Hung Up (8 page)

James:
Being barefoot makes you feel vulnerable? Have you stepped on a lot of glass in your life?

Lucy:
No, James. I don’t have glass-shard issues. Being in front of a big group of people with everybody’s toe-jam stink wafting through the air makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. And no, I don’t have hideous, weird-looking, or hammer-toed feet. I could sense that was your next question. Moving on. So Mrs. Scheel asks us to get out a pencil and some paper. She tells us, “I want you to use your feet to write your name.”

James:
You’re joking.

Lucy:
No. This is exactly what happened. I stuck my pencil between my big toe and my second toe of my right
foot. I made an ‘L’ and then a ‘U’ and then I heard the girl next to me scream.

James:
What was she screaming at?

Lucy:
Me! Turns out, I was the only person who was able to write with my feet. The point of the lesson was to show that we’re designed to function in certain ways. Something about respecting our basic anatomy and physiology. I looked like a total freak.

James:
I doubt you looked like a freak. A monkey, maybe.

Lucy:
I do not have long monkey toes, James.

James:
Well, they’re long enough to hold a pencil.

Lucy:
It was a short pencil. And my toes are strong, not long. There’s a difference. Stop laughing.

James:
That was a great story.

Lucy:
You’re making me feel like a baboon.

James:
Lucy, you’re no baboon.

Lucy:
Since we’ve never met, that statement doesn’t exactly reassure me. It’s not based on fact.

James:
Then send me a picture.

Lucy:
No.

James:
Come on.

Lucy:
No.

James:
I’ll send you one of me.

Lucy:
Don’t.

James:
What’s wrong with pictures?

Lucy:
I like things the way they are.

James:
We’ll meet this Friday.

Lucy:
That’s how I want it. We meet. No idea what we look like. I’m in my blue dress. You’re wearing a blue shirt. It will be like a movie.

James:
It’s not going to be like a movie. It’s going to be like two people meeting for the first time.

Lucy:
That’s like a movie.

James:
What do you think I look like?

Lucy:
I don’t want to play this game.

James:
But you do let people take pictures of you, right? Like baby pictures, you’ve got those, right?

Lucy:
Are you trying to get to the bottom of my neurosis?

James:
Absolutely. Preferably, I’d like to uncover the bulk of them before I land on your front porch.

Lucy:
Thanks for
assuming
that I’ve got a bulk of them, and I don’t really have a porch.

James:
That wasn’t an assumption. It was a deduction. And how can you not have a front porch? You do live in a house, right?

Lucy:
I’m not a freak of nature. Of course I live in a house. Where else would I live?

James:
I don’t know. Maybe a hotel. Or a Winnebago. Or a yurt.

Lucy:
Nobody in Vermont lives in a hotel. Only road-tripping senior citizens live in Winnebagos. And we’ve already covered the yurt issue. Wow. Eleven phone calls and I’ve discovered two of your obsessions.

James:
We’ve had way more than eleven phone calls.

Lucy:
I don’t count messages. I only count phone calls.

James:
I like that you’re counting. Are you using hash marks?

Lucy:
Yep.

James:
Okay, Lucy, so what are my obsessions?

Lucy:
Yurts. And women’s hair.

James:
Actually, yurts don’t do much for me. But I do enjoy watching a good head of hair.

Lucy:
Yeah. I used to think it was just a fixation. But now I’m sure that it’s a fetish.

James:
You’ve got long brown hair. I know it.

Lucy:
I’ve never confirmed that.

James:
It’s my sixth sense. I can divine hair color over the phone.

Lucy:
You’re so weird.

James:
How is it that you can always cheer me up?

Lucy:
I don’t
always
cheer you up.

James:
You did tonight.

Lucy:
Good.

James:
I’ll call you tomorrow.

Lucy:
I like that.

James:
I like you.

Lucy:
You don’t even know me.

James:
Sure I do. Monkey feet.

April 15, 2:24 a.m.

Lucy:
I can’t sleep.

James:
Lucy?

Lucy:
Yes. It’s me. And I can’t sleep.

James:
Calling people who are deep in their own sleep seems like a lousy strategy for battling insomnia.

Lucy:
I don’t have insomnia.

James:
It’s two twenty-four in the morning, Lucy.

Lucy:
I know. I’ve been staring at my clock since eleven twenty-nine.

James:
Is something wrong? Did you have a nightmare or something?

Lucy:
Yes.

James:
Are you okay?

Lucy:
No.

James:
Do you want to talk?

Lucy:
Yes.

James:
You’re not saying anything.

Lucy:
You don’t want to talk about what I want to talk about.

James:
How do you know?

Lucy:
It’s about Bo.

James:
I doubt you had a dream about my brother.

Lucy:
No, I didn’t.

James:
You’re right. I don’t want to talk about it.

Lucy:
I
need
to talk about this.

James:
Lucy, I’m only half-awake.

Lucy:
Please, James.

James:
No.

Lucy:
I wouldn’t call you in the middle of the night if it weren’t important. If I didn’t think you could help me.

James:
Uh, geez. Here comes the guilt trip.

Lucy:
Come on, James. I want to tell you about my nightmare.

James:
Lucy—

Lucy:
Sometimes I dream that I have a sister. And tonight I had that dream. And I want you to know that you’re lucky that you have a brother. I felt like I needed to call and tell you that.

