But I didn’t know that word before my dream, said Thebes.
We tried to wake Logan up but it was impossible. He wouldn’t budge.
Sure he hasn’t been capped? said Thebes.
Yeah, I said, you can hear him snoring, can’t you?
We decided to spend the night in the parking lot, in the van. We’d save some money, and the night was almost over anyway.
Cops came around at dawn, apparently — I didn’t notice, I was sleeping — and they asked Thebes what we were doing there and she said sleeping and they said we weren’t allowed to sleep there, it wasn’t a campground, and the motel front-desk person was suspicious, and Thebes said okay, we’d leave, except that her peeps were still asleep, one at the wheel, and so what was she supposed to do?
They said all right, that was fine, we could sleep for a while. Better that than another exhausted motorist on the highway. They didn’t ask to see Logan’s licence. As soon as I opened my eyes a crack, Thebes was in my face.
Popo says when Lo wakes up we’re outie, she said.
Thebes, I said. This talking thing? The way you talk, it’s—
No, no, she said, shhh, please don’t tell me how to talk. I have to do it this way, okay? I won’t always. She looked like she was about to cry again so I told her no, no, it was fine, she could talk however she wanted, it was stupid of me to have brought it up, we were good.
Logan woke up. He moaned and swore and stretched and then slumped over the wheel again. Smells like ass in here, he said. Thebes and I said good morning and asked him if he knew where we were.
Moab, he said. He got out of the van and walked way over to some trees to pee and stood with his back to us for a few minutes. When he got back he rifled around in his fake alligator suitcase and pulled out a stick of incense and lit it and waved it around the van, mostly in Thebes’s general direction. She whipped out one of her pistols and fired a few rounds at his head.
You die, hippie, she said.
We all agreed we’d drive around Moab, check out the sights, and have breakfast in a restaurant instead of eating soggy shabu-shabu sandwiches or whatever rotten fruit was bobbing around in the cooler. We ate at a dive, Logan’s choice, called King Solomon’s, in honour of Deborah Solomon, the love of his life. He’d bought a copy of The New York Times to see where she was at. I left the kids at the table to fight over the miniature jukebox and gawk at Moabites while I wandered around the restaurant in search of a pay phone and a machine that might sell Advil or Tylenol or morphine. I called the hospital and got a hold of the same woman, oh, harbinger of grim, at least I think it was the same woman, and asked if I could speak with Min. She said no, she was sorry, it wasn’t possible, the doctor hadn’t made his rounds, Min was in a locked-down recovery room, there had been some trouble that morning and, no, I couldn’t speak to her.
Yeah, but, what the fuck! I said, and immediately apologized. Silence on the other end. I’m sorry, I said. I’d like to know if she’s okay right now. And, also, what do you mean, trouble? I’m sorry, again.
She’s not in any immediate danger, said the woman. I thought about Superman, her certified intrepid roommate, and wondered where she’d got to, what nemesis she’d been busy battling, when Min had been in trouble.
Can you tell me what happened? I said.
You’re family? said the woman. I just need to confirm…
Yes, I said, my name’s Hattie Troutman. I’m her sister. I’ve been calling…
She disappeared for a short time, said the woman. She was gone for about an hour and a half.
Where’d she go? I asked.
Well, she said she was going out for a cigarette, and—
But she doesn’t smoke, I said.
Well, we didn’t know that, said the woman.
And I thought you just said she wasn’t getting out of bed at all, so how did she—?
Well, that’s true, she wasn’t, so we were all quite encouraged by the fact that she had decided to get up for some fresh air. Well, a cigarette.
And then she just walked away or…? I said.
Apparently, yes, she started walking towards the highway. The police picked her up and brought her back. But she is out of danger, like I said, added the woman.
Oh, Min, I thought. C’mon…c’mon!
If I was there, I said, at the hospital, would I be able to see her right now?
Honestly? said the woman.
Yeah! Yes, please!
The doctor has her on a range of meds, said the woman. We’re working…we’re trying to establish what it is she needs and what her body can tolerate. At this point if she were to have guests she’d probably not…She’s not coherent, she’s fairly agitated, she’s refusing to eat…she’s having difficulty remembering aspects of her life, her address, for instance, the names of her kids…I recall telling you earlier that at one point she insisted that she hadn’t had kids.
Oh, you know, I said, I don’t…Really? I actually can’t believe that. I looked at the kids way over on the other side of the restaurant. Thebes had taken all her filthy, sweaty hair and sculpted it upwards like a Smurf’s and stuck a Sharpie through it Pebbles Flintstone — style and even from that distance I could hear her say, Bro, what’s a Lynyrd Skynyrd? Logan’s head was on the table.
I know, said the woman, it’s difficult. It’s a stressful time for the family, but we have every reason to believe that Min will recover and very likely be back at home soon. Provided there’s someone there to help out, or perhaps home care…
Every reason to believe, I said. I wondered what those reasons were, if there was a master copy I could get my hands on, the holy grail, if I could get all those reasons to believe tattooed onto my body and anchored to my brain. Every reason to believe. Maybe there was one single reason to believe, if that, but every reason? I’d seen Min in and out of enough hospitals to know they were bluffing, the medical staff. They had to sound hopeful, for everybody’s sake, and I appreciated it, but I knew it wasn’t true.
I thanked the woman for the information. I asked her to pass hugs and kisses on to Min from Logan and Thebes. Logan and Thebes, I repeated. Those are her kids. I didn’t want to get off the phone with this woman because it meant going back to the table and being face to face with the forgotten ones. But the woman was angling for an exit and people were beginning to stare at Thebes and her Theban ways and I didn’t want someone calling her a retard again.
We drove around the town for a while. Thebes and I dropped Logan off at a basketball court and went to find a store where we could buy her some new clothes.
I want them to be all white, she said.
Noooooo, I said. That is not a good choice for you.
But she really wanted them so I caved and said she could buy whatever clothes she liked.
And when we see Cherkis, she said, he can tie-dye them if he wants.
So, hey, Thebie, I said, how do you feel, are you looking forward to meeting him? We were having this conversation in the store. She was trying on clothes and I was sitting on the floor outside the change room door.
She was and she wasn’t, she said, but wouldn’t or couldn’t elaborate other than to say she was trying to figure out the first thing that she would tell him.
I asked her if she wanted to rehearse it with me. She said no, she wanted it to sound fresh and spontaneous. Then she told me she had always harboured a secret desire to be an actress.
But, she said, I’m sort of depressed about it because I still don’t have an agent.
I didn’t know if she was serious or pretending to be a wannabe in L.A. commiserating with her friends at some audition. I didn’t know if I should laugh or not.
Maybe Cherkis has connections in California, she said.