CHAPTER 26

It’s a few minutes later. I’m sitting down in Ruby’s desk chair. I am drinking a glass of water that tastes pretty good, let me tell you.

Ruby stands next to me. Hands on her hips, smile on her face. My stars-galleon-skull-flag-arrows-and-Vitruvian-man–tattooed, six-foot-tall, 10k-running, marine-corps-push-upping, rugby-playing big sister.

Very much like herself.

“So who’s Buddy?” she asks.

I don’t try to normalize things for Ruby. I tell her what I think. “Buddy’s a dog who shows up when I’m feeling lousy. He never says anything. He used to scare me. But now I know he’s there to help. He’s kind of like the sad part of me. He lets me know it’s okay to feel sad. And that sad won’t last forever. I don’t know how to put it.”

“Yes, you do.” Ruby squeezes my shoulder.

Standing together in the doorway, Gale is explaining something to Mom and Mom’s shaking her head with an expression that means Ridiculous. I know the expression very well.

I take a chance and close my eyes tight. When I open them, everyone is still themselves. Are they going to stay that way? The bird poop didn’t come back. Maybe the bugs won’t either. I blink three times, fast. The room stays the same.

Okay. I get to my feet and Ruby moves in for a hug.

“You,” she says, a little quieter than usual, arms around me. “Hey, good to see you. Why are you crying?”

Her T-shirt is old and worn, beautifully soft. I can see blue threads and white ones, overlapping, weaving together. My tears have made the sleeve almost transparent.

“You’re not a giant bug,” I sniffle. “You’re you.”

“And that’s good, right?”

I step away from my sister and wipe my eyes. Gale isn’t talking to Mom anymore. I shoot him with my finger. He grins and puffs out his cheeks in a whew gesture.

Mom is on the phone, waving her free hand around. She’s trying to talk to Dad, but the phone keeps cutting out. I know all about bad service.

Gale comes over to apologize.

“I was telling your mom about you calling Gorby a Nazi,” he says. “I thought it was funny — she didn’t. My mistake.”

“Oh well, she was going to find out.”

Ruby has a puzzled expression. I explain briefly about getting suspended because of the announcements.

“You know what I’m like, Ruby. One thought leads to another and another and soon I’m talking about, oh, giraffes or triangles or Egypt or soft ice cream, or movies with superheroes or fake nails or fractions. Not that I think of fractions very often — not half the time, not even a quarter of the time, or an eighth or sixteenth. Anyway, I called the school a dictatorship and Gorby said I was disrespectful and the next thing you know I was suspended and on my way here to help you move, which I haven’t done because I got lost and had a seizure and saw things that weren’t there, and …”

Did I say briefly? Maybe my explanation isn’t that brief. But it’s so much fun talking to Ruby. Enthusiasm and sympathy float across her face like a couple of suns in a midsummer sky. I want to linger and enjoy them. I tell her and Gale more about my day. When I get to the part where they turn into bugs, she gasps and laughs and wipes her eyes, all at the same time.

Which is probably the right response.

Gale goes, Woah — also the right response.

Mom hears most of my explanation. She’s given up on Dad — the phone is in her purse. As I talk, she shakes her head, slowly, horrified, like she’s watching fire destroy her house room by room.

“No,” she says. “No, no, no.”

When I finish, I’ve brought everyone up to now. I lean back against Ruby’s desk. I’m feeling pretty good.

“Enough about me,” I say. “I’ve had a big day. But I’m sure you have too. Gale, how was your ferry ride?”

“What — what — what —” Mom is having trouble getting her question out. She clamps her lips shut, breathes in through her nose, and tries again.

“What’s all this about bugs? And poop? And fractions? What does it mean?”

“Hey there, Mrs. Constantine.” Gale strokes Mom’s arm, like you stroke a nervous puppy to calm it down. I notice that he’s stopped biting his fingernails. “You know Gus. He talks like this all the time. Fractions and giraffes and poop comes out of nowhere. He’s like one of those old arcade games, lights and balls shooting all over the place, bells ringing and the score going up and up.”

“Hey! Bravo, Gale!” Ruby claps her hands. “I like that picture of Gussie. He’s a game. Don’t try to understand everything he says, am I right?”

“Or pay too much attention, am I right?”

“Enjoy the lights and colours, am I right?”

They laugh together. They’re making fun of the way I talk.

“Hello, I’m right here. Don’t talk about me like I’m a sandwich. Let’s try another topic. How about those Whitecaps?”

“Hush, everyone.” Mom holds up her hand like a traffic cop, to stop the talking. She stares at me. “I want to be clear. You’ve been hallucinating. You collapsed. And you were taken to hospital in an ambulance. Is that right, Gus?”

Am I in trouble? Mom’s quiet, but so is a bomb before it goes off.

“I feel okay now,” I say.

“Did they say anything in the ambulance? What did the EMTs think was wrong with you?”

I do remember this. “They said I had a seizure.”

“WHAT!?”

“I think that was the word. I made some jokes about salads and Julius Seizure. There’s a lot of material, am I right?”

Mom scrolls through her phone, hits a number.

“Please work,” she mutters under her breath.

What’s going on? I share a shrug with Gale. Neither of us gets it.

The connection goes through. Mom speaks clearly, quickly.

“This is Rhonda Constantine. My son, Augustus, is a patient of Doctor Basinski’s. We have an emergency.”

Jamie and his girlfriend get off the elevator as we get on. I salute him.

“Thanks again for, you know, saving my life. I’ll think of you every time I call one of my future pets.”