Laughing Down the Moon (6 page)

“Seriously Allura,” Alaina said as the hood of her olive green parka fell over her eyes. “Could you lend a hand?”

I set down the box of record albums and helped Alaina hoist up her end of the couch.

Of my two sisters, Alaina was by far the less giddy. Falina was like a kitten on speed, but Alaina was more like a rainfall. You knew it was a good thing, sometimes you welcomed it, but often it could be a bit of a downer. It was not what one would expect because Alaina had the bright, good-natured looks of our Irish-American mother. They had the same luminous red hair, the same ivory skin smattered with thousands of tiny freckles and the same light blue eyes. Both Mom and Alaina were sturdily built, whereas Falina and I were on the slight side. Falina had much more of a dark, mysterious look, which fit her personality about as well as Alaina’s bright, cheerful good looks fit Alaina—which was not at all. Falina was an open book, happy to share whatever she was or had with anyone who was around. Falina looked very Japanese like Dad with her full, high cheeks, delicate chin, bee-stung lips and button nose.

I looked like a hybrid with my brown hair, almond-shaped eyes and big, scattered freckles. I had hated my teeth as a kid because they were sort of bucky, but I changed my mind after watching Beverly D’Angelo in the
National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation
movie. I found her irresistible and sexy, so I began liking my somewhat prominent front teeth. I had convinced myself that I was the Japanese-Irish version of Beverly D’Angelo. Growing up with a beauty queen on either side of me wasn’t easy, but over the years enough people had told me I was cute that I had to start to believe it. So I was content with my looks.

“Okay, go!” hollered my dad, his thinning, silvery hair and black eyebrows now visible above the opposite end of the couch as we trudged up the wide ramp into the back of the truck.

I could feel one of my woolen socks sinking beneath the arch of my foot in my boot. It was making me uncomfortable, but to fix it would force Alaina to bear the entire weight of our end of the couch, so I waited until we had the couch set in place.

“Where’re Mom and Falina going?” I asked as Falina’s ancient Volkswagen Beetle tootled away from the curb in front of my childhood home, which Mom and Dad had recently put on the market. I pulled off my mittens and leaned over to pull my sock out of the nether regions of my boot. My parents had decided to sell the house, donate almost everything they owned to Goodwill, buy an RV and hit the road in a grand tour of casinos and national parks. This had been the news that Falina had held hostage in trade for my laugh yoga story. Mom’s arm waved out the open car door window.

“I don’t know for sure,” answered Dad, waving back at her from the open back of the moving truck. He pulled up the green hoodie of his sweatshirt to ward off the chill. “Are they already going to the women’s shelter?” His question came out in a puff of frost.

Mom decided that the boxes of high-quality professional clothing and the kitchen appliances that wouldn’t fit in the RV should go to the shelter, but the boxes were still sitting on the front steps.

“I don’t think so,” I answered, putting my mittens back on my chilled hands.

“They’re going,” Alaina grunted, blowing her red bangs out of her eyes, “to get coffee for us all. Someone packed the coffeemaker too soon.” We all looked toward the boxes on the front steps.

“Ah.” Dad smiled. “Good idea.”

He and I wore the matching hooded “Satou University” sweatshirts that Mom had ordered all of us a few years ago. There was no real Satou University that I knew of. Mom had found an online company that would create a university based on your last name. I smiled to note that he had cut his at the neckline just as I had. I had ditched my usual pencil skirt for jeans in honor of moving day, but not my cowboy boots.

Two crows cawed above us in the bare maple tree branches, reminding me I was the new companion of a half-naked, seven-year-old cockatoo. It had been a week since Dwight had moved in with me, and I was solidly in love with him. Stupid, insignificant events and nuances reminded me of him. The crows’ bobbing heads made me picture Dwight bobbing his own head at my small talk. The bird seemed to approve of everything I did or said. Barbara, the woman who had been pushing Dwight’s cage at the Humane Society, thought I must remind Dwight of someone he knew and liked, maybe his old owner. I had never thought of myself as a bird person, but here I was, inexplicably bound to a strange, homely bird.

