You never forget your first Manic Pixie Dream Girl...

bittersweet
Day 1 – The Thrill of it All
Laika Pupkino ~ 2022

“The best magic is the kind that happens.”
~Haruki Murikami

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“OK, we get it! We're not in Kansas anymore...”

I forget who said it this time. Probably my sister Joy.

My father had cracked his “I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto...” joke the instant we crossed the state line into Oklahoma; and then again in Amarillo, Albuquerque, Gallup, Flagstaff, the Grand Canyon, and several times in Vegas. And now as he steered our rented Winnebago down this twisty two lane highway out of the coastal mountains and I saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time he said it again.

It was driving my little sister nuts. But at least it had broken him of saying “Let's get out of Dodge!”, and he hadn't said anything about showing “steenking badges” since Arizona. I don't know if my father invented the dad joke but he sure refined it...

He had decided to use up his annual two weeks' vacation time his job with the USDA gave him all in one big lump, taking us on a grand tour of the American west. And he'd decided to do it in February, pulling me and my sister out of school. We would both have a lot of catching up to do when we got back to school. But the fact that it felt like we were playing hooky made everything we did seem that much more fun.

Plus all the national parks and tourist destinations we were visiting would be a lot less crowded than during Summer or on Spring break. And Mom had really wanted to see the desert while the wildflowers were in bloom, and these few weeks were about the only time of year for that.

California's rainy season was a bit of a gamble, but we managed to make the whole trip in a gap between two big Pacific storms. My dad couldn't actually take credit for this but of course he pretended to, declaring himself the mighty Mystic Mooja and demanding “tributes” from the RV's snack cabinet.

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o . 0 . O . 0 . o

I was blown away by my first glimpse of an actual ocean. It was so blue, and it went on forever. Photographs and movies just hadn't done it justice. And the coastal town of Santa Teresa spread out below us was as picturesque as you please. Everyone was awestruck by the view except my dad, who cried out, “Oh Lord, they RUINED it!”

In the mid-1980's when we took this trip we didn't have the internet to research things on, so he'd brought us here to his old home town based on what he remembered it being like in the early 1960's, when he'd lived and surfed here. A carefree beach bum's life in a clapboard bungalow that he rented with two other young guys, right next to a big noisy pump jack that ran continuously sucking oil out of the bedrock; with those sets of perfect waves just a short run from their front door. Where that funky little shack had stood were blocks and blocks of tract homes, not that different than some of the suburbs we had in Kansas. Except this one had palm trees.

“Where did all these houses come from?” he groaned, “That mall? That golf course? My God it's all so built up!”

“I'm sure it'll be nice. It might not be just like you remember it but I'm sure we'll find things to do. The kids can go to the mall,” said my mom, the eternal optimist. She pointed, “And is that a roller coaster?”

It wasn't a huge roller coaster but it was big enough to try riding a time or two; sitting down by the beach amid some plaster pavilions that were trying to look foreign and exotic- Turkish or Arabian or something. The sight of it cheered him up. “That's the Little Dipper. At least Wonderland Boardwalk didn't get torn down so they could put up condos! The place was old and run down even back then, but me and Skip and Fritos had a lot of fun there.”

“You see?” said my mom, “And I know you miss the ocean, so this will be fun. I'm sick of driving all day, day after day. It'll be good to stay put here for a few days.”.

Four and a half days to be exact. From this morning through Friday at noon space #22 at Santa Teresa State Beach would be our home. This would be the longest we'd be stopping at any one place, because for my dad this had been the real point of our whole trip---a pilgrimage to the land of his youth---before we continued on up the California coast, catching all the usual must-see stuff, and then heading home by way of Lake Tahoe, Utah and the Colorado Rockies.

And as it turned out Santa Teresa would be the part of our trip that really stands out in my memory, a lot more than any of the more famous destinations. Because this is where I met Nova, and spent most of my time here with her.

I can't claim it was love at first sight. At first this girl had seemed interesting, intriguing, unlike anyone I'd ever met before. And kind of challenging- she had a way of keeping me on my toes. And then I realized how much fun I was having with her, even doing things that shouldn't have been fun. And by Wednesday I cared for her more deeply than I'd cared for anyone outside of my family. I'd had close friends back in Littleton but this felt different somehow. And I remember almost every part of those few days we spent together like it happened last week and not thirty eight years ago. Certain things in life just stick in your mind like that.

And in your heart...

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MONDAY

By the time we got to Las Vegas we all had clothes that needed washing but somehow we never got around to it during our two days there. So the first thing we had to do after we checked in to our camp site was to pull right back out of it and find a laundromat. A park ranger told us where the closest one was.

On the drive there my mom said, “I'm not sure it'll be safe to just leave our clothes at the laundromat. I'm noticing a lot of homeless looking people wandering around town.”

“That's something else that's changed,” frowned my dad.

Mom said, “So I'll stay and do our wash. But you three should go find something fun to do.”

“No Mom,” I said, “We're all on vacation and you should be too. You go with them, I'll stay.”

“Yeah Mom, Kevin can do it.” said Joy. She had actually been the one who pointed out to me that while me and her and dad were all goofing off, Mom was still doing all her normal duties- shopping, cooking and tidying up our little house on wheels. I might not have noticed this otherwise.

I gestured with the trade size paperback I'd picked up in Flagstaff and said, “I'd just be reading this wherever I was, I might as well read it here. I'm pretty sure I know how to work a washing machine."

And when Dad concurred with us Mom knew she was outvoted and gave in.

We lugged in two laundry baskets, my duffel bag and a trash bag with dirty clothes in them, and Mom handed me a plastic tub full of quarters that she'd had since Vegas, and said I could keep however many were was left. They left, looking for a place where Dad could go rent a surfboard, and then did whatever before swinging back by here to pick me up. It was like having to take your house with you everywhere you went.
.

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o . 0 . O . 0 . o

None of us had brought clothes on this trip that needed any special care, so I just threw everyone's stuff into its own machine, and settled into one of the plastic chairs until it was time to use the dryers.

The clock on the wall was busted but the NASA watch I'd gotten for Christmas said nine fifteen. I was surprised at how early it was until I remembered how ridiculously early we'd gotten on the road this morning. We were one time zone over from home so we woke up at four, our bodies insisting it was five a.m. already.

I cracked open my book, a novel everyone was raving about that was supposed to be some groundbreaking work of a whole new genre of science fiction. I was partial to the classics---Asimov, Bradbury, Clark---and wasn't sure I'd like something as gimmicky-sounding as “cyberpunk” but I was willing to be won over...

I was the only one in the place so I assumed there would be no distractions while I read. But I was only three pages into it when I heard a girl's voice say, “I'm pretty sure it's you.”

I startled. “Huh?!”

The first thing I noticed when I looked up was an enormous pair of eyes. I don't mean they were freakishly large but they instantly made a huge impression on me. Beautiful eyes that would have looked even prettier if she hadn't gone nuts with the eye shadow and mascara.

