A Pinstriped Finger's My Only Friend (17 page)

(But here's the thing: having a clue don't mean much if you can only hear half the conversation.)

Judd frowns at me. "Wait a minute. You mean you can't hear what she says?"

"
She
?" That part, I didn't expect. "She
who
?"

"I just assumed you two knew each other," says Judd.

"
She who
??"

"Actually, I don't know." Judd holds up his left hand and stares at his red-pinstriped pinky. "What
is
your name?"

Judd listens and nods. I strain, but I can't hear a thing. Talk about being out of the
loop
.

"She says her name's
Magic Touch
," says Judd. "But she prefers
Boldfinger
."

I'm not impressed. I resent the lame attempt at coming up with names as cool as mine, and I hate not being able to hear what she says.

(Plus the
competition
. There's only room for
one
talking pinky on this here seventeen-year-old.)

"Boldfinger, huh?" I tap Judd's palm. "Any idea why I can't hear what she says?"

Judd listens to what sounds to me like silence, then shakes his head. "No, especially since
she
can hear
you
."

(Oh, now
that's
awesome to know!)

"So what exactly has she been telling you?" I ask.

"How not to get
killed
or hauled off to
radical rehab
just now, for one thing." Judd moves his left hand toward me with the pinky extended straight up. "Can't argue with those results, huh?"

I flick from side to side, but I'm not feelin' the love for this Jenny-Come-Lately. "What else is she saying?"

"You won't like it." Judd keeps moving Boldfinger closer, then stops when we're three inches apart. "She thinks I should listen to her instead of you."

"Is that so?" I stand stiffly, taking a good long look at the red-pinstriped enemy.

"She says she's smarter." Judd shrugs. "She says she can get me home faster than you can."

"Huh." I don't budge or shift my stare the slightest bit. I want her to know I've got her number big time. "Well, you can tell
her
that she can just go f--"

Before I can finish what I'm saying, there's a flash of white light, and we are gone.

*****

I'm not about to admit it to Judd, but maybe "Boldfinger" isn't just writing checks with her mouth that her butt can't cash.

(If she
had
a mouth and a butt, of course.)

Because after the flash of light takes us, it sure looks like we've made it back home.

This time, the only naked person in Judd's bedroom is Judd. The posters on the walls are back to normal--hot chicks, sports heroes, and cars. The details of the room are just as I remember, from the dresser covered with trophies to the energy drink cans on the desk.

The walls aren't made of stained glass. They aren't crawling, either. The air isn't filled with golden light, streamers of cloud, or patches of rainbow. Objects haven't been replaced with hovering words over a white background.

Don't get me wrong, it isn't perfect. Instead of soaring solo through the sky and depths of space, I'm still attached to Judd's right hand. But at least we seem to be in a low-crazy zone. Maybe we're even back home.

(I wouldn't turn my nose up at that outcome, even if Boldfinger was the one who brought it on.)

There's some convincing evidence close at hand, in fact. By that, I mean the body I'm plugged into.

"Huh." Judd sits up on the edge of the bed, sounding groggy as hell. "Are we where I
think
we are?"

"If changing back to normal is any indication, the signs are good." I lean forward till I'm pointing right at him. "
Look
at yourself, dude."

Judd sees what I'm talking about. He looks at his left arm, which is no longer tanned. He looks at his right arm, which is no longer covered in tattoos.

The rubber stamp impressions are gone from his stomach. His left leg is back to its normal size, without the muscle mass of a power lifter. The top half of his right leg isn't bruised and caked with blood, and the red welts have vanished from the lower half.

What about the toenails on his left foot? The hot pink nail polish is
gone
. And the fingers of his left hand? All back to normal, clear of dirt, duct tape, glitter, pruny wrinkles...

But not the red pinstripes. Boldfinger has
not
left the building.

(Insert the worst expletive you've ever
heard
before right
here
. Make sure you
scream
it.)

Judd reaches up with his left hand to touch the top of his head and smiles wide at what he finds there. "My hair! It grew back!"

"Way to be, dude!" I pat his palm. "The bald look just wasn't cuttin' it."

"Wait, what?" Judd lowers his hand and stares at the red-pinstriped pinky, which must have said something. "I don't know, I'll have to check."

"Check what?" This not hearing the other half of the conversation is driving me crazy.

Judd places his right hand, including me, over his upper left chest, and I understand. He's checking for his
heart
, the one that went missing before our last stop.

I wish I had some good news for him, but I don't. There isn't the slightest trace of a beat within his chest. He moves me around, but the results don't change.