“Girls.” Dad looked somber. Oh no. A joke was on its way. No doubt it would be a death joke. “Girls, I heard a good one the other day.” He put his hands up to his mouth, blew on them, rubbed them together, stuffed them in his hoodie pocket and then asked, “Where do gravediggers get their coffee?” He smiled and his eyes wrinkled into tight crescent moons.

“Dad, really,” Alaina scoffed. “They get their coffee at the burial grounds.” She pulled a death face, her tongue lolling out and her eyes rolled back in her head. I laughed at her and for Dad’s sake. That was one of the lamer jokes I’d heard Dad tell.

“Dad, I hate to be the one to tell you, but you’re slipping,” I teased.

Alaina and I continued loading the truck with smaller pieces of furniture and boxes of books, games and other bits of our childhood. Our exhalations created little puffs of fog as we paced from the truck to the house and back to the truck. I expected to be melancholy about this whole moving day, but now that it was here, I was content. It was even encouraging that it was happening. I liked the idea of Mom and Dad still having the gumption and energy to start a new leg of their journey together. The whole idea gave me a refreshing sense of hope. After some small talk about how glad we both were that the snow hadn’t started to fly, Alaina and I worked without speaking until it was break time.

Falina pulled her car up to the curb and jumped out to race around and help Mom with the tray of coffees and bag of what I assumed to be bagels. Mom climbed from the orange Beetle, folded her seat forward and tugged out another bulging paper bag from the local grocery store.

“Come and get it while the getting’s good!” Mom called, smacking the grocery bag several times like she was herding children on the playground. And like children on a playground, Dad and I dropped what we were doing and followed her into the house. Alaina came in at a more relaxed pace. We were all eating and drinking at the kitchen counter when Falina couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Guess who we ran into!” she exploded, right at me.

“Uhm…” I said, “I don’t know, who?” My shoulders inched protectively toward my ears.

“Falina.” Mom’s tone oozed caution like a salve that might heal any upcoming wounds.

“Oh,” Falina faltered.

Because “Oh!” had been Dwight’s first word to me, I relaxed. It had to be my ex they’d run into. They wouldn’t tiptoe around running into anyone else like that. I willed my shoulders to settle down.

“No, it’s okay, tell me.” And it was okay, or at least it was more okay than it would have been a couple of weeks ago.

“Really?” Falina asked, still looking apologetic and almost embarrassed that she had brought it up in the first place.

“Really. Let me guess. You ran into Mickey.” I said it for her.

“Uhm, yeah,” she said. “Yeah, at the bagel shop.”

“That’s cool,” I said, wondering what had changed. Mickey hated bread. For years Mickey had refused to even go into a bagel shop with me. She said the smell of bread dough made her nauseated. She set foot in a Subway sandwich shop only once before vowing never again to go into another one. I loved the warm smell of Subway. I should have known then that we’d never last.

“Yeah,” Falina said.

“Did you say hi?” I asked, not wanting Falina to feel bad for bringing it up.

“Yes, I did, but Mom…” Falina said, looking at Mom with a smile on her face again, “Mom ignored her.”

“You didn’t!” I laughed. “Why?”

“I just don’t have anything to say to her, that’s all,” Mom said.

“Humph.” Dad’s laugh came out of his nose in a small huff because his mouth was full of orange.

“What?” Mom asked, trying to look indignant.

Dad finished chewing and then laughed properly. “Last time this came up, you had plenty you were going to say to her!” He was looking at Mom with his brow furrowed and black eyebrows raised.

“Yes, but that was with you as the only witness,” Mom retorted and then pried the lid off her coffee and blew on it. She took a sip, swallowed with a grimace and said, “No need to go getting myself arrested right before our RV adventure.” She blew on her coffee again and asked, “How can this still be so damn hot?”

“What?” Dad asked with a sad smile, “Your anger or your coffee?”

“Touché,” Mom laughed.

What was it about being with your family that made you feel young? My parents hadn’t aged at all. If I closed my eyes, I could have been a teenager with them bantering on about one thing or another. I was lucky, I guess. Here I was, middle-aged, feeling young and protected by my family. The subject of Mickey was dropped. I was relieved no one brought up the idea that I search for a new partner although they were keen on seeing me happy with someone. Countless times I’d tried to convince them I was happy alone. But was I? Maybe. Alaina and Falina were both happily single. Why should I have to pair off with someone? Alone, I was at least spared the potential of being hurt or left. But with a partner, I’d be able to talk about how it felt to say goodbye to the home in which I grew up and marvel over my sweet family.