It seemed like she was trying to do something Egyptian with her eye makeup. Her eyelids were saturated with rich colors that modulated from forest green into aquamarine and then to peacock blue; and each eye had a thick black horizontal line jutting from its outside corner, and a curly black thing jutting down from underneath it; so her eyes resembled that eye symbol that the famous hero of the comic book series Indiana Jones and he Order of Anubis kept seeing, which lead him deeper and deeper into the mystery of the missing scientists.

I briefly wondered what sort of mystery these eyes might lead me into. Hopefully it wouldn't involve a staircase that turned into a slide, a room full of snakes or an ancient secret society with an insane plot to bring about the end of the world...

The girl cocked her head sideways to study my face from a slight angle, then announced. “Yeah it is you! I can tell!”

She didn't seem angry so I knew I wasn't about to be accused of something, but her gaze was so intense it felt unnerving. I stammered, “What do you mean 'it's me'? What's me?”

“The sticks told me I would meet someone today who'd play an important role in my life, and here you are!” she said, breaking into a big radiant smile that lifted the shiny gold foil stars she'd affixed to each of her cheeks. They were like the stars my first grade teacher used to stick on assignments she liked but at least twice as large. And she had a beautiful smile, but what the heck was she talking about?

“Sticks?!”

“Yeah, They're better than the coins, but what the sticks say can still be pretty darn hard to interpret.”

“I'll bet it can,” I said, while wondering what I could say that would make her go away.

Insane people were always coming up to me at the store or on the bus and babbling whatever nonsense was in their heads; telling me how they were getting messages from the future in their alphabet soup or whatever. And trying to make sense of their gibberish always gave me a headache. Although they weren't usually this young, or this pretty...

“You seem skeptical,” she said with an amused grin, “But the sticks and the hexagrams have guided millions of people for thousands of years. Emperors, Generals, and nowadays millionaire businessmen all over Asia consult the I Ching, although they probably do it on computers somehow.”

“I Ching?! Do you mean that Chinese fortune telling deal?”

“'Fortune telling deal' is a pretty crude way of describing it. It's also a meditation deal, a philosophy deal, a psychology deal,” she said,” But yeah, I meant the I Ching . What did you think I meant?”

“I had no idea! All you said was you had some sticks that were talking to you and telling you I was the Chosen One or something!”

She burst out laughing. “I guess I did, didn't I? Oh Lordy! No wonder you looked like you were about to run away! I'm crazy, but I'm not that crazy. Sometimes my mouth just gets way out ahead of my brain!”

“It happens,” I said, relieved to know she wasn't hearing voices from sticks. From what little I knew about schizophrenia it seemed like it'd be a miserable disease to have.

“And I didn't say you were the Chosen One. But our lives and our fates are cosmically entwined.”

“Okay. Now you're starting to scare me again,” I told her. I was sort of surprised that I'd come right out and said that. This kid was having an odd effect on me, making me feel sort of pleasantly disoriented.

“Well it is scary to think that things are as predetermined as they are.”

“And that's why I don't think that,” I said, “Because they're not.”

She looked to be about my age. 'What kind of junior high school kid rattles of a word like predetermined?' I wondered, 'I mean besides me?' Which was when I could tell this girl was probably somebody worth talking to.

And not a total looney-tunes---despite the way she was dressed and made up---but just another person who thought they had some gimmick for telling the future. Which might technically still be a delusion, but if over half the Earth's population believed in stuff like this- gods or unseen forces guiding their lives, I couldn't take this by itself as some proof that I was vastly smarter or saner than that many people because I didn't share their faith in such things. To me that's just trading one delusion for another that's just as bad. It might not start holy wars or jihads, but once you start believing you're that superior to everyone else there's no limit to how big of an asshole you can become...

I asked her, “So if your sticks said you were meant to meet this important person, how can you be sure it's me and not the next random stranger you come across? I'd hate to waste your time and disappoint you when it turns out I'm nobody and your destiny guy's doing his wash at the laundromat across town.”

“You're not nobody. There's some things I just know, and I know that. We're destined to become very close and have some epic adventures together!” she said.

“I'm going to take some convincing on that,” I said.

“You'll see,” she smiled and stuck out her hand like a guy does (except guys don't have long oval nails each painted a different color) and said, “So hi there! I'm Nova... Nova Nightbloom.”

“Kevin,” I said as I shook her hand, “Kevin Brown.”

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o . 0 . O . 0 . o

Nova had on red corduroy pants, white sneakers that had been given zebra-striped all over with a black marker, a sort of hippie-ish loose blouse in a patterned fabric that looked like it might have come from India or Indonesia or somewhere. It was a strange combination of clothes with too many different colors and patterns but somehow it worked for her. It was a consistent sort of chaos...

Her hair was rather short, but it was a very girlish short haircut (which my mom told me later was called a pixie cut) that went with her delicate features and made her seem even cuter. I even liked the fact that it was bright turquoise. Being the science fiction nut that I was I imagined her as some exotic being from another planet that I would have to explain the ways of our world to and then would probably have to help her evade those government agent who are always out to capture and dissect good-hearted visitors to our world. Despite the danger it was something I would be glad to do for this strange and beautiful creature.

Over the next couple of seconds a whole little movie about my adventures with this alien girl spun through my head---beginning, middle and end---which was not a normal thing that happened with me when I first met someone; but I knew this wasn't a usual sort of first meeting. It felt-

I wasn't sure how it felt, other than that there was something about this Nova Nightbloom I really liked.

Which considering my beliefs and my personality seemed totally counterintuitive. I should be taking a very strong dislike to anyone who came up and started talking with such certainty about divining future events and having some sixth sense about my destiny and hers being connected; but I found it oddly charming. And I couldn't even say what it was about her I liked besides her smile and her all-around adorableness...

It wasn't that I was in love with her; or not yet; And lust wasn't really a part of this feeling I had; or if it was it was vague and unfocused. But I was definitely infatuated. And somehow just her presence here in front of me was making me feel good in a strange new way.

Being this mesmerized by a girl was kind of a new experience for me, and it was still only happening to me sporadically. At 14 I wasn't yet watching TV shows that I otherwise felt were barely watchable because they had an actress in them that I couldn't get enough of.

You could say I was kind of a late bloomer when it came to women. I talked just enough of the talk that was expected of me around my male peers---a bunch of pimple-faced virgins all bragging about how much PUSSY they were getting---but I wasn't interested in finding a girlfriend, or desperate to lose my virginity as soon as I could. Not that I was seriously intent on keeping it either, I just didn't think about it a whole lot. But I was starting to appreciate a pretty girl when I saw one.

Nova looked at my four machines chugging away, “You have a lot of laundry going.”

“It's not all mine. I'm doing the wash for my whole family.”

She grinned, “Say that again!”

“Say what?”

“'Doing the warsh...”

