Juno and the Wobbly Tomorrow

Pock. Pock. Pock. Three moonflowers opened along the path, one, then two, then three, and Juno the hedgehog stood up on her back paws to watch. She was a small hedgehog with soft brown prickles and a watering can she took everywhere. Every night she watered the moonflowers in the Night Garden. The flowers opened for her and for the moon.

Down the path, the fountain talked quietly to itself. Hush, hush, hush, it went, over and over. Juno always said the fountain was counting under its breath. The garden smelled of jasmine and wet earth and green things growing.

Tonight, though, something was different. At supper Mama had said, "Tomorrow we see Dr. Fern for your check-up." Juno had nodded and eaten her soup. But out here by the moonflowers, the feeling arrived.

"My tummy feels wobbly," Juno told the fountain. "Wobbly like jelly. Wobbly like a leaf in wind." The wobble sat right under her ribs and would not keep still.

Juno tried to squeeze it out. She curled up tight, nose to toes, prickles up like a chestnut. She squeezed and she squeezed. The wobble squeezed right along with her. "Hmph," said Juno, and she uncurled. "That didn't work."

So she ran. Three fast laps around the fountain, pat-pat-pat went her feet on the stones. But the wobble ran too, faster and faster, right beside her. Juno stopped, all puffed out. "That didn't work either."

Then she crawled under the biggest burdock leaf and pulled it over her head like a blanket. It was dark and green and quiet under there. The wobble came in after her and sat down. "Oh," said Juno. "You're still here."

Thump, thump, thump came up the path. It was Ines, her big sister, with her scarf trailing behind her. "Little Juno," said Ines, crouching down low. "Why are you being a mushroom?"

Juno told her everything. "Tomorrow I go to the doctor, and my tummy feels wobbly, and I don't know what happens." Her voice went small at the end, like a pebble dropped in the fountain.

Ines sat down on a warm stone. "A wobbly tummy is a big feeling," she said. "It's called worried. I get worried on the night before new things, right here." She put her paw on her chest. Juno put her paw on her own chest and could feel her heart going tap, tap, tap.

"Would you like to know what happens at Dr. Fern's?" asked Ines. Juno nodded, very small. "First you say hello. Dr. Fern listens to your heart with a round little drum. Bump, bump, bump. She shines a soft light in your ears and counts your toes. Then she says, all done, and you choose one seed from her jar."

Juno wiggled her toes. Bump, bump, bump. All done. "Hello," she said to Ines, and "All done," and they both laughed. Then they played it three times, and by the third time they were giggling so much that the burdock leaf shook.

"Now," said Ines, "one more thing. Listen to the fountain." She breathed in slow, one, two, three, and out slower, one, two, three. Juno leaned her prickles against her sister and tried it too. In, two, three. Out, two, three. The third breath came out just like the fountain, hush, hush, hush.

The wobble was still there, but it had gone quiet and round, like a seed in her pocket. "It's small now," Juno whispered.

They walked home together along the moonflower path, past the fountain counting to itself in the dark. Mama was at the door with a lamp, and the garden grew dim and soft behind them. The moonflowers folded up their petals, one, then two, then three.

In her mossy bed, Juno pulled the leaf blanket up to her chin. "In, two, three," she breathed, and "out, two, three." Tomorrow she would say hello, Dr. Fern would tap bump bump bump, and somebody would say all done. In, two, three, out, two, three, went her breath, softer and softer, until the moonflowers closed their petals and the fountain hushed and Juno slept.