Laughing Down the Moon (24 page)

I nodded, so she continued, “If he doesn’t respond to these treatments, Dr. Dora said we can try steroids, diuretics, oxygen and bronchodilators. He may not pull through this. But he’s a big bird, so that helps.” She grasped my forearm the same way Dr. Dora had. Her eyes looked sad, and her thin lips grew even thinner.

I nodded. It was hard to swallow in order to speak. “What do we do now?” I croaked.

“Let me go ask Dr. Dora,” she replied.

Veronica and I sat back down. I smoothed the throw blanket out over my knees and then balled it up again against my stomach. I tried to take deep breaths to calm my heart and my stomach.

“It’s going to be okay,” Veronica said, putting her arm around me again. I leaned my head onto her shoulder. She squeezed me and kissed the top of my head.

“I know. It has to be. I’m so stupid.” I started crying again.

“No, you didn’t know.”

“It’s a jungle food, right? Avocado? And he’s a jungle bird. I never thought…”

“It’s okay. Hey, Madame DuVaulle never mentioned this, right? So there’s that,” Veronica said, jiggling me a little. I tried to smile.

“True,” I sniffed. “But this could be my Tower card.”

“No, I don’t think so. Did you notice the cat was still there when we left?”

“No.” I hadn’t noticed
anything
, to tell the truth. Just Dwight, limp in my arms.

“He was,” she said. “I think that’s why he was there in the first place. Because Dwight was sick.”

“I don’t know. He’s been around a lot.”

“Maybe he’s looking after you, like a familiar,” she said.

I sat up and moved out from under her arm. “Oh no,” I said. “Do you think he’s here to replace Dwight?” If the Goddess took Dwight and sent me a damn cat, I would not be able to handle it.

Veronica grabbed me and tucked me back under her arm. “No,” she said shaking me firmly, as if to get the thought out of my mind. “No, because Dwight is going to be just fine.”

“Veronica, this is why,” I said as she held me to her side, “it’s never a good idea to fall in love with anyone.” I sniffed loudly. “If Dwight doesn’t get better, how will my life have been made any better by having loved him? I mean, the good times will make the bad, the missing him, even worse, right?” I don’t know if it came out the way I meant it, but it was the best I could do to explain how I felt. It was the same way I felt about Shiloh, about love in general. It was dangerous. Yes, it was awesome, but it was so dangerous.

“That’s stupidity and fear talking,” Veronica replied. “And you’re smarter than that, so as soon as the fear part is over—”

“No, it’s reality!” I said, cutting her off. “Giving importance to someone, letting them into your heart, that’s just ridiculous. It’s how we entertain ourselves or something, so we don’t get bored. We think we’re supposed to fall in love because media and society tell us to, so we do, we let ourselves love, and then bam! It’s over. The person dies, leaves you and then what do you have? Nothing but heartache.”

“Are we talking about a person or about Dwight here?” Veronica asked.

“Well,” I sniffled again. Who were we talking about? “We’re talking about anyone—it’s all the same.”

I wasn’t going to let myself love deeply. I could make myself believe that love was fabricated by corporations trying to sell things like greeting cards, diamond rings and boxes of chocolates. Veronica sighed and leaned her head against mine. She pulled me tightly to her side. I let her. I thought about all the reasons not to love as I sat cradled against her.

Dr. Dora came out of the back of the clinic. Veronica and I straightened up, but she didn’t release me from her embrace. Dr. Dora’s arms were folded across her white lab coat. Her stethoscope, looking much too big for a chest as tiny as Dwight’s, hung around her neck. “Our patient,” she said, “is calling very feebly for someone named ‘lilfella.’ I’d hate for him to have to call for long, so why don’t you come back to see him. He’s feeling pretty good right now, we think.”

Forgetting all of my resolution and reasoning against falling in love, I jumped up. With a soft whoosh Dwight’s blanket fell from my lap to the tile floor. I followed Dr. Dora to see my little man.

Chapter Thirty-One

Shakespeare’s Gay?

