on to some secret treasure trove, she’d have cranked the volume up way more than that. All things considered, she was almost reasonable. (She didn’t break a blood vessel like that time I got grape Kool-Aid on the guest towels.)
No. Anita doesn’t know. This is Mimi’s little secret.
The girl across the room is smacking her lips in her sleep. She’s either having a food dream or a guy dream. Whatever. I wish she’d quit it. It’s really annoying.
I’ve got to get out of here.
Where am I going to go?
Paris. I keep thinking of Paris. I could live off croque monsieurs and Orangina, stay at that little hotel Mimi featured in “France for Freeloaders.” I could just hang out.
French TV is lousy. Doesn’t matter. If I got really bored, I could go sightseeing. Climb the Eiffel Tower. Look at the paintings in the Louvre.
There’s something else about that picture of Mimi too. I can’t put my finger on it. What is it? It’s definitely Mimi standing there, but there’s something about her that doesn’t look quite right. Maybe if I could find out who the other people are in the picture, I’d know. There are some names on the back. I wonder if I could track them down somehow.
Mimi did a show on finding long-lost friends. It’s easy now with the Internet.
It’s not going to help. I only have first names. My guess is there are quite a few Kathy W.’s and Lenore T.’s in the world.
The ring’s a better lead. I wonder if Shelton has a public library. If it does, they might have some stuff there on Port Minton High. How many guys could have played football in a little place like that? It shouldn’t be that hard to find out where the ring came from.
I’ll just stay in Shelton long enough to check that one thing out, then I’ll get going.
Where? Not France. I’d get too fat in France. I’ve got to go somewhere where the food is bad. Where there’s no food.
I’ll Google “famine” when I’m at the library tomorrow. I’ll figure something out.
14
Sunday, 10 a.m.
You, You and Mimi (rerun)
Mimi interviews four dynamic, attractive women on the joys of being “Alone and Happy.”
It’s the quiet that wakes me up. I open my eyes and look around. It’s bright and sunny but totally silent. It’s so weird. I feel like I’m in one of those movies where every person in the entire world has just up and died except me. I almost panic for a second there. Like, where am I? Where is everyone?
No German moose calls. No smacking lips. Everyone else must have slipped into their spandex bicycle gear and taken off for another glorious day of inhaling diesel fumes.
I stumble out of bed and look around. I go, “Kay?…Kay?” I stop at the top of the stairs and listen. Nothing.
I’m alone.
That’s when something bizarre happens. I forget about panicking. I forget about the ring and Mom and everyone. My body, on its own, just decides to take a deep breath and start smiling. So this is what freedom feels like! It’s not as good as a coma, but just about.
I go to the bathroom and splash water on my face. I take out myretainer. I don’t think Kay will mind me using her towel. I borrow a little of her toothpaste too. I squeeze some on my finger and start to brush.
Jeez, I look gross. There’s a little scab on my lip from the chair bashing. I went to bed with my hair wet, so I’ve got a major Albert Einstein thing happening. I’ve got bags under my eyes the shape and colour of prunes. My glasses are bent. (I must have done that in the van.)
Who cares?
I spit out the toothpaste. I wipe my mouth off on my T-shirt. I love the thought that Anita isn’t here to bug me about it. I even kind of like the look of that big blick of toothpaste across my chest. A bold stroke of self-expression.
I go downstairs. The hall’s dark but there’s so much sunlight streaming into the kitchen it’s practically glowing. I feel like I’m some puny earthling being drawn into the mother ship. There’s a box of cornflakes
No. Anita doesn’t know. This is Mimi’s little secret.
The girl across the room is smacking her lips in her sleep. She’s either having a food dream or a guy dream. Whatever. I wish she’d quit it. It’s really annoying.
I’ve got to get out of here.
Where am I going to go?
Paris. I keep thinking of Paris. I could live off croque monsieurs and Orangina, stay at that little hotel Mimi featured in “France for Freeloaders.” I could just hang out.
French TV is lousy. Doesn’t matter. If I got really bored, I could go sightseeing. Climb the Eiffel Tower. Look at the paintings in the Louvre.
There’s something else about that picture of Mimi too. I can’t put my finger on it. What is it? It’s definitely Mimi standing there, but there’s something about her that doesn’t look quite right. Maybe if I could find out who the other people are in the picture, I’d know. There are some names on the back. I wonder if I could track them down somehow.
Mimi did a show on finding long-lost friends. It’s easy now with the Internet.
It’s not going to help. I only have first names. My guess is there are quite a few Kathy W.’s and Lenore T.’s in the world.
The ring’s a better lead. I wonder if Shelton has a public library. If it does, they might have some stuff there on Port Minton High. How many guys could have played football in a little place like that? It shouldn’t be that hard to find out where the ring came from.
I’ll just stay in Shelton long enough to check that one thing out, then I’ll get going.
Where? Not France. I’d get too fat in France. I’ve got to go somewhere where the food is bad. Where there’s no food.
I’ll Google “famine” when I’m at the library tomorrow. I’ll figure something out.
14
Sunday, 10 a.m.
You, You and Mimi (rerun)
Mimi interviews four dynamic, attractive women on the joys of being “Alone and Happy.”
It’s the quiet that wakes me up. I open my eyes and look around. It’s bright and sunny but totally silent. It’s so weird. I feel like I’m in one of those movies where every person in the entire world has just up and died except me. I almost panic for a second there. Like, where am I? Where is everyone?
No German moose calls. No smacking lips. Everyone else must have slipped into their spandex bicycle gear and taken off for another glorious day of inhaling diesel fumes.
I stumble out of bed and look around. I go, “Kay?…Kay?” I stop at the top of the stairs and listen. Nothing.
I’m alone.
That’s when something bizarre happens. I forget about panicking. I forget about the ring and Mom and everyone. My body, on its own, just decides to take a deep breath and start smiling. So this is what freedom feels like! It’s not as good as a coma, but just about.
I go to the bathroom and splash water on my face. I take out myretainer. I don’t think Kay will mind me using her towel. I borrow a little of her toothpaste too. I squeeze some on my finger and start to brush.
Jeez, I look gross. There’s a little scab on my lip from the chair bashing. I went to bed with my hair wet, so I’ve got a major Albert Einstein thing happening. I’ve got bags under my eyes the shape and colour of prunes. My glasses are bent. (I must have done that in the van.)
Who cares?
I spit out the toothpaste. I wipe my mouth off on my T-shirt. I love the thought that Anita isn’t here to bug me about it. I even kind of like the look of that big blick of toothpaste across my chest. A bold stroke of self-expression.
I go downstairs. The hall’s dark but there’s so much sunlight streaming into the kitchen it’s practically glowing. I feel like I’m some puny earthling being drawn into the mother ship. There’s a box of cornflakes
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