Extraordinary October. Diana Wagman

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      But she knew I was lying, I could see it on her face that she could see it on my face. Her green eyes narrowed. “Neal?” she turned to my dad.

      “You should stay awhile,” he said to me. “You can go to the library later.”

      She had already hooked him. He was enthralled, captivated, under her spell, and she hadn’t even made him count backwards from 100 or anything.

      “Okay,” I said. “Fine. But I’m meeting…someone at two o’clock.”

      “What for?” Dad asked.

      “I can’t be late. He’s a college psych student. I’m part of an experiment.”

      I could swear Madame Gold gave a little gasp.

      An hour later—a long, long, long hour later—I had to admit whatever Madame Gold was doing was working on my dad. He was mesmerized. I sat with the two of them as long as I could stand it while she talked about the wind and the clouds and the primal forces and that some people are lambs and some people are wolves and some people are raccoons. I’d never heard such a load in my life, but when I brought out tea and the secret stash of cookies my mom kept just for an occasion like this, my dad didn’t eat one. He didn’t even look at the bag; he barely drank his tea. He just sat in his chair listening to her. On the other hand, I was starving and managed to devour at least half the plate. Of course by this time it was one o’clock and I hadn’t eaten anything since some yogurt for breakfast.

      It was rude, but finally I asked, “How much is this gonna cost? I mean you’ve been here for forever.”

      “How sweet of you to be concerned.” I could tell she didn’t think it was sweet at all. “Your father and I have it all worked out.”

      I nodded and helped myself to another cookie. Maybe my dad would lose 100 pounds and I’d gain fifty. I was beginning to feel sick and kind of dizzy. First the itch. Then I felt so good. Now, all of a sudden, I felt lousy. My head hurt and my palms—just my palms—were red and itchy. I was hot in my black sweater. I wanted to look good for Blue-Eyes, but I was beginning to wonder if I was well enough to go at all. Madame Gold just kept talking. Something about how obviously my father was a bird, a small beautiful bird. No wonder he built all those birdhouses. I looked over at her and she wavered and undulated as if she were underwater. I knew I had a fever. I was coming down with something bad. Maybe my flesh-eating disease was taking its next step. Hadn’t Nurse Raynor said it could be viral?

      “Excuse me.” I stood up and the room was spinning.

      “Let me help you,” said Madame Gold.

      “No.” I backed away from her, for some reason desperate that she shouldn’t touch me. I turned and rushed upstairs. I hoped I’d make it to the bathroom before hell broke loose.

      I slammed the door behind me and sort of collapsed on the floor. The white tiles were cool through my jeans. I swallowed hard, ready to puke, but I didn’t feel sick anymore. I could smell my mother’s perfume. Mom, I thought. Mom. Somehow thinking of her made me feel better. I got up and opened the little window behind the shower and stood in the tub taking big, deep gulps of fresh air. Something about me was not right. I was sick, but with what? The symptoms were all over the place. I concentrated on breathing in and out and my head began to clear. The sky was a strange putty color, like the file cabinet in the school office. The clouds looked like overcooked cauliflower. The beautiful morning sun had vanished.

      Then I saw something lying in the grass below me. A stuffed animal? I looked closer. It was a cat. The sweet little black and white cat that belonged to our neighbors. I waited for it to move. We had too many birds around for the cat to be in our yard. “Scat!” I hissed out the window. But nothing. It was lying on its side not moving. I watched for a moment and I knew it wasn’t sleeping. The cat was dead. I swallowed. My father hated cats. He always had and since the birdhouses he hated them even more, but this was—had been—a nice cat. A big black crow flew down and landed beside the body. I turned away as it began to peck at the poor cat’s eyes.

      It was after one. I had to go. I absolutely had to get out of the house. I splashed some water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror. I was a little pale, but not green like that kid in the nurse’s office. And I realized I felt fine. My palms were fine. Once again, whatever it was had passed. I ran my brush over my hair, pleased that it was still looking good. As I turned to go, I caught a glimpse of my neck. There was an inch long raised red mark, like a burn. I must have scratched myself running upstairs.

      Dad was standing at the bottom of the stairs as I came down.

      “You okay?” he asked.

      “Fine. Funny. It’s been a weird day.” I looked around. “Did she leave?”

      He nodded. “Isn’t she something?”

      “I don’t know. I’m not crazy about her.”

      “Let’s give her a chance.”

      “Okay.” I gave him a hug. Big as he was, he was still a great hugger. “You’re a bird, huh? That explains so much.” We laughed. “I wonder what I am.”

      “She said you were a bear.”

      “Second time I’ve heard that today.” And I didn’t think it was a good thing. I grabbed the car keys off the end table. “Gotta run. I’ll be home for dinner.”

      “Have fun.” He headed back to his birdhouses and I headed out the door.

       3.

      It’s embarrassing, but I was four days from turning eighteen and had never had a boyfriend. Yes, I was still a virgin. Oh boy, was I. Far from having sex, I had never been kissed—unless you counted that time in 6th Grade playing that stupid Truth or Dare game. I had to kiss Jacob the Jock, but I didn’t want to and neither did he so it was more like a peck. Afterwards he pretended to throw up.

      It wasn’t that I was afraid or frigid or wanted to wait until I was 30. I just hadn’t met the right person. I’d read books. I’d seen plenty of movies. I just wanted someone like that—someone who made my toes curl, my breath come faster, my stomach flip. As I drove to Henderson Park thinking about Blue-Eyes was definitely making me sweat. Maybe it was the itch, maybe it was the color of his eyes—the opposite of my own—but for the first time ever I felt my heart thumping and jumping in my chest. I knew it was nuts and of course unrequited, he was older and way out of my league, but I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, I rolled up the window so my hair wouldn’t get messy, and I kept checking my reflection in the rear view mirror.

      I saw the car behind me, a Ferrari, low and black and expensive. It was odd that I, the car lover, hadn’t noticed it before. The woman driving looked a lot like Madame Gold. Oh no, I thought. It was Madame Gold. Was she following me? No, she had left my house way before I did. The neighborhood surrounding Henderson Park was much more upscale than ours. I figured she lived nearby. Who would have thought hypnotists made so much money? Begrudgingly I admitted she had nice taste in cars.

      The weather had taken a turn for the worse. I could feel the wind pushing on my old car and it rattled the windows. Leaves and sticks and trash skittered across the street. An empty rubber trashcan blew right in front of me and I jammed on my brakes just in time. Madame Gold’s tires squealed behind me as she swerved and zipped past. СКАЧАТЬ