COSMOS magazine

Tuesday, May 13

Lauren and her dog were just starting out for a run when Paul pulled up to the curb. Beautiful as a model, she wore electric blue lycra and a matching headband to hold back her straw-blonde hair. Her face lit up with a smile as the battered yellow Nissan clunked to a stop. No pouts today, he thought, winding down his window. Not yet, anyway.

"Hey stranger, where've you been?" she yelled. The dog yapped excitedly and strained against its leash.

"Working hard." He picked up a flat plastic case from the passenger seat.

"Well, aren't you going to get out?"

"No, I can see you've just started your run and I was really just dropping by to return your spare-"

"Now, Paul. You've got to come in. It's been two weeks since we've seen each other."

He looked at her through the open window. "You told me you didn't want to see me again."

"Oh, Paulie, I was upset about being late. You know I didn't mean it!"

"No, I think you were right. It's better if we don't see each other for a while. I brought this for you." Nothing had ever been easy with Lauren, and clearly this was not going to change simply because he had decided to end the relationship. She had dazzled him when he first met her at Richard Ames's Christmas party, with animated talk of the book she was writing comparing the lives of Anais Nin and May Sarton. He had hoped they could open up whole new worlds for each other.

"What is it?" She took a closer look. "Oh, Christ, you can't just hand me my goddamn diaphragm and walk away like that." Her eyes were watering up. The dog continued to yap.

Paul slowly stepped out of the car. In the end, the only world Lauren had opened for him was the world of neurosis. She made no move to take the diaphragm, so he slipped it into his trouser pocket. One of Lauren's golden arms went around his neck and she pushed her body against his. Instant mood shift.

"You feel so good." She kissed his lips. "Let's not break up. We belong together."

Paul tried to take a step back but found that the dog had circled behind him, tying his legs to Lauren's with the leash. Her other arm wrapped him, and the leash slid across the back of his legs as the dog pulled free, dragging the leash behind it.

"Just stay here with me for a little while." Stepping back, she took one of his hands, began pulling him toward the house. Something warm dribbled on his ankle.

"Lauren," he said, on the verge of laughter, "your dog just peed on my leg."

"Mister Teeny! You bad thing!" She scooped the dog up and turned to Paul, gushing on in the same high-pitched baby voice she used for the dog. "Come on, Paulie. I have some new bubble bath. You'll love it."

"Thanks all the same, Lauren, but I really have to go. I'll just rinse off with the hose. May I?"

"Shit, you can't just leave me like this. We have to talk about it. If you want to break up, we have to discuss it, get closure."

"I'll be glad to talk about it with you, but this is not a good time. Maybe we could meet for lunch some day next week." He was half afraid she would throw herself and Mister Teeny onto the hood of the car and refuse to get off, but she only stood there, watching him slip back into the car, as if she did not really believe what was happening. Her blonde ponytail swayed slightly in the breeze. As he pulled away he heard her scream shrilly, "Screw you, Paul God Damned Gibson."

Tuesday, May 13

Wayne walked down to the old farmhouse, Gretchen at his heel, carrying the paperback in the middle of a stack of old Field and Stream magazines. He'd sat down with the book several times but just couldn't get comfortable, knowing Fern might come home early from work and interrupt him.

She'd never disturb him at the farmhouse. Seemed to think the place was haunted or something. Once he'd asked her why she hated it so much, and she'd just stared at him. Tears had started running down her face and she walked away without a word.

Wayne pretty much avoided the old house himself. Not that it was haunted, at least not with ghosts. Unhappy memories got to him. Being the black sheep, the kid who never could do anything right. Robert was the son Dad had always wanted: good looking, smart, athletic. One way or another, Wayne was always screwing up. Most of his childhood was an indistinct blur these days, and he counted that a mercy, but sometimes when he went down to the old house bits of his past would burst up with painful clarity. Well, he'd just have to risk an ugly memory or two to get privacy.

The gravel driveway, overgrown with grass and wildflowers, ended at a hedge that had taken over most of what had been the front yard. When he was a kid he'd seen a movie, Sleeping Beauty, about a princess who slept for a hundred years. Thorny bushes had grown so tall they completely hid her castle. It was like that.

No maintenance at all had been done on the house since way before Wayne's dad moved to the nursing home. It leaned at a precarious angle, like it would've fallen right over if there hadn't been a big old hackberry tree holding it up. The front door was jammed so tight Wayne couldn't budge it. He went around to the back of the house and found the kitchen door hanging by one hinge. The landing was rotted away to almost nothing, so he had to climb into the kitchen instead of walking up the steps. He settled down in the doorway, staring at the red, white and blue geometrical pattern of the floor. Dad yelled so loud it made Wayne's head ache. "You're gonna sit right here and think about what you done until you're good and sorry. No going to town for you this afternoon." And Rob's high, childish voice: "But Daddy, ain't Wayne coming to the picture show with us?"

Wayne took a deep, ragged breath. The linoleum under his butt had lost its coloured pattern years ago. It was cracked and peeling, grey with too many years' worth of ground-in dirt and dust. He'd only imagined the colours. Too dark in here to read, anyway.

He sat himself down outside under the catalpa tree he'd helped Mama plant, been barely big enough to hold the little trunk upright while she shovelled soil over the roots. Now the trunk had grown big around as his torso. Leaves flashed a hundred shades of green and yellow; he felt the tension drain out of his body. The dog scratched in the wild untended bushes.

