what happens with rumors. By the end of the week the story has me doing much, much more with Tim than I actually was, and puking all over him instead of the bushes. I don’t really know who’s to blame for getting this started, but I have a hunch that Tim has something to do with it because he hasn’t so much as looked in my direction all week. Forget all those things I said about him being kind of cute and smelling good and all that stuff. I hate Tim Whelan and I hate this school.
But I have bigger problems than Tim Whelan: I can’t shake my conversation with Minh.
Just call her.
Can it really be as simple as that? A telephone. A receiver pressed to my ear. A dial tone. Do ten numbers placed in a specific sequence really equal the answer to my lifetime of mystery?
Why can’t my past leave me alone? Why does it keep knocking on my door, and why is this knocking getting louder and louder until I can’t sleep or even think anymore?
I need the answers. I can’t keep fighting them off. The knocking is getting louder, and my door is creaking open.
SEVEN
It was Halloween last night. Halloween is my favorite holiday of all time. It always has been, and not just because I’m a big fan of candy, especially in bite-sized form. I think Halloween brings out the very best in humanity. We open our homes and give without expecting anything in return. It’s really pretty amazing when you think about it. What other night do you talk to your neighbors and your neighbors’ neighbors and other people’s neighbors who just drove to your neighborhood because it seemed like a nice place to knock on the doors of complete strangers? What other night do you not mind when your doorbell rings in the middle of dinner again and again and again? On most holidays we turn inward. We gather in our homes, we light fires, we spend time with our loved ones. But Halloween sends us out into the streets, into the cold, with people we don’t know, running from stranger’s house to stranger’s house. And in wacky costumes!
And for an atheist, Halloween is the perfect holiday. It involves spirits and the dead and generic ghosts but, from what I can tell, not the Holy Ghost. So I love Halloween. That’s why I still go trick-or-treating every year. You might think people would greet a sixteen-year-old in a costume looking for candy with disdain or even hostility. But like I said, Halloween brings out the best in humanity. I was greeted only with outstretched bowls of candy and praise for my costume.
I went as Edward Scissorhands. James wore a blond wig and went as the Winona Ryder character. We looked awesome. We snagged a pretty good haul and came home and shared most of it with Jake. Then the three of us watched
Edward Scissorhands
and I went to bed early.
And then this morning I do it. I call her. My hands are shaking so much when I push the buttons that on the first try I dial a wrong number. For a minute I think this is all a hoax, that she gave me a fake number like some guy who wants you to think he likes you but really never wants to hear from you again. But when I try a second time I get a woman, just slightly out of breath, and I know immediately that I have the right number.
I’m quiet for what seems like hours but is probably only about thirty seconds. She doesn’t say, “Hello? Hello? Hello?” like you usually do in that annoyed way when you answer your phone and no one is at the other end. She just stays on the line like she has all day. I can hear her catching her breath and then hear her breathing slowing down to a natural rhythm.
Finally I just say, “Hi.”
Again there’s a long pause.
“Simone?” she says, but it really isn’t a question. She’s just saying my name.
More silence.
“You know,” she says, “I was just sitting in my kitchen reading my horoscope in the newspaper.”
Oh, great. She’s one of those crazy astrology people. I can’t stand astrology people or numerology people or people who see
But I have bigger problems than Tim Whelan: I can’t shake my conversation with Minh.
Just call her.
Can it really be as simple as that? A telephone. A receiver pressed to my ear. A dial tone. Do ten numbers placed in a specific sequence really equal the answer to my lifetime of mystery?
Why can’t my past leave me alone? Why does it keep knocking on my door, and why is this knocking getting louder and louder until I can’t sleep or even think anymore?
I need the answers. I can’t keep fighting them off. The knocking is getting louder, and my door is creaking open.
SEVEN
It was Halloween last night. Halloween is my favorite holiday of all time. It always has been, and not just because I’m a big fan of candy, especially in bite-sized form. I think Halloween brings out the very best in humanity. We open our homes and give without expecting anything in return. It’s really pretty amazing when you think about it. What other night do you talk to your neighbors and your neighbors’ neighbors and other people’s neighbors who just drove to your neighborhood because it seemed like a nice place to knock on the doors of complete strangers? What other night do you not mind when your doorbell rings in the middle of dinner again and again and again? On most holidays we turn inward. We gather in our homes, we light fires, we spend time with our loved ones. But Halloween sends us out into the streets, into the cold, with people we don’t know, running from stranger’s house to stranger’s house. And in wacky costumes!
And for an atheist, Halloween is the perfect holiday. It involves spirits and the dead and generic ghosts but, from what I can tell, not the Holy Ghost. So I love Halloween. That’s why I still go trick-or-treating every year. You might think people would greet a sixteen-year-old in a costume looking for candy with disdain or even hostility. But like I said, Halloween brings out the best in humanity. I was greeted only with outstretched bowls of candy and praise for my costume.
I went as Edward Scissorhands. James wore a blond wig and went as the Winona Ryder character. We looked awesome. We snagged a pretty good haul and came home and shared most of it with Jake. Then the three of us watched
Edward Scissorhands
and I went to bed early.
And then this morning I do it. I call her. My hands are shaking so much when I push the buttons that on the first try I dial a wrong number. For a minute I think this is all a hoax, that she gave me a fake number like some guy who wants you to think he likes you but really never wants to hear from you again. But when I try a second time I get a woman, just slightly out of breath, and I know immediately that I have the right number.
I’m quiet for what seems like hours but is probably only about thirty seconds. She doesn’t say, “Hello? Hello? Hello?” like you usually do in that annoyed way when you answer your phone and no one is at the other end. She just stays on the line like she has all day. I can hear her catching her breath and then hear her breathing slowing down to a natural rhythm.
Finally I just say, “Hi.”
Again there’s a long pause.
“Simone?” she says, but it really isn’t a question. She’s just saying my name.
More silence.
“You know,” she says, “I was just sitting in my kitchen reading my horoscope in the newspaper.”
Oh, great. She’s one of those crazy astrology people. I can’t stand astrology people or numerology people or people who see
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