I said it again. She seemed amused by my pronunciation and asked me where I was from. I told her. She asked how I liked living in Kansas. I said I hadn't lived anywhere I could compare it to but I guessed it was OK. She peered down at the book in my lap. “William Gibson. Neuromancer. Is it any good?”

“I don't know, I just started it. But it's supposed to be. It won him a Hugo.”

She frowned.“That sounds like a lousy thing to win.”

“Really? I've never heard of an author turning down a Hugo.”

“They must be hard up for transportation then. Those things are supposed to be like the worst cars ever made!”

“No not Yugo, Hugo,” I said, and was starting to explain what a Hugo Award was when I noticed the little 'gotcha!' smile on her lips.

I groaned, “That was as bad as one of my dad's jokes!”

“Really?” she asked, “Your dad's a fan of the bon mot?”

“If that means joke then yeah. But they're really, really bad.”

“Bad jokes are the best. Tell me one of his! A real stinker!”

“All right. But don't say I didn't warn you,” I said, and told her his joke about Moses and the burning bush.

She laughed like I did the first time I heard it. “Oh Lordy, that was awful! Your old man's a genius!. I'd love to meet him!”

“If you're still around in-” I checked my watch “-an hour and a half you'll get your chance to.”

“Oh no, I'll be gone by then. I'm just passing through,” sbe said, “But we'll meet again. And I'll have to check out that book you're reading. I just finished reading The Pinkwitch Chronicles for the second time and I'm looking for a good story to get lost in.”

I had started reading those Pinkwitch books when I was ten and never made it through the first one. It was just too unbelievable, with no attempt to explain how The Realm's magic worked, and when I got to the part about the mermaids I gave up. Trying to keep my disdain for the genre out of my voice, I asked, “So you're into fantasy fiction, are you?”

“I am,” she admitted, “But recently I've gotten into fantasy non-fiction.”

“What the hell is that?”

“It's when you get so far into it you go right through and came out the other side! And now I'm living my fantasy!”

I had no idea what she was talking about. I said, “Well then good for you.”

“Yes, good for me,” she smiled, “It's been a perfect adventure so far” she said as she shrugged the canvas rucksack she was wearing off of her back and set it on the chair beside me. “But every great adventure needs funding, so...”

It was a big pack with patches sewn onto it all over. Some bore wacky slogans, one said Yosemite, another was one of these things (/ http://www.horizonview.net/~beeryb/illusions/impossible/bliv... ). But most of them were butterflies with brilliant colored wings. She had them swarming all over it. She unstrapped its top flap and and started pulling things out of it...

A bamboo flute, a Swiss Army knife, a rattling plastic box of cosmetics, a badly bruised banana,a Raggedy Ann doll with the head of a rabbit on it, a baby blue stuffed bunny with Raggedy Ann's head on it, a bundle of colored markers held together with a rubber band, a paperback book called The Berkely Press Portable Anarchist, a Wendy the Good Little Witch comic book, a plain-covered hardbound book entitled Spaying and Neutering- a Veterinarian's Guidebook, a king-size Abba-Zaba bar, a tennis ball, an Academy artist's sketch pad, more colored pens, and finally a scrap of denim and a pair of heavy long-handled channel locks.

The pack looked like it still more stuff in it but she methodically put everything but the tool and the rag back into it. Then she said, “Time to get to work!”

There were two back to back rows of top loading machines down the center of the room, four of which I was using. She went to the first machine on the lefthand row, opened the top, and began taking it apart. She seemed awfully young to be a washing machine repair-person so I went over to watch.

“I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing,” she grinned, “Well check this out!”

She wasn't exactly taking the washer apart. It had the usual big plastic agitator thing that rotates back and forth to jostle your clothes around in the sudsy water. On top of he agitator was a stainless steel knob. She tried loosening the knob by hand but it wouldn't budge. So she loosened it with the channel locks until she could unscrew it the rest of the way with just her fingers. She grabbed the agitator and worked it back and forth like a bad tooth until it popped free. Lifted it off its axle and set it on the next machine over, announcing: “Behold- The mother load!”

There on the bottom of the washer's basin was about $3 in quarters, dimes, nickles and pennies. She said, “If today is anything like last Monday some of these machines will have more, some less. But it's all nice clean spendable US currency. Well except for the pesos and Chuck E. Cheese game tokens. I really need to get serious about expanding my wardrobe. And it would be great if you wanted to help, but I really need to go clothes shopping so I'm afraid I can't cut you in for more than taking you to McDonald's or for a big bean burrito at Super-Mex.”

I said, “I wasn't doing much anyway, I'll help. And you don't have to buy me lunch.”

“Thank You!” she exclaimed gratefully, “You're a true Hero of the Revolution!”

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o . 0 . O . 0 . o

We went down the row side by side. I had a bit more heft to me than Nova did so I went ahead of her and took off the knobs that I could with just the rag and loosened the agitators. She came along behind, using the channel locks on the more stubborn ones and scooping up the coins. I stuffed the rest of my laundry quarters in my pant pockets and gave her my mom's slot machine bucket to put the money in.

“This is so cool! Can I keep this?!” she asked about the gaudy plastic bucket. It had STARDUST CASINO on it crazy space-age lettering and colorful stars and planets all over it- exactly the kind of thing someone as flamboyant as her would love. Since my Mom didn't seem to want it I said sure.

I asked her, “So this is how you get your spending money? Don't your parents give you an allowance?”

“I'm sure they would, but they were lost at sea when I was eight,” she sighed, “Drowned, crushed or ran out of air- nobody will ever know which.”

“I'm sorry. I know how much it hurts,” I said, because I did; and losing your parents would have to be far worse.

“It was pretty awful,” she said, “And maybe even moreso because there were no bodies, no coffins; It was just: 'When the clock runs out we'll know they're gone...'”

I made a sympathetic noise.

I wanted to know what she meant by all this, but I didn't want to be one of those people who need all the gory details about a tragedy like this. I got too much of that after my best friend Tyler Pittman drowned in wheat while horsing around in a grain silo, disappearing right in front of me in mid-laugh. It was my most painful memory ever, and the people prodding me with questions about it seemed to be doing it for entertainment purposes. (I swore I was going to just haul off and slug the next person who got too ghoulishly nosy about it, with no warning; but I never did...).

“And then there was the question of what to do with me, because I didn't have any other family. And I was freaking out, wondering what kind of orphanage or ugly foster family I might wind up in. When out of the blue this aunt I never knew I had---my Aunt Mimi---comes swooping in and does the legal stuff and gives me a home, right here in beautiful Santa Teresa. Aunt Mimi's amazing, a real free spirit! I never would've believed someone so old could be so cool, I mean she's almost sixty. Like an old hippie or something but a rich one. Way richer than my parents were! Not that material stuff matters that much to her, she's all about culture and the life of the mind. And all her friends are artists and intellectuals, philosophers and architects and beatniks, Wobblies and feminists and Trotskyites, dadaists and poets and free thinkers and theosophists; and they stay up smoking and drinking absinthe and talking about really interesting things all night!” she said, and finally took a breath.

