I got back to the studio during the coffee break. Zola was just getting Bitsie into a baby costume for the next scene. She’d tied a polka-dot ribbon in his hair and was pinning him into this humungous droopy diaper. Normally, I would have felt sorry for Bitsie, but not then. He deserved it. He was acting like a baby.
“So what was so urgent?” Zola asked me as she stuck in these big fake safety pins.
I forgot the e-mail was marked urgent. I had to laugh.
Typical.
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s just my sister. She’s the type that’ll do anything for attention.”
Bitsie looked right at me and mouthed the words, Just …like…you!
Did that ever make me mad! It wasn’t even true. It was just stupid.
Zola was fumbling around, looking for a rattle, so she didn’t notice Bitsie do anything. All she saw when she turned around was me leaning right into his face and hissing, “Jerk!”
I don’t know what came over me. It was stupid. I was never that careless around other people. I mean, I knew what they’d say if I said, “It wasn’t me who screamed/shoplifted/ burped! It was the puppet!”
They’d say, “Telly, this isn’t going to hurt. It will just make you sleep. When you wake up, you’ll be in a special place where people can give you the help you need.”
Anyway, Zola was staring at me with a, let’s say, quizzical look on her face. This obviously required some explanation.
So I tried to laugh, but it sounded fake even to me. I went, “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. It’s funny how puppets can look so human sometimes, isn’t it? Like just then. Bitsie looked like such a jerk. It made me think he really was selfish and childish and ignorant and crude…”
I went on for a while like that—which was probably a mistake. Bitsie’s face was completely blank. He looked about as human as an apple fritter—though not as cute. I could see Zola didn’t get what was so jerky about him, but like I said, she was a really nice person and she always tried to see other people’s points of view.
Or maybe she just wanted to stop me from ranting.
Whatever. Anyway, while she finished putting Bitsie’s booties on, she started telling me about Arnold van Gurp, this puppet builder who claims his puppets are actually alive.
Zola was just making conversation I knew, but to me it was way more than that. It was like someone casually blurting out, “Oh, did I mention that Uncle Roland is the real Santa Claus, and that’s why he’s always late for Christmas dinner?” It doesn’t just change how you think about Uncle Roland—it changes your whole world.
My heart started beating like a rabbit’s. I was thinking that this could be really important. This could be proof that I wasn’t nuts after all.
Until Zola mentioned Arnold, I’d forgotten I used to feel crazy for believing Bitsie was real.
Okay, maybe I didn’t really forget feeling crazy. Maybe I just didn’t like admitting I was a nutcase. Or maybe I just preferred believing that I actually had a friend. A real one.
Someone I could be myself with. Say anything I wanted to.
It doesn’t matter. All I’m saying is that for one reason or another I stopped asking myself if Bitsie was real.
But that doesn’t mean the question wasn’t still bouncing around in my head, waiting to be asked.
I made myself stop shaking. I tried to sound casual. I said, “You’re kidding. There’s no way that could be true or anything…I mean, live puppets? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”
Zola shrugged. “Some people say it’s just a gimmick to sell his puppets,” she said. “Other people think it’s some form of mental illness. Arnold’s been pretty cut off socially since he moved up to that little town. Beaconsfield? No.
That’s in Quebec. Bowserville? No. Something like that.
Bousfield! That’s it. It’s way up north. Somewhere off the 404. It’s very beautiful up there. Wild and not touristy. At least not yet…”
I was in no mood for a geography lesson. “But what do you think?” I tried to say it in a “dum-di-dum, whatever” kind of way.
“Me? Well, I guess I…”
Mel cut her off. Break was over. Bitsie had to get up on set. Like, right now!
I thought I was going to explode. I needed—I mean needed—to know what Zola thought!
As soon as she came back, I whispered, “You were saying …?” By now I wasn’t doing a very good job of pretending this didn’t matter to me. You know how dogs start wagging their tails and getting all drooly when their master is opening the Fido Beef Nuggets? Well, I wasn’t quite that bad—but I was getting close.
“Saying what?” Zola whispered back. She wasn’t really concentrating. She had to get Bytesie into his teenage brother gear.
“Is he crazy or isn’t he?”
“Who? Arnold, you mean?”
In my head I was screaming, “Of course I mean Arnold!” but I just nodded, un-huh.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Zola said. “I used to work for him.
He’s not your run-of-the-mill TV executive—but Arnold’s a good man. He’s telling the truth—at least as he sees it.
Everyone has the right to believe what they choose to believe. And we have to honor that belief—whether it resonates for us or not.”
Just what I was afraid of.
Zola thought he was crazy too.