bridge railing. “There’s still time for negotiation, Jessica,” I said.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Barry.” Jessica was doing what the nanopeople thought was Mom’s voice. I wasn’t fooled. Mom never whined. Not the old Mom anyway. At least we had the nanopeople’s attention these days. At first, Jessica had not bothered to even acknowledge our existence. Then we started pushing Mom into water over her head, and Jessica decided to talk to us.
I tied the big rubber bands to Mom’s boots.
“The word is bungee , Jessica,” Ada said.
My sister was becoming one scary chick, I thought, what with her horse tattoo and western hat and the ever-present toothpick in the corner of her mouth. It was almost like she was enjoying this. Or maybe she was just a better actor. I remembered how she’d cried on the phone the night she called me home from graduate school in Oregon, how she kept saying Mom had nothing on her mind but cookies, cookies and cakes and those little flaky things with sweet red crap in the middle, and I need your help Barry, I can’t do this alone Barry. I’d gotten verbal assurance from my advisor in the physics department that I could take a leave of absence and had bussed to Tucson the very next day.
Mom made me a pie when I got home.
I took Mom under the arms, and Ada grabbed her feet. We swung her like a sack of laundry, and on the count of three, tossed her over the side of the bridge. Toby went crazy, barking and pulling at his leash, in the back of Ada’s truck.
We put our hands on the bridge rail and watched Mom fall and fall toward the river, the long bungee bands trailing behind her, and listened to her scream—well, listened to someone scream, anyway; when it was Jessica, it was a howl of frustration and terror, but when it was Mom, it was an exuberant whoop! Or maybe I was imagining things. Maybe I didn’t have the faith Ada had in this plan to get the nanopeople out of Mom.
We watched Mom bounce like a yo-yo on the end of her bungee bands, her housedress hanging down over her head. We decided to let her swing awhile. Ada unpacked our picnic lunch and we settled down on the bridge to eat.
As we munched and sipped, I heard a small voice calling, “Help, help,” but I decided to ignore it.
“So, Ada,” I said. “How come Mom’s nanopeople don’t transform her into something that can climb up the rubber bands? A giant spider, say.”
“I call the answer to that my King Kong Theory,” Ada said. “I’ll bet the nanopeople can see in Mom’s memory that picture of Kong on the Empire State Building with all the airplanes buzzing around and shooting. Or some other picture like that. The thing with these guys is safety first and always.”
Those far away cries for help were getting to me. I gave Ada a sidelong glance. I didn’t want my big sister to think I was wimping out on her. “So, shall we pull her up?” I tried to sound casual.
“I suppose.” Ada took another bite of her sandwich then tossed it into the basket.
We pulled Mom up.
“So, Jessica,” Ada said. “You want to do that again?”
“No!”
“Let’s talk then.”
Jessica let Mom’s chin fall to her chest and was quiet for a minute or so. Then she raised Mom’s head. “What do you want? How can we make you stop this?”
“Get out of Mom!” I shouted, and Ada gave me a sharp look. I had no talent for diplomacy.
“That’s pretty much what we want, Jessica,” Ada said. “We need to discuss the terms of your eviction.”
“That is an absurd notion,” Jessica said. “Each one of us lives a life every bit as important and significant as yours, Ada. You just move more slowly. You’re just bigger. None of that signifies. Have you no empathy? Holly is our world. This is the only world the People have ever known. Just where do you suppose we could go?”
“We have an idea about that.” Ada signaled me with her eyes.
I got up and walked to the truck and untied Toby’s leash.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Barry.” Jessica was doing what the nanopeople thought was Mom’s voice. I wasn’t fooled. Mom never whined. Not the old Mom anyway. At least we had the nanopeople’s attention these days. At first, Jessica had not bothered to even acknowledge our existence. Then we started pushing Mom into water over her head, and Jessica decided to talk to us.
I tied the big rubber bands to Mom’s boots.
“The word is bungee , Jessica,” Ada said.
My sister was becoming one scary chick, I thought, what with her horse tattoo and western hat and the ever-present toothpick in the corner of her mouth. It was almost like she was enjoying this. Or maybe she was just a better actor. I remembered how she’d cried on the phone the night she called me home from graduate school in Oregon, how she kept saying Mom had nothing on her mind but cookies, cookies and cakes and those little flaky things with sweet red crap in the middle, and I need your help Barry, I can’t do this alone Barry. I’d gotten verbal assurance from my advisor in the physics department that I could take a leave of absence and had bussed to Tucson the very next day.
Mom made me a pie when I got home.
I took Mom under the arms, and Ada grabbed her feet. We swung her like a sack of laundry, and on the count of three, tossed her over the side of the bridge. Toby went crazy, barking and pulling at his leash, in the back of Ada’s truck.
We put our hands on the bridge rail and watched Mom fall and fall toward the river, the long bungee bands trailing behind her, and listened to her scream—well, listened to someone scream, anyway; when it was Jessica, it was a howl of frustration and terror, but when it was Mom, it was an exuberant whoop! Or maybe I was imagining things. Maybe I didn’t have the faith Ada had in this plan to get the nanopeople out of Mom.
We watched Mom bounce like a yo-yo on the end of her bungee bands, her housedress hanging down over her head. We decided to let her swing awhile. Ada unpacked our picnic lunch and we settled down on the bridge to eat.
As we munched and sipped, I heard a small voice calling, “Help, help,” but I decided to ignore it.
“So, Ada,” I said. “How come Mom’s nanopeople don’t transform her into something that can climb up the rubber bands? A giant spider, say.”
“I call the answer to that my King Kong Theory,” Ada said. “I’ll bet the nanopeople can see in Mom’s memory that picture of Kong on the Empire State Building with all the airplanes buzzing around and shooting. Or some other picture like that. The thing with these guys is safety first and always.”
Those far away cries for help were getting to me. I gave Ada a sidelong glance. I didn’t want my big sister to think I was wimping out on her. “So, shall we pull her up?” I tried to sound casual.
“I suppose.” Ada took another bite of her sandwich then tossed it into the basket.
We pulled Mom up.
“So, Jessica,” Ada said. “You want to do that again?”
“No!”
“Let’s talk then.”
Jessica let Mom’s chin fall to her chest and was quiet for a minute or so. Then she raised Mom’s head. “What do you want? How can we make you stop this?”
“Get out of Mom!” I shouted, and Ada gave me a sharp look. I had no talent for diplomacy.
“That’s pretty much what we want, Jessica,” Ada said. “We need to discuss the terms of your eviction.”
“That is an absurd notion,” Jessica said. “Each one of us lives a life every bit as important and significant as yours, Ada. You just move more slowly. You’re just bigger. None of that signifies. Have you no empathy? Holly is our world. This is the only world the People have ever known. Just where do you suppose we could go?”
“We have an idea about that.” Ada signaled me with her eyes.
I got up and walked to the truck and untied Toby’s leash.
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