Ela had a trampoline. She bounced on it in the morning, before lunch, and even in the rain, when silver drops sprayed from beneath her feet.
“Ela! Come and eat!” Mum called from the window.
“Not yet!” Ela cried. She sprang so high that she could see over the fence and all the way to the road.
At last, she sat on the padded edge and sighed. “If only everything were a trampoline,” she said. “What a wonderful life that would be!”
That night, Ela dreamed a dream she could not remember.
But in the morning, when she climbed out of bed, the floor beneath her feet went boing.
Ela froze. The floor went boing again.
She hurried outside—and stared with her mouth open. The road bounced. The houses bounced. Even the flowers bobbed up and down like balls. A sign on the gate read: BOUNCEVILLE.
Ela pushed off. She soared as high as a chimney, kicked her feet in the air, and landed as lightly as a feather.
This was going to be the best day of her life.
“Come in for breakfast!” called a woman from her window—and bounced backward out of sight.
Ela sat at the table. The table bounced. The chair bounced. The bowl danced, and Ela danced with it.
She lifted a spoonful of oatmeal toward her mouth. Boing! The spoon shot upward. The oats flew even higher and stuck to the ceiling like little white stars. The milk splashed across the wall.
Ela laughed until her stomach hurt.
“In Bounceville, nobody walks!” the woman said cheerfully. “In Bounceville, everybody bounces!”
Next, Ela bounced to the shop. “One apple, please,” she said.
The shopkeeper placed an apple in her palm. Whoosh—it bounced away. She tried again. Whoosh. And again. Whoosh.
Ela looked up. Apples, pears, and loaves of bread floated near the ceiling. A large cabbage spun slowly like a green moon.
In Bounceville, no one had ever managed to buy a thing.
Outside, Ela met a mail carrier with a bag full of letters. He tossed one into a mailbox. The letter bounced straight back out.
He tried again. And again. And again.
“Have you been doing that long?” Ela asked.
“As long as I can remember,” said the mail carrier, perfectly pleased.
In Bounceville, no one had ever received a letter.
That afternoon, Ela decided to draw a picture for Mum. The pencil bounced. The paper bounced. Ela bounced.
She tried to draw the sun, but made a wobbly scribble. She tried to draw Mum, but made an even bigger scribble.
Ela studied the page for a long time. For the first time that day, she did not laugh.
A sad cat sat on the fence. It wanted to nap in the sunshine, but the fence kept going boing, boing, boing beneath its paws.
“Come here,” Ela said softly. “I’ll stroke you.”
The cat leaped toward her—and they bounced apart like two rubber balls. Ela landed on the grass. The cat landed safely in a flowerpot, looking deeply offended.
At dinner, everyone lifted their spoons together. Splat! Soup covered the ceiling, the wall, and the mail carrier’s hair.
“In Bounceville, nobody walks!” everyone cheered. “In Bounceville, everybody bounces!”
But Ela was hungry. In Bounceville, no one had ever finished a bowl of soup.
By nightfall, Ela’s legs ached and her eyes stung with tiredness.
Beside the fence stood a little boy who had laughed with her all day. Ela ran toward him with her arms wide open.
They bounced apart.
She tried again. They bounced apart again.
Ela stood in the middle of the gently springing road with no one to hold. A world full of bouncing, she realized, had no room for a proper hug.
In bed, things were no better. When Ela turned one way, the mattress tossed her up. When she turned the other way, it tossed her again. The blanket flew. The pillow flew. Ela flew.
In Bounceville, no one had ever had a good night’s sleep. No wonder everyone looked tired beneath their smiles.
In the morning, Ela sat on the edge of the road. “I want to go home,” she said. “I want ground that stays still.”
Everyone tried to stop. They could not, of course, but they all turned to look at her. No one in Bounceville had ever said such a thing.
The smallest child, a boy with an oat flake in his hair, whispered, “Is there really such a place?”
Ela pressed both palms against the trembling road. “Yes. On steady ground, bowls stay on tables, letters stay in mailboxes, cats can nap, and hugs do not bounce away.”
Bounceville became as quiet as a bouncing town could be. The sign on the gate trembled. The road gave one last, tiny boing.
Ela opened her eyes.
She was lying in her own bed. The blanket rested on top of her. The pillow stayed beneath her head. Nothing bounced.
Ela held the mattress with both hands for a moment, just because its stillness felt so good.
At breakfast, she ate every spoonful of oatmeal. Not one oat flew upward. The milk stayed in the glass.
Then Ela stood, crossed the kitchen—on her feet, step by step—and wrapped her arms around Mum.
She stayed right there. She did not bounce away.
That afternoon, Ela raced to the playground and climbed onto the trampoline. She bounced higher than ever, her hair flying up as her laughter filled the air.
Then she jumped down.
The ground beneath her feet was firm and steady, exactly where it ought to be.
“A trampoline is the best thing in the world,” Ela said. “But only when there is solid ground around it.”
The End.
Commentary