week later. It took him a few months to speak but when he did all he could talk about was how totally grateful he was, so his family finally dropped the suit.
“Here,” I tell her, “here you go.”
“Finally,” she exclaims, “someone sane.”
“Here, his name is Fractyl Clymber, Clymber with a y.” I tap him on the shoulder and he gives a jump and spills a large thermos of purple tea. Because he is somewhat small, his arms have to stretch wide to hold onto the bus’s large steering wheel. This combined with the fact that his eyes aren’t very open makes him look like a sleepy bird.
“Sorry,” he stutters, “I thought you were something else.”
“This is my sister,” I say, pointing to my phone.
“My brother,” he nods, pointing to his phone on the dashboard. He lets out a short giggle, then looks rather distraught.
“No I mean my sister’s on the phone.”
“Cool,” he nods.
“She wants to talk to you.”
The phone is down at my side, but I can hear a sound coming from it, a scream-noise.
“If it’s about that,” he emphasizes, “I don’t know anything about that . Whoever did that , I’m sure...like I’m sure that was a total accident.”
“No, she wants to know where we’re going.”
“Oh.” He searches the many dials of the bus’s control panel for a moment. “A sign should be coming up soon or something. These roads are totally filled with signs.”
I feel Perry, CT’s Press Agent, put his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll talk to her,” he says. I nod and hand him the phone.
It’s daytime but the bus has heavy black curtains and tinted windows, so it always seems like the sun hasn’t come up yet. I trod back to our bedroom. The bus’s thick, shaggy carpeting is soothing on my bare feet. At almost every stop we get the carpet shampooed because none of us wear shoes when we walk around inside. It feels amazing.
I crack the clamshell open a little wider to get in then lower its lid back down to where there’s still a safe amount of sliver. When I nuzzle up to CT, his leather wine suit smells like bread. In his sleep his fingers find my hair and kind of party a little.
Moments later, there’s a light knock on the clamshell. Perry slides my phone through its crack. “We’re meeting her in Dallas,” he tells me. I whisper thanks.
“Listen,” he says.
The cracked-open clamshell bed has a crescendo effect on sound, it’s even shaped like a crescendo, so when I’m inside I barely hear the first few words in someone’s sentence but then the last few words are quite loud. “If you want me to deal with her for you, thAT’S FINE, SHE SEEMS REALLY ANGRY AND MAYBE...”
“No,” I whisper. “The Worm Eternal values fortitude. I must pursue a final attempt to bring Sister enlightenment and prove my spiritual strength to the Worm Eternal.” Perry pats the top of the clam.
“OK, kiddo.”
Our conversation rousts CT. He turns and puts his lips on my neck. His lips are soft as olive oil; he decorates them like attractive women do. “I was having this dream that you were a starfish and I was feeding you tempeh bacon,” he says, and I shut the clam bed and we love each other; I let the whole thing with Sister be like grains of sand that just polish the softness of CT’s lips even softer.
There was a slight delay in meeting the sister.
After eating some pumpkin flax brittle, CT’s stomach was getting a little torn up and he requested Fractyl Clymber stop the bus for a defecation walk.
“Not here man,” said Fractyl, “right here is too close to that,” but after about twenty minutes Fractyl did pull over.
We all got out and practiced yoga behind the bus while CT walked ahead. Shortly after he squatted, a sports car screeched up and a man inside the car jumped out pointing a gun.
On CT’s defecation walks, he wanders until the universe gives him a sign that he is in the right place to go. Unfortunately, this time the universe had directed CT to relieve
“Here,” I tell her, “here you go.”
“Finally,” she exclaims, “someone sane.”
“Here, his name is Fractyl Clymber, Clymber with a y.” I tap him on the shoulder and he gives a jump and spills a large thermos of purple tea. Because he is somewhat small, his arms have to stretch wide to hold onto the bus’s large steering wheel. This combined with the fact that his eyes aren’t very open makes him look like a sleepy bird.
“Sorry,” he stutters, “I thought you were something else.”
“This is my sister,” I say, pointing to my phone.
“My brother,” he nods, pointing to his phone on the dashboard. He lets out a short giggle, then looks rather distraught.
“No I mean my sister’s on the phone.”
“Cool,” he nods.
“She wants to talk to you.”
The phone is down at my side, but I can hear a sound coming from it, a scream-noise.
“If it’s about that,” he emphasizes, “I don’t know anything about that . Whoever did that , I’m sure...like I’m sure that was a total accident.”
“No, she wants to know where we’re going.”
“Oh.” He searches the many dials of the bus’s control panel for a moment. “A sign should be coming up soon or something. These roads are totally filled with signs.”
I feel Perry, CT’s Press Agent, put his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll talk to her,” he says. I nod and hand him the phone.
It’s daytime but the bus has heavy black curtains and tinted windows, so it always seems like the sun hasn’t come up yet. I trod back to our bedroom. The bus’s thick, shaggy carpeting is soothing on my bare feet. At almost every stop we get the carpet shampooed because none of us wear shoes when we walk around inside. It feels amazing.
I crack the clamshell open a little wider to get in then lower its lid back down to where there’s still a safe amount of sliver. When I nuzzle up to CT, his leather wine suit smells like bread. In his sleep his fingers find my hair and kind of party a little.
Moments later, there’s a light knock on the clamshell. Perry slides my phone through its crack. “We’re meeting her in Dallas,” he tells me. I whisper thanks.
“Listen,” he says.
The cracked-open clamshell bed has a crescendo effect on sound, it’s even shaped like a crescendo, so when I’m inside I barely hear the first few words in someone’s sentence but then the last few words are quite loud. “If you want me to deal with her for you, thAT’S FINE, SHE SEEMS REALLY ANGRY AND MAYBE...”
“No,” I whisper. “The Worm Eternal values fortitude. I must pursue a final attempt to bring Sister enlightenment and prove my spiritual strength to the Worm Eternal.” Perry pats the top of the clam.
“OK, kiddo.”
Our conversation rousts CT. He turns and puts his lips on my neck. His lips are soft as olive oil; he decorates them like attractive women do. “I was having this dream that you were a starfish and I was feeding you tempeh bacon,” he says, and I shut the clam bed and we love each other; I let the whole thing with Sister be like grains of sand that just polish the softness of CT’s lips even softer.
There was a slight delay in meeting the sister.
After eating some pumpkin flax brittle, CT’s stomach was getting a little torn up and he requested Fractyl Clymber stop the bus for a defecation walk.
“Not here man,” said Fractyl, “right here is too close to that,” but after about twenty minutes Fractyl did pull over.
We all got out and practiced yoga behind the bus while CT walked ahead. Shortly after he squatted, a sports car screeched up and a man inside the car jumped out pointing a gun.
On CT’s defecation walks, he wanders until the universe gives him a sign that he is in the right place to go. Unfortunately, this time the universe had directed CT to relieve
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