“Wow,” I said, taking in what a life like that might be like.

“And a lot of nights I'm right there with them. Not the smoking and drinking part, but they all want to know my 'perspective' on stuff and treat me almost like an adult. Some nights we're so into it someone goes: 'Hey, the sun's coming up!' and we all go out for crepes or huevos rancheros and lots of good black coffee, because I don't even have a bedtime...”

“You don't?”

“No. Aunt Mimi says bedtimes are small minded and bourgeois. So I don't have my dear parents anymore, and I miss them, but I have an amazing home and an amazing life. But there's one thing that's starting worry me. My brilliant bohemian aunt might be getting a bit scatterbrained in her old age. Two weeks ago she went to Europe, to hit all her favorite spots along the Riviera, and she forgot to leave me any money.”

I gasped. Suddenly this aunt of hers went from sounding oddly cool to being a criminally shitty provider for a girl Nova's age. “You're joking! Two weeks?!”

“She's supposed to wire me a thousand in a few days when some mysterious deal she's working on goes through. Maybe more than a thousand. I'll be rolling in long green then!”

Nowadays if someone told me a story like this I would think they were running a game on me, and I'd be waiting for the part where they promised to pay me back tenfold for the hundred I “loan” them after their absolutely 100% guaranteed big score happens. The classic short con. But at the time it never even occurred to me that this could all be some bullshit story. For such a supposedly smart kid I could be extremely credulous sometimes. Mostly I was just shocked at her aunt's irresponsibility, and wondering if I should call the authorities on this woman.

I shook my head, “I can't believe she stranded you like this. How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“I'm fourteen too.”

Well lucky us,” she said, “Aunt Mimi let me stay home last year too, when she did her Asian tour, but she left me a cookie jar full of twenties. This time, until that money order gets here she's counting on me to be able to use the survival tricks she taught me to get by on.”

“Like stealing money out of washing machines?”

“It's not stealing. The people these coins belonged to don't even realize they lost them, and it isn't money owed to the laundromat for the use of their machines. Busting open the coin boxes would be stealing. This is more like salvage. You know, maritime law. It belongs to whoever gets it,” she said, and rattled her Stardust bucket full of coins at me, “This'll hold me over for a few days, and I have a few other ways to get money too. Aunt Mimi expects me to use them all and to report to her about them and what I learned when she gets back. She said to just think of this as my 'urban walkabout'.”

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o . 0 . O . 0 . o

We'd reached the front of the laundromat and were starting down the other row of washers. My four machines were on their final spin. Out on 3rd Street a yellow school bus rolled past us. I smiled as I remembered that if I wasn't on vacation I'd be in my third period algebra class right about now.

I asked Nova, “So why aren't you in school, anyway?”

“I don't go to school,” she replied, “Or I mean I do, but not at a junior high or anything. Aunt Mimi's home schooling me.”

“What do you mean 'home schooling'?”

“Just what it sounds like,” she said, “When a parent or guardian doesn't send their kid to school but takes on the job of educating them herself, and they have school at home."

I'd never heard of such a thing. “People can do that? That's legal?”

“Totally legal. Lots of parents do it. Usually it's super-religious people who don't want their kids to learn about penises and vaginas and evolution. But Aunt Mimi's doing it for the opposite reason. She doesn't want me to learn less than other kids, she wants me to learn more. When she isn't off jet-setting around the globe she gives me an assignment or two every morning, and then she grades it when she gets home. Only it's more like we discuss it because she doesn't do the A-B-C-D-F thing. She calls it fascistic.”

“Whatever she's doing it seems to be working,” I said, “You sound pretty smart.”

“So do you, for a product of the American education system.”

“What's wrong with the American education system?”

“My aunt says everything. She calls our schools 'breeding ground for mediocrity'. But then she doesn't like most public institutions. Aunt Mimi's an Anarchist.”

“An anarchist?” I gulped. Now I really wondered if I should report this woman to the authorities.

“Yeah, but not the kind that goes around blowing things up. The good kind.”

“There's a good kind?”

“Sure there is. Anarchy isn't some bratty punk rock 'Fuck You!' to the whole world. You're free to do that of course---because it's all about freedom---but you'd better be equipped to survive on your own when the world Fuck-You's you right back and no one wants to barter with you. Aunt Mimi says the only way we can expect to have no government is for people to govern themselves. It's about respecting other people's thing, whatever that might be, and taking responsibility for your own life.”

“Responsibility like leaving your kid alone without money for two weeks?”

“Even Anarchists can screw up,” she said defensively, “Tia Mimi;s responsible enough to admit how bad she screwed up, And she's not only sending me that money, she said she's gonna make it up to me for screwing up by buying me my own computer when she gets back home. Probably whatever kind's the most expensive.”

This made me a bit jealous. My parents said they would get me a computer when I graduate from high school, so I could take it to college with me- which was like a million years away.. It was a sensible plan, but I really wanted to play Donkey Kong.

My washers all clunked to a stop- 1, 2, 3, 4. I stuffed the loads into four seperate dryers and started them; and suddenly the place was full of people. A Mexican woman with three kids came in through one door just as a twentyish homeless couple came in through the other. Twenty seconds later another guy came in,

Nova said, “Let's call it a day. I don't like working with an audience.”

“Do you have enough?” I asked.

“I have enough to do this,” she said, and went over to the homeless couple.

They were debating whether they could wash both their sleeping bags in a single giant front loader. Nova gave them enough of her salvage quarters to use two machines. She came back and said simply, “Karma points.”

“So are you taking off?” I asked, “You said you were just passing through.”

“I was, but destiny had other ideas. Let's sit and talk.:

Her 'Destiny' might have been all in her head but I was happy it told her to stay.

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o . 0 . O . 0 . o

I'd just put all the dry clothes into their respective containers when our Winnebago pulled into the lot. My dad hopped out, came in through the front door. “Sorry to stick you with doing this. How's that book?”

“I didn't really even start it. I was talking to my friend Nova here.” I turned, and she was gone.

“I have a friend like that. His name's Harvey and he's a pooka.”

“She was just here. Hang on a sec-” I said. I went to check the bathroom, it was open and empty. Went out the back door, and found her outside in the alley. “Are you hiding?”

“No I- uh, saw a cat. She looked scared and lost. She's gone now.”

“Oh,” I said, not really believing her, A lost cat wouldn't explain why she'd been pressed flat against the wall like that. And then my dad came out and found us.

“Oh there you are. And you must be Nova. Hi, I'm Kevin's dad,” he grinned, “Holy Cow! That's some hair you got!”

“Welcome to California,” said Nova sheepishly, “Land of the Weirdos.”

“Oh, I'm from here,” said my dad, “So what does that make me? Grew up right here in S.T. as a matter of fact. Being ahead of the curve about fashions was a Cali tradition even back then. There'll always be something that seems freaky and shocking to everyone else, until it doesn't,,.”