James:
You have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s late. Let’s talk in the morning.

Lucy:
Okay.

James:
Are you crying?

Lucy:
Yes.

James:
Lucy, don’t cry. Okay. Tell me more about your dream.

Lucy:
I was on a picnic.

James:
Picnics are supposed to be fun.

Lucy:
It was at first. But then it stopped being fun.

James:
What happened? Did it rain?

Lucy:
No. Don’t minimize my dream.

James:
Calm down. I’m sorry. What happened?

Lucy:
Um. Okay. It was my sister. She disappeared. I
was all by myself. And it was really cold outside. I mean, I was freezing.

James:
You’re making your dream sound really terrible, but maybe you can look at it differently. Find a bright side. You don’t have a sister, but I’m sure being an only child has its advantages. You’ve liked it, right?

Lucy:
I’m not talking about being an only child. I’m talking about my dream. When I woke up, my teeth were chattering. I was all alone. My sister was just gone. She wasn’t anywhere. It made me feel so panicked and miserable.

James:
I know. But you don’t have a sister.

Lucy:
I’m talking about my dream! You’re not listening.

James:
Calm down. I am listening. Sometimes dreams can feel real. Like maybe a second life is happening while you sleep. I’m just trying to remind you that it’s not real.

Lucy:
I’ve had this dream before. A lot. And it kills me.

James:
Well, try to look at it a different way. At least you
get to know what it feels like to have a sister. Even if it’s in your second life. Even if she eventually disappears. God, Lucy, you’re really crying. Calm down.

Lucy:
But I don’t want her to disappear!

James:
I think you’re overtired. This has happened to me before. It feels like your whole world is falling apart. But it’s not. You just need to get some sleep. You’ll be okay.

Lucy:
You’re so lucky to have a brother. I bet he doesn’t mean to be an alcoholic. And he’s in treatment. It sounds like he’s trying.

James:
Lucy, I don’t want you to talk about Bo anymore. Just calm down. You’re okay. Focus on what you have.

Lucy:
I know. I know.

James:
Everything is fine. You’ve got a great life. It was just a lousy picnic dream.

Lucy:
It feels so real.

James:
Take deep breaths.

Lucy:
Okay.

James:
I’ll call you tomorrow. I promise. We’ll have a long talk after school.

Lucy:
I really like that. It means a lot that I can call you like this. I mean, I’ve never called anybody like this before.

James:
Yeah.

Lucy:
Am I freaking you out by telling you these things?

James:
No, Lucy. I care about you.

Lucy:
I feel the same way. It’s just that you’re better at expressing yourself. You’re lucky like that.

James:
Stop crying, Lucy. We’ll talk in the morning.

Lucy:
Yeah. I want to finish this conversation. I’m not through talking about these things.

James:
Yeah. Okay. But remember, no Bo.

Lucy:
I know. I get it. I’ll try not to bring him up anymore.

James:
Promise?

Lucy:
Yeah.

James:
I want to feel like I can tell you things.

Lucy:
Me too.

James:
Feel better and go back to sleep.

Lucy:
I’ll do my best.

James:
No more picnics.

Lucy:
Okay. Okay. You too.

James:
Oh, I wouldn’t mind dreaming about a picnic. As long as there aren’t any hornets, or vicious off-leash dogs, or stinging ants.

Lucy:
You can’t always turn everything into a joke. Some things aren’t supposed to be funny.

James:
Good night, Lucy. Sweet dreams.

Lucy:
Night.

April 16, 6:31 a.m.

James:
Are you getting ready for school?

Lucy:
Yes.

James:
Are you feeling better?

Lucy:
Yeah, but not perfect.

James:
Feeling perfect seems unrealistic.

Lucy:
Well, I’m a very impractical person.

James:
If I asked you what you were wearing to school today, would you call me a pervert?

Lucy:
I’m not going to wear a skirt.

James:
Do you think that’s all I’m interested in hearing about?

Lucy:
Oh, please. Have you suddenly become curious about women’s fashion? Do you want me to break down my wardrobe for you?

James:
Maybe.

Lucy:
What do you want to know?

James:
What’s your favorite color to wear?

Lucy:
Brown.

James:
Brown?

Lucy:
It looks good with baby blue. And pink. And also green. And cream. And red. And tan.

James:
You’re right. I don’t want to hear about this. Just have a good day, okay?

Lucy:
Do you want me to call you at lunch?

James:
Sure.

Lucy:
Am I starting to call you too much?

James:
No. Don’t worry about that. If it gets to be too much, I’ll just stop answering my phone.

Lucy:
What a jerk!

James:
I was kidding.

Lucy:
There was a seed of truth in what you said. I could feel it.

James:
Lucy, I’m not the kind of guy who burns through girls.

Lucy:
That’s exactly what I’d expect a guy who burns through girls to say to me.

James:
Are you trying to start another fight?

Lucy:
No. I’m not like that.

James:
You’re totally like that.

Lucy:
Not on purpose.

James:
You’re a very accidentally contentious person.

Lucy:
I’m a nice girl.

James:
I know, Lucy. You’re sweet.

Lucy:
Like pecan pie.

James:
Ugh. I hate pecan pie.

Lucy:
I thought you said you liked pie. I thought it was one of your main artistic influences.

James:
Only fruit pies speak to my muse.