He opened Awakening the Genius Within and tried to read, but out of the corner of his eye kept catching phantom glimpses of his brother. Two year old Robbie running round and round the yard on plump baby legs. Six year old Rob effortlessly hitting the baseball over the fence. Seven year old Rob lying cold and still in his child-size coffin.

Thursday, May 15

Brightness filled the lobby of San Antonio's Garcia Health Sciences Center. Alex felt tired and cranky, irritated by the morning sunlight slanting through large windows.

"Look at this, Alex," said Mom. A big painting covered one whole wall of the lobby. "This mural was painted by children who were patients here." She was trying to be cheerful, but Alex could tell it was an act. He'd caught her twice today with her face scrunched up like she was about to cry, and both times she put on a fake smile when she noticed him looking at her. He wished she'd just cry; then he could cry too, and maybe they'd both feel better.

"I don't care about any stupid old mural. I'm tired." Suddenly his legs felt painfully heavy, and he plopped down on the floor. Ah! This was better. He considered stretching out, but the white tiles didn't look all that clean, up close.

"Alex! You're acting like a three-year-old. C'mon. Dr. Collins's office should be down this hallway." Jill tugged gently at his hand, trying to get him to stand up. When she put her hands under his armpits to lift him, he angrily shrugged them away. Why'd she have to treat him like such a baby all the time?

"I don't wanna go to the doctor," he whined. Probably wouldn't do any good, but if there was even a slim chance, it was worth a try. He couldn't remember ever wanting anything more than he wanted to get out of this place. "There's nothing wrong with me."

"You're probably right, sweetie. I just want to make sure."

He felt scared again. "Are they going to give me a shot?"

"I doubt it. They're just going to look at some pictures of your brain today with one of those machines we saw on the Internet. I don't think you'll have to get any shots."

"Well—okay." Alex stood up and followed Jill down the hall, sliding his feet along the polished floor.

---

A short balding man wearing a bright red coat strode into the waiting room.

"I need to see everybody's frangimuffles at once," he muttered, peering at Alex over the top of his glasses. "Yes, young man, I'm talking to you.

Dumb guy, trying to be cute. "I haven't watched The Carl Clueless Show since I was four years old." Alex noticed Mom giving him a warning frown and briefly stretched his lips into smile.

"Yeah?" said the little man. "Well, I'm forty-three and still watch Carl Clueless. I'm Dr. Collins, by the way." He held out his hand.

Alex hated when people made fools of themselves trying to relate. I'll just pretend I don't see his hand, he thought. But Dr. Collins got a sort of hurt look on his face, like he actually cared if Alex liked him. Not wanting to hurt the man's feelings, Alex reached out and shook hands.

"Thank you so much for agreeing to see Alex on such short notice." Mom smiled at Dr. Collins, and the doctor's face lit up like they were old friends. Mom was always talking about how unattractive she'd become, but Alex thought she was beautiful, especially when she smiled. "And just what are frangimuffles?" She was looking at Alex expectantly.

"Oh, Mom, don't you know anything? Frangimuffles are the official money in Barrowsland."

"They also use them for currency in the computer game White Dwarf."

Hmm, Alex hadn't known this. He grudgingly gave Dr. Collins a couple of points. He was almost beginning to like the guy.

But then Dr. Collins spoiled it by saying, "What I'd like to do first..." Alex tensed and caught his breath, certain that a huge hypodermic needle would suddenly appear in the doctor's hand... "is show you the machines we'll be using today and tell you a little bit about how they work. I think you'll be impressed with my toys." He grinned, and Alex relaxed a little. Dr. Collins opened the door to the inner part of the office, and when Mom hesitated, he said, "Mom's invited too—if that's okay with you, Alex."

"Yeah, I guess it's okay." Alex nodded casually. The last thing he wanted to do was admit how scared he was and how desperately he needed to have his mother with him.

"In this room is the MRI scanner. Don't worry, it's not turned on. You can walk right into the room." A white box with a large round opening in the middle took up almost all the space in the room. The thing looked at lot like a giant clothes dryer.

"This is the scanner. If the electric current were turned on, Alex, it would pull this right off your neck." Dr. Collins bent down to get a closer look at the round medal Alex wore on a chain. "Second place!" the doctor read. "What did you win that for?"

"Swimming. My swim teacher's gonna teach me to do the butterfly this summer."

"Excellent! That explains why you have such nice muscles."

Alex looked down at his right arm, flexed his bicep when he was sure no one was watching.

"MRI stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging. The main working part of this machine is a magnet that's so strong, if you were holding a great big sledge hammer, the machine could yank it right out of your hands."

Alex cringed again, imagining the machine tearing his arms off. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Nope. Before we put you in it, we make sure there's no magnetic metal anywhere in the room." Dr. Collins reached out and stroked the machine, as if it were a dog or a horse.

"I don't wanna get in that thing."

"Only your head goes in. See, you lie down on this table, and we just push it a couple of feet forward."

"Will the machine fix me up?"

"No, Alex. But it'll let us see pictures of the inside of your head. It'll show us what's wrong and help us decide on the best way to fix it." Dr. Collins turned to his mother and said, "Do you have any questions, Mom?"

Ordinarily, Alex would have hated it if an adult called his mother "Mom." But Dr. Collins did it so naturally it seemed as though he was simply calling her by her proper name.

"Can you give us a diagnosis today?"

"Sorry, no. We send the images to a radiologist. Before you leave this afternoon, we'll schedule a time for you to come back and talk about what we've found out. Probably some time early next week." He put his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Nurse Snap! Nurse Crackle! You're nee-ded."