We all went back inside. I asked him, “So did you find your surfboard?”

“Sure did. I've got it rented through Friday. The guy at the rental shop said there's a big swell today, so you know where I'll be 'til suppertime. Although these new boards, it's gonna be like going from a Winnebago to a sports car. I hope I don't embarrass myself.”

“You won't. It's like riding a bike,” Nova assured him.

“That's what they say. But back in my day bikes had that big giant wheel in the front,” he said. He asked me, “So you coming back, or did you kids have plans?”

I looked at Nova.... Did we?

“I promised to show Kevin the sights,” she told him. She gestured at the pay phone on the wall, “ I talked to my aunt, and she's invited us to afternoon tea.”

“Okay, then have fun. Just be back at the State Beach by six, Mama's making her seven layer Mexican Casserole,” he said, and told Nova, “And you're invited too, of course.”

“I might,” she said, “I'll have to discuss it with Aunt Mimi.”

“Alright, we'll see you then, Sport,” he said to me. “And Nova?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep your Freak Flag flying!”

To me this sounded like an insult but she broke into a huge grin. “You too!”

“I'll have to find it first. I think it's out in the garage someplace.”

Whatever all that meant.

.
o . 0 . O . 0 . o

As Dad and I lugged the clean laundry out to the RV I stuck my book in with my own clothes. I didn't want to be carrying it around all day. After our Winnebago rumbled off down the block Nova said, “Wow. He wasn't at all what I was expecting!”

“Is that why you were hiding?” I asked, “What you expected?”

“I guess,” she shrugged, “What can I say? I'm just a weird girl who has Daddy issues...”

“I can see why you would,” I said, thinking she meant her grief over her father and mother dying.

“And also it's just force of habit. The whole laying low thing. But luckily that's just until my Aunt Mimi gets back.”

“For high tea.”

“I know,” she said, admitting she'd lied, “But I felt like I should let him know I'm not running around unsupervised like some street urchin out of Dickens.”

“Which you are...”

Her sweet smile suddenly looked rather feral. “You'd better believe it!”

“You told him you were going to show me the sights. I hope that wasn't a lie.”

“No! I really want to!”

“So what sights did you have I mind?”

“Everywhere you look there's sights. Let's just walk and see where we end up.”

We went out onto the sidewalk. I peered up the block and then down it. “Which way?”

“Eenie, meenie, miney-” Nova wagged her finger back and forth then announced in a comical put-on accent, “This vay, Dollink!”

“DOLLINK?!” I laughed, “Who are you, Natasha?!”!

It had been 20 years since they'd made the last Rocky & Bullwinkle cartoon but almost everyone under fifty knew the show's main characters, like the two inept Soviet spies Boris and Natasha. She said, “I'm not tall enough to be Natasha. I just called you Dollink because... I don't know why. You just look like a dollink, Dollink.”

“Thank you, I guess.”

“And besides, I couldn't live like Natasha and Boris do...,”

“Being a Communist?”

“I meant always having to wear black, I would defect in a heartbeat!”

.
o . 0 . O . 0 . o

We headed south down this most ordinary American Third Street, lined with houses and small apartment buildings that looked like they'd been here since my father had lived here.

Nova asked casually, “So am I your first girlfriend?”

I almost managed to do a spit take without anyhing in my mouth. “WHAT?!”

“I'll take that as a Yes.”

“NO!”

“So then I'm not your first girlfriend?”

“I- gurk! You're NOT my girlfriend! How can you be?! I just met you!”

“I don't know 'how'. How is anything possible? Some things just are...”

“And some things aren't,” I said, “And to call you a friend wouldn't be unreasonable, as much as two people who just met can be friends. But not 'girlfriend' in any definition of the word that makes sense to me; Desides just how my mom and my sister use the word to mean a female friend.”

I was relieved to see that my honesty hadn't hurt her feelings a bit. I don't know what I would've done if Nova had burst into tears. In a cheerful and reasonable tone she said, “Okay.”

“'Okay' you're not my girlfriend?”

:Okay I am, you just don't know it yet. But you will,” she smiled, “Before you leave Santa Teresa you'll look at me with all the love in the world and say: 'You're my girl!'”

Oh for God's sake! I said, “And you just know that.”

“Yep.”

“I won't say it's not possible. Not like if you told me that before Friday we'd both grow wings an fly. I mean I like you, even if you're half crazy. But please don't pin all your hopes on that!”

“Okay,” she said in the same tone as before, smiling like she knew something I didn't

.
o . 0 . O . 0 . o

People sure were noticing Nova's colorful outfit, her face paint and and turquoise hair.. Nowadays even in the midwest you see teenagers running around with all different crazy colored hair and you don't even give it a second thought. Or at least I don't. And it wasn't completely unheard of in 1984 but it definitely got people's attention. She sure couldn't be confused for anybody else. And although my own haircut and clothing were stodgily square and normal. just being seen walking with this magical creature made me feel adventurous and brave.

Motorists honked.

Old people stopped dead in their tracks and gawked at us.

A three year old girl toddling along hand in hand with her mother gasped adorably and asked Nova, “Are you a FAIRY?!”

Her mom shot my friend the dirtiest look---as if Nova was intentionally putting subversive ideas or something her daughter's head---before dragging the girl roughly off down the sidewalk by her arm.

A police car cruised past us in the slow lane, a bit too slowly for Nova's liking. She said, “If anybody asks why we're not in school, tell them we're from out of state and on vacation, staying down at the campground.:.”

“I already am all those things.”

“I know. But if they ask, include me in that story. I'd really appreciate it.”

“I can do that,” I said,

“So where are we from, exactly?”

“Littleton Kansas. Near Topeka,:''

“Golly, Toto! I don't think we're in Kansas anym-”

“Please don't do that!”

.
o . 0 . O . 0 . o

The same cop car came back the other way, checking us out.. Nova flashed them a peace sign and a big sweet winning smile and they drove on.

I asked her, “But doesn't it kind of suck to always be having to think about stuff like that, and always be looking over your shoulder?”

“Like I said, it's just until my aunt gets back from Europe. And even with the no-money thing it's totally worth any little hassles; to finally be able to live my lifelong dream, my greatest adventure! I have never felt more ALIVE!” she exclaimed. Then she screamed- a loud triumphant whoop!

If people weren't looking at us before, they were now. I laughed, “You sure know how to keep a low profile!”

“Sometimes it's best to hide in plain sight. Acting like you don't have anything to hide is lss suspicious than skulking around acting all nervous and fidgety.”

“Screaming your head off like that might be slightly overdoing it.””

“But it felt so good!” she said, “Haven't you ever felt the need to just throw back your head and holler, just from the pure joy of being alive”

“I don't think so,” I said.

“Well that's just sad...”

And then I remembered that night.

I said, “Well there was one time. But I was drunk.”

