China Knowles—Saturday Afternoon—The Monkey
I am China, girl who swallowed herself yesterday in Port Authority, New York City. I’m China, girl who unswallowed herself this morning in my kitchen, right in front of my parents. My little sisters are staying with my aunt. Shane is still asleep on the floor of my room.
“Mom told me you burned the monkey,” Dad says.
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“I know I never see you anymore,” he says.
“Yeah. I know you have to work,” I say. “I’m really sorry about the monkey. I really liked it. I’m glad you bought it for me.”
“I wish I could be here more often,” he says. “I really should be in your life more.”
“It’s fine. Mom has us covered.”
I look at Mom. She wears a look of worry.
I’m China with a boyfriend sleeping in her room and no one knows that but me. Mom and Dad seem to think I ran away from home because of the monkey.
I call Lansdale because she’ll know what to do. Lansdale knows exactly how to use a fire extinguisher without having to stop and read the instructions.
“Is this China?” She answers her phone like this, as if I’ve been gone for a month.
“Yes.”
“I think the answers were wrong,” she says.
I tell her that the answers don’t matter. “Shane is here. Still asleep in my room. My parents are home.”
“There were sixteen leftover answers,” Lansdale says. “Sixteen!”
“What do I do?” I ask.
“Don’t take any more tests with those answers,” she says.
“I’m talking about Shane.”
“Oh,” she says. “Just keep him in your room. Close the door.”
“What if he has to pee?”
“Can’t he pee out a window or something?”
I’m China and I’m on my bedroom floor with Shane, who is crying. My parents are downstairs making a late lunch and they dance to Cuban music in the kitchen. They can’t hear me when I tell Shane to stay in my room. They don’t hear me as I tell him to pee out the window.
He isn’t a lizard anymore. We talked about that.
Shane has to smoke. He says he can do that out the window, too. My phone rings and it’s Lansdale.
“Is that guy actually pissing out your window?”
I look over at Shane, who is pissing out the window. “Yes.”
“The whole neighborhood can see him,” she says. “A side window would have been a better choice.”
“Oh. Well.”
“I saw Kenneth last night,” she says.
“Is that the guy from Los Angeles?”
“The man in the bush,” she says. “He gave me the wrong answers.”
“Oh,” I say.
“He said Stanzi and Gustav are coming home.”
“His name is Kenneth?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me that?”
“I thought you knew,” she says. “Is he smoking out the window now? Seriously. Someone’s going to call your mom and tell on you.”
I ask Shane to move. While I close the front window, I stop and wave to Lansdale three doors down across the street. She’s perched on the front porch with two quiches cooling on the windowsill.
Lansdale says, “Kenneth also told me we could stop now.”
I say, “Fuenteovejuna?”
“Yeah. We had the wrong answers. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Shane wants to meet my parents,” I say.
“Let him.”
“But.”
“What have you got to lose?” she asks. “Let him. But make him chew a breath mint first. And wash his hands. Smoke never makes a good first impression.”