We finished taking our break. The remains of our collective childhoods were safely delivered to Goodwill, and we saw our parents off as they embarked on the next chapter of their lives.

Book of Shadows

Spells for Home Goodbye and Relocation Protection

Nearing the Full Moon, cast the circle in childhood bedroom. Scatter salt and water.

“Blessed be Creatures of Light.”

Light white candle on paper plate; allow dripping wax to create a secure base for candle.

Greet and honor the four directions and the universal elements.

Letter is written in myrrh-scented dove’s blood ink and anointed with honey.

“I’m writing to Mother Earth, God, and Goddess in gratitude for the memories I will carry with me from my childhood home. Thank you for the security of family, home and time. I will not forget the abundant gifts that presented themselves to me in this house.

I hope the same amount of happiness is experienced here by the next inhabitants.”

This letter gets burned by candle’s flame, released.

(Never again burn letter over paper plate—almost was the forever kind of goodbye.

And it’s hard to sell a pile of ashes that used to be a home.)

Create protection in relocation letter using dragon’s blood ink.

“God, Goddess, Mother Earth, please be with my Mom and Dad as they set out on their next adventure in life. Guide, guard and humor them as they continue their life’s story.”

This letter gets folded into tight triangle, emblazoned with sigil for protection

and hidden alongside small chunk of comfrey root in Mom and Dad’s new RV.

Thank the four directions and the universal elements.

“Blessed be Creatures of Light.”

Extinguish candle.

Open the circle.

Chapter Seven

The Stalker

“Hi, lilfella!” Dwight called out as I closed the front door. This was the only thing he had said to me since he had moved in, but each time it made my heart feel too big for my ribcage.

“Hi, Dwight!” I hollered up the staircase toward my office where his huge cage now occupied a good deal of space. Dwight didn’t say anything back to me, so I sat down on the fainting couch and pulled off my cowboy boots. These I left by the front door and padded up the staircase in my socks. I ran the short distance down the hall to the open door of my office and slid, like Tom Cruise in
Risky Business
, to a halt just outside the door. Dwight’s feather crest perked right up, and he bobbed his head in approval.

“Hi there, big fella!” I said. “Whatcha doin’?” Dwight didn’t answer, but he continued to bob his head, so I figured he was happy enough. Our first couple of days together had been spent just looking at each other and being near one another, like the Internet articles advised. The time had been filled with my making small talk in a soothing voice—again, Internet recommendation—and Dwight just listening.

I had called the Humane Society several times to get advice about various things on which I had found conflicting online advice. Each time, the person on the other end of the line spent as much time as I needed to get all my questions answered and each time the person ended the call with a sincere thank you for adopting Dwight. Apparently he had been a favorite of the employees and volunteers at the Humane Society. It sounded like a few people there had started to think no one would ever adopt Dwight because he was such a mess. It did hurt me to look at his raw, plucked belly, but the Internet sources and the Humane Society people seemed to think that Dwight would let his feathers grow back in if we developed a bond.

After the first couple of quiet days had passed, I found myself doing physical things that might amuse him. I did little dances for him. He bobbed his head. I did karate for him. He bobbed his head again. I read passages from my writing. He bobbed his head. I acted out snippets of
Romeo and Juliet
, with voices and actions. Dwight bobbed his head. He was a bird of few gestures.

A couple days ago, I had made four or five trips into the house with grocery bags, my gym bag and some odds and ends that I had kept from my parents’ moving day. It was then that I discovered that Dwight thought it was a good idea to say hi to me each time I opened the front door. So after I had put things away, I came in and out of the front door several more times so that we could practice calling hi back and forth from my spot at the front door to his spot in the office. My joy, with each one of Dwight’s “Hi lilfellas,” felt as if it were going to expand and explode in the air in front of me. I felt stupid, coming in and out of the front door like a village idiot, but I couldn’t stop myself.