Chapter 11
1176 Words
Dear Bump,
Aunt Frannie and I visited the city today. We rode the bus and took the subway. We got off somewhere in the middle of the city. I saw a man sleeping inside a plastic bag. His toe nails were so long, they folded over. His hair was like dirty cotton candy. Aunt Frannie kept pointing to things. “See, that’s the Mount Royal. We have a mountain in the middle of our island.”
Montreal is an island. Same as Hawaii. I don’t think I knew that.
“Look, Red, that’s the Chinese district.”
Everyone there looked just like Jesse Chao, and it smelled like roasted peanuts or something. They have a statue of noble lions guarding the street. They have purple vegetables and big green fruits sitting in cardboard boxes all along the sidewalk. Half of the food I’d never seen before. They have red restaurants packed with people, and everyone eats their soup with sticks.
“You wanna taste something special?”
Aunt Frannie took me deep into the district. My eyes kept shooting from side to side, and I tripped twice, on account of my curious nature, you know. We walked up to a*****e that was no bigger than my closet. A man with silky black hair and thin brown eyes stood behind a counter. His face was young, but his hands looked old. He wasn’t smiling with his mouth. Just his eyes. He rolled something on a stick. It looked like the stuff that hangs down from the classroom ceiling when a tile is missing. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to taste it anymore.
I crinkled my nose.
“Try it, hon,” Aunt Frannie insisted through her pressed lips.
I chewed on my lip, avoiding her insistent gaze.
The man behind the counter lifted a finger to my face. “You’re a rabbit.”
“Excuse me?” Aunt Frannie’s tone had a sharpness to it. “What did you say?”
“Your son is a rabbit. 1975, no?”
Aunt Frannie let out a small gasp and laughed. Her face lit up. “Oh, you mean his Chinese zodiac sign?”
The stuff had made its way to my lips and I was liking it. It kind of tasted like sugar and oil.
“Yes. A mysterious mind. An enchanter.”
Me? I gathered the stuff with my tongue and let it sit in my mouth for a while. I watched an old woman brush the snow off her doorstep with a broom.
“But he must be careful. Once he loves, the loved one lingers in his mind like a shadow.”
Aunt Frannie tousled my hair. “Hear that, Red?”
The stuff was melting on my tongue and the more I got of it, the better it tasted.
“What is your day of birth?”
My heart jumped a little. I’m not very good with strangers. Especially if I have to talk to them. “Ju—july seventh.”
His black eyes flickered on my face. “Ah, seven. The mystic number. And a double, too.”
Aunt Frannie squeezed my fingers. “Is that good or bad?”
The stranger c****d his head and his gaze wandered. He seemed to be watching the end of the street. I took another mouthful of the stuff. The man then leaned in over the counter and I immediately flinched, but he smiled and handed Aunt Frannie her change. “Yes. Very good.” He winked at me. “He’s a bit of an enchanter this one.”
At the sound of those words, a shiver passed through me. And before I knew it, a question flew out of my lips. “Wha—what is—is 1970, please?”
The man squinted. “Oh, that is the dog. The wolf hound.”
I grimaced. Nick, a dog?
“Courageous. Stubborn. Emotional. Valiant.”
I threw my stick into the bin and followed Aunt Frannie. When we were out of the man’s earshot, she tugged on my sleeve. “Who’s 1970?”
My cheeks felt hot. “No—nobody.”
“Hm, 1970,” she mumbled. I could tell that she was counting.
“It—it doesn’t matter,” I insisted.
“Seventeen. Who’s seventeen?” She blinked and widened her eyes. “Ah…I see.”
“I don’t wa—wanna talk about it.”
She kissed the top of my head. “I know.”
* * * *
At home, we made pizza pies for three hours.
Aunt Frannie played her Marvin Gaye records and showed me how to knead the dough. You have to make it smooth like a baby’s bottom, and slap it, too. My favorite part was making the sauce. She let me season it. It came out real tasty.
“You have a thing for this,” she said, smiling real big, swaying her hips to the music. “Maybe you should think about that.”
I sprinkled some mozzarella cheese over the pepperoni, thinking of Nick. Thinking of the big book on his nightstand. “I wanna b—be an—an accountant.”
She threw her head back and clapped her hands. “That sounds just about right.” Then she wiped her hands on her white apron and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Look at you.” Her smile was gone and her eyes twinkled. “I mean, look at you.”
I looked down at myself. I had flour on my socks.
She came around to me, and before I knew it, was pulling me down the hall. She spun me around and made me face the mirror in the entrance. “Look at you.” Her fingers dug into my shoulders. Her voice quivered. “Make your eyes look. Make them see.”
The whole apartment smelled like yeast. I widened my eyes, staring at my reflection, hoping to calm her down. “I’m looking.”
Her grip loosened. “What do you see?”
I saw a boy. A boy with a crazy woman standing behind him. “Me,” I said.
“And who is me exactly?”
I watched the boy in the mirror frown.
“Derek, look at your face. Your eyes. Your skin. Your hair. Don’t you see? You are the enchanter. When are you gonna start working some of that magic of yours, huh?” She let go of me and walked back to the kitchen.
My eyes are too pale. Like some kind of washed out green, and it looks like I don’t have any eyelashes, on account of them being so light. My nose looks like a potato. My mouth looks like a girl’s mouth. My hair is the color of coagulated blood. My skin is like skim milk. At least I don’t have freckles.
I walked away from the boy in the mirror. Aunt Frannie can’t understand. That boy isn’t me.
And I’m not him.
- Writer