She laughed in disbelief. “You?! Drunk?!!! You no-good juvenile delinquent! Tell me about it!”

“It was last summer. The only only time I'd ever had more than a sip of table wine. My two best friends were Jimmy Barnes and Tyler Pittman. Tyler was kind of crazy, always doing stupid stuff on a dare. And Jimmy actually was—is--pretty much a juvenile delinquent. But his whole family's like that, his dad always going to jail and all that. It was him who stole two 12-packs of Bud from his dad one night and said we should climb up to the top of the Littleton Co-op's grain elevator and drink it all up. Wed had about three apiece when the moon came up over that totally flat horizon. It was full, it was huge! I don't remember who started howling at it first, but it until every dog and coyote for fifty miles around was howling with us!”

“That sounds amazing!”

I sighed. “It seemed that way. But then it turned into the worst night of my life...”

“What happened? Did you get sick from all that beer?”

“Oh God, was I sick!” I lied. I didn't want to talk about how tragically that night ended on a beautiful day like today. Or even think about it.

“You see?” she grinned, “That howling... that was you letting your primal self out. People are so emotionally repressed and shut off---beat down by by school, the church, their parents, and the psychiatrists their parents send them to---they can only get in touch with that part of themselves by getting drunk. That's why alcohol is a gazillion dollars a year industry in this country,.”

“You think I'm emotionally repressed?”

“You do seem pretty square,” she said.

“I am pretty square.”

“But I also sense you have hidden depths. But society's conditioning might be so ingrained in you that you're just not capable of being that free or spontaneous-”

I cut her off with a mighty Tarzan yell.

“Well it's a bit of a cliché, and I'm not sure it came from your innermost self, but it's a start...”

.
o . 0 . O . 0 . o

The residential neighborhood gave way to a trendy commercial district with botiques and restaurants, and one of these new juice and smoothie bars I'd heard about. I thought about getting us each one until I saw the prices. You could get a whole gallon of Sunny Delite for that much.

The biggest building on the block was a new looking movie theater, a tri-plex; three auditoriums sharing a snack bar and bathrooms. There were other titles on the marquee, but in plastic letters twice the size of the others were in was the word: DUNE.

They made a movie out of Dune? Why hadn't I heard about this? I rushed over to the poster in it's glass case. It was that Dune all right. There was Akarris, and a sandworm looming over a bunch of Bedouin-looking guys the size of ants.

I asked Nova, “How would you like to see this? It'll be my treat.”

She looked at the poster for a long time before saying, “I don't know. I don't think I could sit through another Star Wars.”.

“It has nothing to do with Star Wars,” I said, “It's Dune. It's from a novel that's a classic.”

“It looks like Star Wars to me. And I know this makes me an oddball but I'm the only person I know who didn't like it and didn't see the second one,” she said, then added, “Well besides my Aunt.”

To some of my friends those would be fightin' words, but I could actually see why someone might not like Star Wars. The three films were exciting and kept you on the edge of your seat, with lots of amazing visual stuff to go WOW! over; but when it was over it was just Buck Rogers with a budget. Good guys fighting bad guys, with the only question being who would win in the end. It didn't do what science fiction at its best does: present novel ideas and ask questions no one ever thought to ask before.

Unless her objection was just that she just didn't like robots and spaceships on principal; which might be a chick thing because my mom is kind of like that. Or how I roll my eyes at wizards and dragons...

My Nasa watch said five 'til noon. The first show was at a quarter after, and there was a good sized line at the ticket booth.

“Oh what the heck,” said Nova, “I'll try anything once.”

As we got to the front of the line the old man selling tickets turned up the volume on his speaker thing and announced to us and everyone behind us, “IF YOU WANT THE SNACK BAR IT'LL BE A WHILE. I'M THE ONLY ONE HERE TODAY.”

“How come?” Nova asked him.

“There's a big surf today. My whole crew's out on the waves,” he said, and tapped the NOW HIRING sign in the window.

“Is there a storm coming?” asked the guy behind us.

He shook his head. “It's headed for Mexico, but it's kicking up the waves all down the coast.”

“You should have hired girls,” suggested Nova.

“They're all out there too.”

.
o . 0 . O . 0 . o

Tickets were $4.00, a bit higher than matinee prices at home, We could have smuggled in turkey dinner for four in that pack of hers but I bought us each a pop, and a large popcorn to share.

“Thank you for the bevvy-rage,” she sang when I handed her her Sprite, “You're so good to me!”

As we settled into our seats Nova sighed, “How romantic... Our first date!”

“How is this a date? I just didn't want to say 'I'm gonna go see this now, bye!' and leave you standing there.”

“I'm a girl, you're a boy. You asked me out to the moving picture show and I said yes. It's a date.”

I couldn't fault her logic. I said, “Fine, we're on a date. Joy will be thrilled.”

“Joy?”

“My little sister. She's twelve. She's always telling me I need some romance in my life.”

“Do you? Need romance?”

“I don't know,” I shrugged, “I know it's something I should want at some time in the next couple of years; but is 'because I'm supposed to' a enough of a reason to start dating? I figure it will happen when wanting to date feels genuine. But I worry about what happens if I never do feel like that? Like what if there's something wrong with me?”

I'd never shared this doubt with anyone. Why was I saying it now?

She patted my hand. “Don't worry... Before this week is over we'll be head over heels in love with each other, and you'll be mad for my kisses! I know these things. But since you're leaving on Friday we'll have to say goodbye and we'll be heartbroken. We'll promise to write and we will for a while, but eventually we'll both move on. I'll get knocked up by some guy I don't even like and have to marry him to avoid a scandal. I'll be trapped in a loveless marriage and start drinking. You'll marry your high school homecoming queen and think you're the luckiest guy in the world for a while; but she'll gradually change into a mean hateful hag. We'll both look back on each other as our first love, and often wonder whatever became of old what's-her-name. In a strange twist of irony we'll both commit suicide at the same exact moment, and our souls will touch briefly as they drift through the aether before-”

There was a loud harsh BzzZzZTTTT!!!; like someone plugged a jack into an amplifier turned up way too loud. The lights dimmed and the coming attractions started.

.
o . 0 . O . 0 . o

I was pleased to learn that Nova wasn't a movie talker. Back at home I won't go to the movies with my friend Jimmy Barnes anymore, because he seems to think the point of a movie is to crack jokes and make sound effects noises, not even really paying attention to what's going on up on the screen. Like he's the entertainment, but he's not as funny as he thinks. And then there's the throwing things. So a trip to the movies with him is a waste of both time and money. Nova made a few comments, but once DUNE started she got into it.

Really got into it. Twenty minutes in she made herself comfortable by snuggling up against me, I wondered if I was supposed to put my arm around her but she seemed content to use my biceps for a pillow. She communicated her reactions to the film to me wordlessly through the changes in her body tension, and by squeezing my arm during the intense parts Her eyes only left the screen when she dug through her pack to find her big Abba-Zaba bar and an extremely squashed Rocky Road and split those with me.

