitchens of Keely’s friends, and it, along with the others, had seen better days, as her dad used to say. Keely slathered some canned tuna fish and mayonnaise on the slightly stale wheat bread. Next, she filled up a tumbler with ice, carefully placed Jim on the table beside her mom, stuffed her own sandwich in her knapsack, and quietly edged out the back door. She put her index finger in the screen to catch it before it clattered against the doorframe, hoping to conceal her departure.

And she did.

Chapter 2. Gramms’s Mantra

Chapter Two

Gramms’s Mantra

Keely breathed deeply, threw her head back, and drank in the blueness of the sky, swallowing the darkness till another day. She raced across the street, arms outstretched, flying down the hill to her special place in the slightly overgrown, neglected-for-lack-of-funds neighborhood park. Her grandfather, just Gramps to Keely, said the city’s money always ran out before it reached their part of town, whether it was for schools, hospitals, parks, or streets. Keely’s mom told her it was this lack-of-funds disease that killed her grandfather, not the cancer. Her eyes slid without stopping over the piles of uncollected litter, broken glass, and paint-peeling park benches and rested on a circle of trees. Upon seeing her four closest friends, she announced her arrival with a joyous whoop.

I’m here at last. Yahoo! She grabbed Shorty’s arm and hugged it close as she swung back and forth; giggles of joy bubbled out, crinkling her eyes and tips of her lips, until she let go and collapsed on the ground in a pile of leftover leaves. Snuggling down, she began moving her arms vigorously in a peacocking motion, and her legs copycatted the energy. Leaf Angels, I command thee to rise and fly to the hidden places, find the unicorn and plead my case. I feel there is so little time before—time before what, I don’t know, but it’s creeping up my neck, shivering my ears. Something awful is going to happen. She jumped up and embraced each of her other friends, squeezing them with all her might; two were white birch trees like Shorty, and one was a humongous weeping willow named Will. As she turned to face Will, she failed to see the angeled outline of leaves carried off by the wind, toward the sun and what lie beyond.

Shorty, Lefty, Will, and Chartreudy, named for her blistering, birch skin, which was more chartreuse than white, had been Keely’s friends since her very first visit to the park with her grandmother seven years ago. Gramms told Keely that you always called the trees by people names to show them you actually were their friends. Keely picked their names that day, and since she had just learned the color chartreuse in preschool, it made sense to use her new vocabulary. It was appropriate context, according to her grandmother. Shorty, of course, was the shortest tree, and Lefty had only one left-sided branch that was low enough for Keely to reach.

One can count on tree friends, who always will be there for you, offering real support when you’re sagging inside. They don’t yell or push you away if you’re ugly or sad or have been bad. But most of all, they’re good listeners and hold what you say in confidence. They don’t blabber and, in fact, held hundreds of Keely’s secrets. Now, as often before, she climbed to the top of Will’s shoulder, leaned her head upon him, unclenched her stomach, and whispered the pain words with the inner tears released on the slender leaves, darkening their green, adding to their weep. At that moment, she stood up like a ramrod—Gramps always said to stand ramrod straight, and even though she didn’t know what that meant, she imagined she was standing this way—in the top boughs of Will’s embrace. Tilting her head back, she brushed the light with her fingertips, as always, trying to print the untouchable rainbows skirting the clouds after a rain. Her pain released; she was ready for whatever the world had to offer her that day. Inhaling deeply of the sky’s blue, she was overwhelmed with an all-at-once tiredness that ached her bones. Keely decided to rest for just a moment, curled herself up like a kitten cuddling stray