I was in Cami’s class for what was my third visit in January. Being there was like a drug. I adored sharing what I knew about writing, the students seemed to appreciate what I was teaching them and I didn’t have to watch my back in the classroom. Schools didn’t allow cats inside. That crafty bugger had been showing up everywhere lately. To the credit of cats everywhere, they were intelligent and persistent, much to my personal dismay. I’d half expected to be greeted by his luminous golden eyes and unruly ear hair as I walked into the building, but I’d seen no signs of him here. On this visit I was teaching the students about concise writing, so they were rewriting long, overly wordy letters that had passed between William Shakespeare and his intimate companion, the Earl of Southampton.

The students were intrigued that William Shakespeare was married to Anne Hathaway while possibly having a male lover and surprised by the idea that more is not always better when it comes to writing. Their mission was to rewrite the letters using fewer words while still keeping each of the ideas and sentiments intact. Then in February, the students were going to have a lesson on language registers and have the chance to rewrite the letters one more time using today’s slang. I could not wait to see how their writing unfolded. They were so absorbed in what they were doing that Cami and I had time to just stand back and observe.

“So, what’s new on the home front?” Cami asked me.

“Nothing much,” I replied. I didn’t tell her that I was on pins and needles waiting for Shiloh to return any of the five or six voice messages I had left her over the past couple of weeks, I didn’t tell her what had befallen Dwight and I didn’t tell her that I felt like a fraud talking about the joys of writing as I stood here loathing my return home to continue a writing career that made me want to rip my face off.

“How’s Falina? She still dating that Brian guy?” Cami asked. Her hazel eyes sparkled at me as she tugged at the front of her blouse, bunching it up in a way that let me know she had also been told the story of the mis-buttoned shirt. We laughed.

“Yeah, she is,” I said, still laughing at her motions. “He has forgiven her for that, I think, because they are still hot and heavy.” I lowered my voice as I said “hot and heavy,” and she laughed at me for this.

“They’re eleventh graders,” she said, laughing and waving her hand like she was Glenda the Good Witch. “They only listen when adults whisper. Anyway, you could use a much more explicit phrase and they would still one-up you with something even more explicit.”

“Oh!” I said.

“And after all, you’re having them translate homosexual love letters here—you think there’s anything more exciting than that for them? We could say whatever we wanted to each other and they wouldn’t even hear us.” She waggled her eyebrows at me in a suggestive manner. Heat rose from my chest to my cheeks.

“Yeah, but it’s Shakespeare! And he was bisexual at best.” I defended my choice of lessons and at the same time hoped to reroute the conversation from us potentially saying inappropriate things to each other.

“Hey, I know, I know. And I wanted to tell you,” Cami said, lowering her voice now, “that you have an exceptional rapport with teenagers and you should consider teaching. And I’m not just saying that because you’ve been here helping me teach my classes and I feel like I owe you.” She laughed. “I do appreciate that by the way, but I’m telling you this because good teachers matter. You know, there are some teachers out there who can’t do what you do with these kids even though they’ve been teaching for years and years.”

“Wow, thank you,” I said. I was flattered by her sincere words. “Want to hear something crazy?”

“Sure,” Cami said.

“I went to a psychic the other day for a Tarot reading, and she told me she saw me teaching kids in the future.” I was watching as one of the boys in Cami’s class got so excited with what he was writing that he was now standing up at his desk, bent over at the waist, scribbling furiously as he rewrote Shakespeare’s words.

“See?” Cami asked.

“Only…” I looked around at these kids and knew they didn’t quite match the kids Madame DuVaulle predicted I’d be teaching. “The psychic said I’d be teaching kids with exceptional needs.”

Just then two girls and a boy began racing around the room, shrieking. One of the girls clutched her papers and was trying to stay ahead of the two chasing kids while trying to keep her writing out of their hands. A few other students looked up but then went back to their writing or collaborating. The girl in the front of the pack knocked over a chair before getting cornered and having her writing ripped out of her hands. All three of the kids were gasping for breath, laughing and hanging on each other. The rest of the class continued to work as if nothing unusual was going on.

“Allura, honey,” Cami said, her voice calm and even and her eyelids at half-mast, “they
all
have exceptional needs.”

