Ah, hell.
Finally, she stopped here and looked at me, into the face that
belonged to her (for now). “But, I mean, that can’t be right. Some people
just see better, and not everyone can feel and touch. That’s what I told
her. She told me I was wrong, but I’m right. Right Derek?”
Her eyes were clear and curious, but her lip trembled, and I
almost spit out my tea.
I remind her that Emily had to be fitted for bifocals at the
beginning of the year, while my little Pea still has perfect 20/20. I say that
Emily is a naughty girl, and mention how I had once seen her tie a teddy
bear to a chair and force hot tea down its throat (though of course I never
had). I may or may not have mentioned that the girl probably has posters
of Cruella Deville decorating her room. I’m a desperate man.
She looks a little less unsettled, but I can still see the seedling of
doubt that rests like a traitor behind her eyes. I’m not the best liar.
After all, Emily isn’t the only one who’s blind to me, and everyone
else here can see just fine.
“Penelope! Time for gymnastics! Let’s go!” Her mother screeches
from the living room where she is without a doubt catching the last few
minutes of The Bachelor. Heaven forbid she miss that.
I call Pea’s mother the Bitch. Not in front of Pea, of course, not
intentionally. She’s lazy, raunchy, and her only care in the world seemed
to be keeping the Bugles and Ho Hos stash stocked. Her newest offense,
in my eyes, is the growing collection of beer cans in the trash. She didn’t
used to drink, only chain smoke and bark orders, but since her most
recent asshole of a boyfriend left her she has a few cans a day after her
four hour “slave shift” at Kmart. She’s trying so hard to be numb, and I’d
take on hundreds of wicked, ruthless sorceresses to be able to feel. Idiot.
***
I remember the last time I was back at Command Central. I was
sitting with some of the guys, exchanging stories, when Hugo told us it
had happened to him.
“Something strange happened, this last time,” he began. “I was
walking with Lyssa, my little lass, when a woman’s Chihuahua wiggled its
way out of its collar. The little thing was a demon, I tell ya, and it headed
straight for Lyssa, snarling and yapping,” His eyes were bulging with
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