She ate quite a bit of the popcorn. For a small girl she could sure put it away, I thought, but then I realized this was more or less her lunch for today, and maybe her breakfast.

Two hours later as the ending credits started to roll she shook herself out of her trance and sat upright, exclaiming, “Holy Shit! That was AMAZING!!”

“Really? You liked it that much?”

“I loved it!” she said, “Didn't you?”

“Well it wasn't very true to the book. I mean the bare bones of the story was there, but a lot of it didn't even really make sense.”

“Well I didn't care about that, I was just blown away by the look of it! That was one of the most strange and beautiful things I ever saw!”

It was definitely strange, but I didn't see how she could think it was beautiful. I found a lot of it just plain disturbing. I said, “Well I'm glad you liked it...”

“I think that was the first movie that really made me feel like I was in another world. Or not the first, but I can count the films I've seen like that on one hand. And I'm sorry you didn't like it, I know it really got you your hopes up when you saw it was playing.”

“It was okay, I guess. I just wish they'd used a different director. This guy was trying to be way too artsy.”

“Oh Honeybunch,” she said like she was terribly sad for me.

“What?”

“There's no such thing as too artsy!”

.
o . 0 . O . 0 . o

Out in the lobby Nova glanced at the reader board above the next auditorium over and cried out, “UNDER THE VOLCANO!”

I looked up. That's what was playing in it. I said, “Never heard of it...”

“You haven't? But it won a bunch of awards at Cannes.”

“At what?”

“Cannes International Film Festival. .In France!”

“Never heard of it..”

“It's like the Academy Awards with a brain. If something wins there you know it's good. We HAVE to see this!”

I pointed at the red box with the letter R in it next to the title. “But how? Neither of us is seventeen.”

“Like this,” said Nova and walked right into the auditorium, leaving me standing there.

The cinema's lone employee was busy selling Flicks and Jujubees and Goobers. I followed her in.

“What took you?” she asked.

“So we're going to watch this without paying? Isn't that like stealing?”

“I don't see how. The movie's going to be running whether we're here or not. And look- we're the only ones in here!”

Which was true. And since she'd been willing to watch my “Star Wars” movie I sat down next to her. This movie had a volcano in it, how bad could it be?

We'd missed the first ten minutes but it wasn't hard to figure out what was going on. It was about a drunken English guy in Mexico just before World War II. He'd been somebody at one time, some kind of diplomat, but now he was just a drunk. Most of his old friends were avoiding him and his ex-wife knew he wa beyond any help she could give. His life just kept getting drunker and more out-of-it...

About a third of the way into it a couple that looked to be about a hundred years old came in, talking loudly about where they should sit like they were both hard of hearing. But they settled in and stopped shouting, and during the quiet parts I could hear them unwrapping the hard candies they'd smuggled in.

“That's us when we get old,” whispered Nova. Which presumed a lot about our futures but I liked the idea of it better than her story about us each having a horible marriage and committing suicide...

I won't say I completely hated this film. But parts of it were almost excruciatingly slow and talky. During these parts I just watched Nova's face. She was watching it so raptly, and seeing the emotions play across her face was as fascinating to me as the picture was for her. On an impulse I found Nova's hand with mine and took hold of it. She smiled and squeezed.

I perked up when the Nazis entered the story. Movies always get mre intense when the Nazis show up and this one was no exception. These Nazis were there trying to spread Nazi-ism into Mexico like some messed up kind of missionaries, and they were gaining some converts.

The film ended with the drunk guy having a confrontation with some Mexican Junior Nazis. Oh Sweet Jesus, it was heart wrenching! I remember that movie's final scene to this day.

Nova was crying. She knew what was coming. The main character was in danger from these guys but he was too drunk to know it; and kept mouthing off and babbling about “insinuoedos” like a silly drunken fool- in love with the sound of his own voice and amazed by his own cleverness because of his stupid made up word; his sense of how clever he was,

I won't spoil the movie by telling you how it ended but I'm pretty sure there won't be a sequel.

.
o . 0 . O . 0 . o

Nova and I just until the credits ended.

“So did you like it?”

“I didn't hate it,” I said, “That ending made it worth it! It was like watching a car crash- you don't want to look but you can't look away!”

We left, and had gotten as far as the lobby when Nova noticed what was playing in the tri-plex's third theater- “Ohmigod! It's Splash!”

“You want to see another movie? I can't.”

She rattled her tub of laundromat salvage at me. “I have money. It'll be my treat!”

“No, I mean we're out of time. I said I'd be back for supper at six, and if I leave now I shold just make it.”

At the time I felt like I had really dodged a bullet getting out sitting through Splash. A romantic comedy with such a strong fantasy element (Is there anything more ridiculously unscientific than a half human/half fish creature?) did not sound like my kind of movie at all. But now I wish I had seen it with her. I bet Nova would have been a hoot to watch a silly comedy with.

.
o . 0 . O . 0 . o

We said our goodbyes on the sidewalk out in front of the theater..

“I sure had a lot of fun today. That was a great first date,” I kidded.

Or was I kidding? I just knew that even though we hadn't really done much it as the most fun I'd had on this vacation, because I'd done it with this strange and interesting girl.

“Me too!” she said, “Plus, any day I don't have that creepy psycho following me around is a great day, I really hope he's gone away.”

“What creepy psycho?”

“He's been following me around. Everywhere I go, there he is. I call him 'Joe Howdy' because he looks like he saw Urban Cowboy one too many times. Or I see him tailing me in that Cadillac of his. It's a very unmistakable car, like it saw that movie too many times too. The guy's ludicrous, but he's not one bit funny.”

“Are you sure he's following you? Maybe he thinks your following him around...”

“It's not a coincidence. He's following me, and he really scares me! I think he might be a serial killer!”

It was 1984, and I'd never heard the term before. I said, “A cereal killer? We'd better tell Captain Crunch he needs to watch his back!”

“I'm serious, Kevin; He's dangerous!”

I could tell she was serious. If she wasn't she would have liked my joke, or reacted to it in some way. I said, “Okay I believe you. But what do you mean cereal killer?”

“First of all, it's serial with an S, not the kind you eat. They've been around forever---Jack the Ripper, the Boston Strangler---but there's more of them now. Enough that the FBI is looking into catching them by studying similarities in their crimes, in their behavior, to figure out how they think. Of course these guys are totally crazy, but they're still thinking something. It's called forensic psychology; I read a book about it by a woman psychologist who works with the Bureau. A real simple example would be they'll dressing a female agent up like the kind of victims the guy prefers and put her where they think he's gonna go next.”

“And you really think you have one of these killers after you?”

“I don't know what this creep is. Probably not, it's not like there's that many true serial killers and I haven't heard of any murders like that around here. He's probably only a rapist, looking for his chance to get me cornered someplace alone.”