Book of Shadows

Stagnant Negativity Cleanse

Cast circle around myself.

“Blessed be Creatures of Light.”

Light pale green candle.

Burn cinnamon incense.

Pass egg over my entire body, head to toe,

while concentrating on surrendering negativity to the egg.

Request protection and cleansing and renewal from the Goddess.

“God, Goddess, Mother Earth,

Unmoor my ship from this stagnant berth.

Please weather my seas with passion and mirth.

Perfect egg, uncloud my skies,

complete egg, help me be wise.”

Puff deep breath onto eggshell.

Thank the egg and break it in dish of water, examine for impurity or blood.

(There was none, so no further actions are necessary.)

Flush the egg and water down the toilet.

“Thank you, Goddess, for the egg and for the cleansing.”

“Blessed be Creatures of Light.”

Snuff the candle.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Apply Myself Liberally

I guessed there weren’t many teaching jobs for a person without a teaching degree, but I was scouring the Internet anyway. Dwight was walking around on my desk, moving pens and pencils from one side of the desk to the other. This was a new habit he had recently taken up. It was one that I would have to discourage because I was worried about him sampling dangerous edibles—his list of edible household items being much longer than my list, although I hadn’t forgotten I was the one who forced the avocado on him. Also, he wasn’t exactly litter trained yet. On the other hand, I should welcome the little gifts he left behind because at least he was here and alive to leave them…all over my books, papers, rocks, candles and chair.

I held out my arm to him and said, “Step up!” He stepped up, with heavy feet grasping my arm through my sleeve, and let me place him atop his cage where there was a play station with a cockatoo-sized jungle gym and food and water bowls.

“Good boy,” I said, grabbing a peanut for him from the top drawer of my desk. I held the peanut out to him, and he grabbed it in his big, scaly foot. I loved watching him hold his food with his feet. Sometimes he just went straight to using his beak to break into whatever morsel he discovered, but when he used his foot, it just cracked me up. He still amazed me. Before the avocado incident, he had started to become more accustomed to his new place and was beginning to explore virgin territory every day. But since coming home from the clinic, he had become even bolder. It was as if after his near-death experience he resolved to live it up before I tried to poison him again. Dr. Dora had warned that he’d be subdued for a few days, but no such luck. I had to keep my eyes and ears open. I’d begun to appreciate the lock on his cage door which I had had no reason to use up until yesterday when I came home and heard his “lilfella” greeting coming at me from the kitchen.

He had wandered all the way downstairs. I saw that he had introduced himself to the herb garden in the kitchen window and had gnawed the basil into a stub of stalks. I was thankful he hadn’t introduced himself to electricity by munching on an extension cord. I found little bird shits everywhere.

But now he was happy to busy himself with destroying the peanut. I knew he’d stay in the office as long as I was there, so I turned back to the computer to see if anyone wanted to hire me to teach writing. I typed, “Writing instructor Twin Cities not certified” into the search bar and got four hits. Two were at the university level, one was community education and one was at…wow. It was at the Davidoff Academy for the Blind where Shiloh taught her fitness class.

My stomach lurched, and I decided right then and there to apply online for the job, whether I was qualified or not. I also decided I was going to call Shiloh, tell her she scared the hell out of me and that I wanted to see her. I couldn’t exactly spring myself on her or just show up on her doorstep, because that would be unfair. But what if I asked her to meet me at…I don’t know…someplace at a certain time if she was willing to give this a go, or to at least see me? What the heck had happened anyway?

I was scared off by her soundtrack offering, hung up, didn’t answer a couple of her calls, then I called her and she didn’t answer my calls. And in between all that I saw her at the Loring with some woman who had touched her face, but she didn’t see me, of course. Maybe she somehow knew I was there…and with Mickey.

Mickey. I needed to wrap things up with Mickey. We had talked a few times on the phone, nothing committal, just banter. Nothing seductive or exciting or heartwarming. There was just nothing there anymore. No matter how badly Mickey thought she wanted to start or restart a relationship with me, we just couldn’t do that. There wasn’t enough to keep us together the first time, so there was certainly not enough to bring us back together now. And I didn’t want to go back.