"Your heart's still gone," I tell him. "There's no sign of it."

"Damn." Judd slumps. "I wonder where it is."

He falls silent and gets that listening-to-Boldfinger look on his face, which I'm getting to know all too well.

(Chick sure has a lot to say, don't she??)

After a moment, Judd sighs and nods at Boldfinger. "Maybe you're right."

"Right about what?" I give his palm an angry jab. Wonder if he'll get the
message
?

(Enough with the private conversations already!!!)

"She says I'm better off without it," says Judd. "She says hearts are overrated."

(Thank you, Miss
Know-It-All
! Who died and made
her
Queen Expert-on-Everything??)

I'd love to set him straight and put Moldfinger in her place, but I decide to leave it alone. Maybe it's up to me to be the bigger finger, huh? Better guidance will win out in the end, won't it? "So are you ready to scout the perimeter? See if we're really home or not?"

For once, he doesn't consult Moldfinger before answering. "Not yet." He yawns and rubs his eyes with both hands.

(Eww! Eye goobers!)

"I need some sleep first." He gets up and checks the door, which is locked. "It's quiet right now, so let's make the most of it."

"Hold on, dude." I give him a quick palm-jab. "What if everything changes again when you fall asleep? What if this
is
home, and we never
find
it again?"

Judd listens to The Other Finger and laughs. "Well whatta ya know? You two finally
agree
on something." With that, he throws himself down on the bed and rolls over to face the wall. "I guess that means it's good advice. Too bad I can't take it." He yawns again, louder than before, and snuggles into his pillow, pushing both hands under it. "It's been
days
since the last time I slept. If I don't get some rest right now, I think I'm gonna keel over. Getting home won't matter much if I'm dead, will it?"

"Nope." My voice is muffled by the pillow.

"The good news is, things didn't change when I dozed off in the world of whiners." Judd's voice gets progressively slower and lower as he talks. "Maybe they won't change this time, either." His voice trails off as he fades into a state of exhausted slumber.

Just like that, he's out cold and snoring softly. I guess he didn't really have a choice in the matter this time.

He leaves the world and its possibilities behind for a while, and he takes us with him. Boldfinger and I lie tip to tip under the weight of the pillow and his head, the pressure of mutual silence enfolding us as we slowly slip away into oblivion.

*****

ELEVEN AND A HALF HOURS LATER

When I wake up, Judd's hands are folded on his chest, his fingers interlaced--including Boldfinger and me. The two of us are curled together, blue pinstripes entwined with red, as if we're more than archenemies.

It doesn't last long. As soon as I realize who I'm snuggling with, I break away from the embrace. When she flicks her nail against me, I'm not sure if she's trying to coax me back or push me further away.

Meanwhile, Judd's blinking at the sunlight streaming in from the window. He pulls up his left hand to shield his eyes. "How many
weeks
did I just
sleep
?"

"Beats me." I pop up and have a look around the bedroom. The report is good. "But things haven't changed much...in
here
, anyway." I give Judd the once over, too. "You don't look any different, either, dude. Just less tired."

"I really
needed
that
sleep
." He slides his legs off the side of the bed, then throws his arms in the air and releases a long, loud yawn. "So maybe we got
lucky
for once?"

"I guess we'll find out," I say as he lowers his arms. "Ready for some recon, bruh?"

Judd listens to his left pinky and laughs, then listens and laughs again.

"
What
?" I give his palm a poke. "What's she
saying
?"

Judd ignores me and gets to his feet. Sniffing his left armpit, he scowls. "Man, do I need a
shower
." He walks to the dresser and pulls out socks and underwear. "I hope it uses
water
instead of
mercury
or
tadpoles
or something." Opening the closet, he finds a long-sleeved red-and-blue-striped shirt and a pair of faded jeans.

Carrying the clothes with his left hand, he heads for the door to the hall. He wraps his right hand around the cool brass knob, then hesitates. Leaning closer, he listens tensely for telltale signs of what he might find on the other side. What'll it be: old home week or hell on Earth?

"Go ahead, dude." I use the most encouraging tone I've got. "Let's get the lay of the land."

He takes a deep breath and turns the knob. Slowly, he pulls the door open and looks out.

The breath rushes out of him in a sigh of relief, and he steps into the hall. His fears, we can see, were unfounded.

"So far, so normal." I give his palm a quick congratulatory pat. "
Now
we're cookin' with
gas
!"

The next door up is the bathroom, and that looks normal, too. Judd enters, shuts the door behind him, and decides to give the shower a try.