“Jesus!” I said, a serious shudder running through me. Whatever this creep was I could tell how vulnerable he was making her feel, and I hated him for it. I said, “Well let's just hope he's moved on then. And he does show up when I'm around... Well I'm not Rambo, but I'll do what I can.”

Nova pounced, and grabbed me in a hug. In a tiny voice she begged me, “Hold me?”

I put my arms around her. “I can do that.”

“He's after me, Kevin! I thought I would be safe here, I th-thought I could- But he's after me!”

“You don't know that,” I whispered, “Like you say, he's probably not some killer.”

“No, he's worse! He wants- They want... It's worse than death!” she whimpered, and some other stuff I couldn't make out with her face buried in my shoulder. I just held her.

A minute later she unhooked herself from me. “Sorry....”

“You don't have to be sorry for that. If it helps I'm happy to,” I said. Although I hated seeing her so upset it had felt weirdly nice.

“Yeah, but some date I turned out to be. The Crying Crazy Girl!”

“You're a great date,” I told her, “This was the best date I've ever been on!”

Her mouth puckered into a wry grin and I could see the old humor returning to her eyes, “This was the only date you've been on!”

“But it's gonna be hard to top,” I said, “I had fun.”

“Me too. You're a beautiful soul, Kevin Brown..Thank you so much for the movies.”

I'd never been called an beautiful soul before and I wasn't sure how to reply. I didn't just want to say 'You too'...

“And there's something else you can do for me, if you wouldn't mind...”

“What's that?

“Before you go, tell me your dad's joke about Moses again.”

“You're kidding,” I said, but she wasn't so I told it: “Mose was walking through the desert and came upon a burning bush. And Lo, it spoke to him. It said... 'HEY BUDDY, GET A FIRE EXTINGUISHER! QUICK!!”

She laughed as hard as she did the first time. “A classic!”

“That joke is why he doesn't get to teach Sunday School at our church anyore:”

“He lost his gig over that? That's stupid.”

“That was Mrs. Witherspoon, mostly. She's only really happy when she's tearing somebody down or trying to get everyone alarmed about something. The kind of person who gives Christians a bad name,” I said, “And let me give you our phone number in case you need something, or just want to talk.”

“There's no need. Like I said we're gonna find each other tomorrow. And Wednesday too. I know these things...”

“Still, with this crazy guy after you I'd feel better,” I said. She dug out her sketchpad and a felt tipped pen and I wrote it down for her.”

She looked at it. “That's too many numbers.”

“No it's not. My dad has one of these new mobile phones. It's not like a regular phone, more like those old radiotelephones. And could I have your number?”

She wrote it on the same sketchbook page, drew a heart around both numbers. tore the page in half and handed me her number, so we each had half of the heart- like those cheesy matching half-a-heart lockets couples wear.

“Okay then, I'll see you tomorrow,” I said, “Since you're so sure we're gonna do that. Do you happen to know where we're gonna bump into each other?”

“You'll see...”

.
o . 0 . O . 0 . o

On the walk back to the state beach I noticed a flyer stapled to almost every telephone pole about a missing child. He ws a boy my age and there was a picture of him filling most of the xeroxed page. At first I thought he looked kind of familiar, but then I realized he looked like every third boy at my school, nothing really distinctive about him, except he had about the saddest eyes I'd ever seen.

Whoever he was, wherever he was, I really hoped that serial killer hadn't got him.

.
o . 0 . O . 0 . o

I got back to Space #22 just as Mom was pulling her Mexican casserol out of the RV's oven. As usual it was delicious.

After dinner my sister and I noticed that our folks were getting ready to go out. Not getting super dressed up but Mom had stunk up the Winnebago with hair spray and Dad was wearing slacks and sports shirt instead of his cut-offs and hole-y BULLWINKLE t-shirt.

“So is it Date Night?” asked Joy, “Great! We'll run amok.”

“I don't think you two would know how to run amok,” said Dad.

“And thank God for that!” said Mom.

'Date Night' was something they had been doing once a week since Joy turned twelve. A night out with just the two of them, leaving us kids at home to fend for ourselves, and trusting me and Joy to not do anything stupid. I can't say if this was something they'd come up with or if Mom had got it from some “How to Keep the Fires of Love Burning After You Have Kids” articles in one of her women's magazines, but they always came back in a good mood. And they deserved that.

Joy asked, “So where are you taking her, Dad? Some place romantic?”

“Just to the movies,” said Dad.

“Splash is playing. That's supposed to be romantic,” suggested Joy.

“Neither of you would like the movie we're seeing,” said Dad, “It's called Under The Volcano.

“Never heard of it,” said Joy.

“It's supposed to be good,” I said, “And I heard it won like the Golden Poobah Award or something at Cannes,” I said, showing off what a well-informed cineaste I was.

“I'm not surprised. John Huston has made some of the greatest movies of all time,” he said, and rattled off some titles. All very famous films, and I noticed that about half of them seemed to have Humpfrey Bogart in them. I also noticed that more than a few of them had been the source of some of his most cherished and oft-repeated dumb jokes, including his favorite “We don't got to show you no steenking badgess!” . I wondered if after tonight we'd be in for a month of him hiccuping like a drunk and babbling about insinuendos...

Dad said to me, “So until I return you're the man of the household.”

“All right. I'll kill a grizzly bear and have it roasting over a fire when you get back>”

“You'd better.”

Joy didn't mind this tongue-in-cheek patriarchal stuff. She knew I wouldn't take it seriously and would be fine with her doing whatever she wanted. She really didn't need any supervision. And tonight was her night to hog the RV's television (or actually it was ours, from our living room) so I knew she'd be happy. Since we didn't like any of the same shows it was easiest just to do it by night; although we swapped an hour in Albuquerque when there was a music special Joy just had to see, some guy named Prince. And tonight there was nothing on that I even remotely wanted to watch. I planned to finally settle in and read my book.

Just as they were leaving Dad said, “Tomorrow night we'll have a movie night right here for all of us. “There's a video rental place about three blocks away. We'll walk down there and each pick one.”

“We'll be here,” Joy and I promised...

A few days later I confessed to him and Mom that Nova and I had snuck in that afternoon and seen that same movie they'd gone to on their spouse-date. They weren't too upset; this small act of thievery didn't seem like such a big deal after everything that happened on our last night in Santa Teresa. He was surprised that I'd enjoyed Under the Volcano, and he liked my analogy about the main character's life being like a slow motion car crash- grotesque and terrifying yet horribly fascinating.

`

Although I know now that lives that turn into car crashes aren't nearly so entertaining when it's someone you love going off the cliff and exploding in a gruesome fireball. I would do almost anything not to have my last glimpse of Nova as they dragged her away burned into my memory.
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NEXT: Editions of You
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NOTE: This story takes place in “February, the mid-1980's”;
in a year that's not quite 1984 and not quite 1985 in terms of some
very minor details like the exact release date of certain movies...