you feed them peanuts?”
“No,” I said. “They sit on the back of this guy’s bicycle. He dresses them up in these little outfits—a boy and a girl. He asks for money and then he’ll make them dance.”
“That’s so cute!” Katie said.
I didn’t tell her the monkey man was really skinny with dirty hair and hungry eyes and that he had the monkeys attached to the bicycle by chains around their necks. When he biked past our house, I’d hide behind the curtain or else he’d spot me, park his bike in the middle of the street, and rattle the monkeys’ chains while he yelled up, asking for money.
“What’s going on in Boston?” I said.
That’s when Katie launched into a monologue about all the things I was missing out on. Even though I had been in school for two months already, school was just starting up in Boston. And Katie’s summer had been a blast. She had been to sailing camp and spent the Fourth of July on Nantucket. She had been strawberry picking twice. And she had learned this new trick—catching crabs by tying raw chicken wings with string, then lowering the chicken into the water and hauling it back up as soon as the crabs clamped down on the bait. Her uncle paid her a quarter per crab. She had already made five dollars and seventy-five cents that way.
“You should try it,” she said. “It’s super fun—there’s this big group of camp kids who do it together on the Cape—”
“There’s no ocean here,” I said flatly.
“Oh, right.”
There was another long pause.
“But I did see an elephant once….”
—
The conversation went on like that for a while, with Katie telling me about something really fun she did back home without me and then me telling her some exotic-sounding detail about life in India. I told her what I thought she wanted to hear—about the India from storybooks with camels and turbans and ladies in saris.
None of it was lies. I mean, most ladies here
do
wear saris. And we
did
take a road trip through Rajasthan where we saw men in bright turbans hitching camels to carts along the highway. What I didn’t mention was that our hotel had satellite TV, so instead of going on the “village heritage walk” with Mom, I watched Cartoon Network under the AC.
“It sounds amazing!” Katie said.
“Yeah,” I said. I was trying to sound enthusiastic, but mainly, I felt tired. And fake. I felt really fake.
“I think I better go now,” I said. “My dad is calling me.” (He wasn’t.) “This was
so
fun. Let’s do it again soon.”
“Promise!” said Katie.
“Promise!” I said. And then I hit the red button to make her go away.
Sunday morning, Dad was the first one to notice I was still in my room while everyone else was up for breakfast. He tapped gently on my door before opening it.
“Everything okay in here, trouper?”
When I didn’t answer and just kept staring out the window, he came in and sat on the side of my bed.
“Chloe?” he said. “You okay, sweetie? It’s a beautiful morning. Thermostat hasn’t even hit one hundred yet.” He was acting jokey.
“I can’t get out of bed,” I said. “I’m sick.”
“Is it your cheek?”
I shook my head.
Dad put his hand on my forehead to see if I was running a fever. “Um, I’ll check with Mom, but you don’t feel hot to me,” he said.
“Not that kind of sick,” I said.
“Oh,” he said, “I see. I’ll be right back.”
When he came back, he was holding an enormous mug of coffee in one hand. In his other hand was the pink plastic stethoscope from our toy doctor’s kit—a toy that used to be my favorite. I hadn’t played with it in years; it was Lucy’s now.
“Dr. Dad to the rescue!” he announced, but when he tried to put the stethoscope to my chest, I batted it away.
“I’m too old for that,” I said.
A look of pain flashed across Dad’s face. I immediately wanted to take back what I had said, but it was too late. He had already slipped the stethoscope from his neck.
“No,” I said. “They sit on the back of this guy’s bicycle. He dresses them up in these little outfits—a boy and a girl. He asks for money and then he’ll make them dance.”
“That’s so cute!” Katie said.
I didn’t tell her the monkey man was really skinny with dirty hair and hungry eyes and that he had the monkeys attached to the bicycle by chains around their necks. When he biked past our house, I’d hide behind the curtain or else he’d spot me, park his bike in the middle of the street, and rattle the monkeys’ chains while he yelled up, asking for money.
“What’s going on in Boston?” I said.
That’s when Katie launched into a monologue about all the things I was missing out on. Even though I had been in school for two months already, school was just starting up in Boston. And Katie’s summer had been a blast. She had been to sailing camp and spent the Fourth of July on Nantucket. She had been strawberry picking twice. And she had learned this new trick—catching crabs by tying raw chicken wings with string, then lowering the chicken into the water and hauling it back up as soon as the crabs clamped down on the bait. Her uncle paid her a quarter per crab. She had already made five dollars and seventy-five cents that way.
“You should try it,” she said. “It’s super fun—there’s this big group of camp kids who do it together on the Cape—”
“There’s no ocean here,” I said flatly.
“Oh, right.”
There was another long pause.
“But I did see an elephant once….”
—
The conversation went on like that for a while, with Katie telling me about something really fun she did back home without me and then me telling her some exotic-sounding detail about life in India. I told her what I thought she wanted to hear—about the India from storybooks with camels and turbans and ladies in saris.
None of it was lies. I mean, most ladies here
do
wear saris. And we
did
take a road trip through Rajasthan where we saw men in bright turbans hitching camels to carts along the highway. What I didn’t mention was that our hotel had satellite TV, so instead of going on the “village heritage walk” with Mom, I watched Cartoon Network under the AC.
“It sounds amazing!” Katie said.
“Yeah,” I said. I was trying to sound enthusiastic, but mainly, I felt tired. And fake. I felt really fake.
“I think I better go now,” I said. “My dad is calling me.” (He wasn’t.) “This was
so
fun. Let’s do it again soon.”
“Promise!” said Katie.
“Promise!” I said. And then I hit the red button to make her go away.
Sunday morning, Dad was the first one to notice I was still in my room while everyone else was up for breakfast. He tapped gently on my door before opening it.
“Everything okay in here, trouper?”
When I didn’t answer and just kept staring out the window, he came in and sat on the side of my bed.
“Chloe?” he said. “You okay, sweetie? It’s a beautiful morning. Thermostat hasn’t even hit one hundred yet.” He was acting jokey.
“I can’t get out of bed,” I said. “I’m sick.”
“Is it your cheek?”
I shook my head.
Dad put his hand on my forehead to see if I was running a fever. “Um, I’ll check with Mom, but you don’t feel hot to me,” he said.
“Not that kind of sick,” I said.
“Oh,” he said, “I see. I’ll be right back.”
When he came back, he was holding an enormous mug of coffee in one hand. In his other hand was the pink plastic stethoscope from our toy doctor’s kit—a toy that used to be my favorite. I hadn’t played with it in years; it was Lucy’s now.
“Dr. Dad to the rescue!” he announced, but when he tried to put the stethoscope to my chest, I batted it away.
“I’m too old for that,” I said.
A look of pain flashed across Dad’s face. I immediately wanted to take back what I had said, but it was too late. He had already slipped the stethoscope from his neck.
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