I cheer him on. "Go for it, dude!" I admit, I'm feeling kind'a energized.

(I think the sleep did me some good, yo.)

When he runs the shower, he
does
get straight-up water instead of some crazy substitute. The soap doesn't jump up and attack him, the steam doesn't talk back, and the shower curtain doesn't turn into a screaming cheetah or a mildew monster or a black hole. So those are all definite pluses.

By the time he's done and dressed, I can't deny there's an upbeat vibe happenin'. It's like he washed a bunch of tension down the drain and lathered on some hope. I'm sure we're both thinking it: maybe things will work out this time.

(Don't know what Moldfinger's thinkin', and I don't much care.)

Now he's checking himself out in the mirror, and we're both tingling with adrenaline...

(Circulating
how
, if he doesn't have a
heart
??)

(Come to think of it, how's he even functioning
at all
?? Now
that's
a damn good question!)

...because it's time to move on to Stage 3...Stage 1 being the bedroom, Stage 2 the bathroom, and now we've gotta move on and see what's shakin' in the rest of the house.

He doesn't hesitate this time when he opens the door--just yanks that puppy and strolls right out. He's rested, showered, and hopeful, so no need to be timid.

The only time he pauses is at the end of the hall, before turning the corner into the living room. He stops and raises his left hand, staring at Moldfinger, who apparently is running her red-pinstriped yap.

"Yes, I remember." Judd nods. "You did say you'd get me home sooner. No, he isn't trying to take the credit."

(How do you like
those
apples? She's trying to
smear
me! Like I'd ever
stoop
to
her
level!)

Finally, he clears the corner, and there it is--the living room in all its unsurprising, unaltered un-glory. It might as well be a great and famous work of art, the way it makes him grin.

Beige Berber carpeting...check. Dark brown leather sofa and matching recliner...check. Cherry end tables and matching coffee table...check. Wall-mounted 46-inch flat-screen high-def TV set...checkaroonie. Bay window, bookshelves, gas logs fireplace...triple check.

And to top it all off, Mom walks in the front door, looking perfectly normal, no insanity in sight. Sphinx is at her side, also unabnormal in every way, just the same old chocolate Lab Judd knows and loves.

It's enough to make Judd choke up a little. Because face it, it's been a long, strange trip. There were times when it seemed like there was no end in sight.

But now here we are.

(What was that Dorothy said about Kansas? "There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home.")

Judd smiles, and Mom smiles back at him. It's an old-school mother and child reunion in the making. Sure, Judd's been around plenty of versions of Mom lately, but none has been the one-and-only original formula till now.

"Hi, Mom." He gives her a little right-hand wave when he says it. "What's up?"

Mom frowns and cocks her head. Then she opens her mouth.

And this is what she says: "Sharat linqua yabo? Poolag enghis?"

The second Judd hears it, he slumps. Because just like that, the truth is plain to hear, and we both know it.

This ain't original formula Mom.

Judd clears his throat. "What did you say? I don't think I heard you right."

I can guess what he's thinking. Maybe he misheard her the first time. Maybe it was some kind of joke or aftereffect of his journey through the crazy zone.

"Poolag enghis?" Or not. "Ziblo dengalu cherikabo Junn?"

He closes his eyes and shakes his head in dismay. Talk about major league suckage.

It would've been different if Mom had walked in wearing her organs on the outside or looking like a half-cat, half-spider creature or something. It would've been like, forget the hope, commence the madness, let's get it on. But to see her looking so normal and expect the nuttiness to end, only to hear her speaking what sounds like gibberish, well...

Let's just say this time feels extra-worse, though the crazy quotient isn't super-high. So far, the abnormality's confined to the way she talks, but the letdown's of asteroid-hitting-the-Earth proportions.

Judd opens his eyes and manages a lame smile. He doesn't bother trying to talk, which is smart.

(Who
knows
how back-home English might translate in
this
place?)

"Si la li shang viveruto?" Mom walks over and touches his arm, looking concerned. "Ankil gopelugiat?"

Judd just nods and smiles.

Mom watches his face closely for a moment, then nods. The look of concern is gone. "Prestilio, reverbish." She turns and heads for the door, gesturing for him to follow.

Judd shrugs and walks after her. What else is he gonna do in this situation?

He pats Sphinx's head on the way past, but finds no comfort there. The dog's bark sounds just as weird as Mom's gibberish, more like a bird's trilling tweet than any noise that might come out of a chocolate Lab.

*****