by Lisa Nicol
At All Syndrome (extremely rare)
SEEING DISORDERS
* Can See Around Corners But Not
Straight Ahead Syndrome
* Can See Through Clothes / Can See Through
Own Eyelids Syndrome
* The Sky Looks Purple / All Clouds Are
Lime Green Syndrome
* No One Can See Me Picking My
Nose When Driving A Car Syndrome
SITTING DISORDERS
* Screams Like In A Horror Movie Whenever
Seated Syndrome
* Ears Wiggle Violently Whenever Seated Syndrome
* Can Only Sit On Other People Syndrome
* Can’t Sit Down, Not Ever, Never, Not Even
At The Movies Syndrome
SKIN DISORDERS
* Has Stripes Like A Zebra Syndrome
(or Thinks I Have Stripes Like A Zebra Syndrome,
see THINKING DISORDERS)
* Grows Barnacles And Droopy, Floppy, Flappy Bits All Over Body Syndrome
* Can See Through Skin Syndrome
(often accompanied with Can See
Through Eyelids Syndrome)
SLEEP DISORDERS
* Can Only Sleep Hanging
Upside Down Syndrome
* Whistles While Sleeping Syndrome
* Keeps Waking Up In The Bath Syndrome
* Calls People On The Phone And Tells
Them They’ve Won The Lottery
While Sleeping Syndrome
* Can’t Get Out Of Bed Without A Large Boat Horn
Blown In My Ear Syndrome
SPEAKING DISORDERS
* Talks In Slow Motion Syndrome
* Never Says ‘Yes’ Or ‘Sorry’ Syndrome
* Can’t Speak Softly, Only Yells Syndrome
(common in most families)
* Speaks Backwards Syndrome
(also known as Gobbledygook Syndrome)
THINKING DISORDERS
* Can Only Think In Russian But Doesn’t Speak
Or Understand Russian Syndrome
* No Daydreaming Syndrome (always accompanied by No Imagination Syndrome)
* Thinks Everything’s A Disaster Syndrome
* Always Say What I’m Thinking Syndrome
(also known as Blurt It All Out, Why Don’t You? Syndrome)
* One Minute I Think I’m A King, Next Minute
I’m A Caterpillar Syndrome
WALKING DISORDERS
* Feels Like I’m Slipping
Off The Earth Syndrome
* Must Ride An Elephant To School
Or Refuses To Go Syndrome
* Legs Always Hurt When Approaching
A Big Hill Syndrome
Dr Boogaloo returned.
‘Gosh,’ said Blue, ‘I’ve met people who are cranky as a cassowary but I’ve certainly NEVER met someone with zebra stripes!’
‘Quite. People hide the bits they think are strange,’ said the Doctor. ‘I don’t know why. Strange has a bad reputation these days. Didn’t used to, but it does now. Most of us have weird bits and bobs. It’s what makes us interesting. It’s what makes us us. But if they’re causing us pain or trouble, that’s a sure sign we need a retune. We don’t want too much suffering. Just enough to make us wise.’
Dr Boogaloo began rummaging through his collection. His long thin index fingers squiggled up and down the silver boxes like a pair of cricket feelers searching for food.
‘You have so many recordings, there must be millions!’ said Blue.
‘Quite,’ said the Doctor. ‘Collecting songs is a lot like counting stars. You never really stop. Aha! Here it is – Laughter Disorders.’
Squeezed between the Ketchup Disorders and the never-ending Licking Disorders (who would have thought anyone could actually like licking hairy caterpillars?), the laughter section was tiny.
‘Hmm, Laughter Tastes Like Anchovies, Laughs Like A Sausage Dog, Can Only Laugh With Both Cheeks Full Of Grapes – thank goodness you haven’t got that, Blue, we’ve lost a few youngsters to that one. Laughter and grapes do NOT mix! Now, let’s see. I think I’ll try this and this and a bit of this …’
The Doctor grabbed tapes by the armful. He flew up and down ladders that with the press of a button whizzed along the walls. A cherry picker hoisted him up to the ceiling, where he pulled down dozens more. With piles of tapes stacked high to his chin, the Doctor instructed Blue to relax while he programmed her treatment in the control room.
‘There’s a grassy hill to your left, Persian rug to the right. Take your pick.’
Blue fumbled her way to the left until she felt grass beneath her feet. She sat down. If she hadn’t known she was inside a cabin, she would have sworn she was in the middle of a field looking up at the night sky. The library lights reminded her of the Milky Way. A whole galaxy of music. It was true what the Doctor said. Collecting songs was a lot like counting stars.
‘Okay, Blue, ready when you are.’ Dr Boogaloo’s voice came from all around and nowhere at the same time.
‘I’m ready,’ replied Blue.
A piano began to play somewhere in the firmament.
Blue closed her eyes and found herself tiptoeing down an empty sunlit hallway. Next, a church organ lifted her into the back of a horse-drawn wagon, where she lay staring up at the blue, unbroken sky. Glasses of water played with a pair of spoons sent her spinning on ice. A complicated jazz tune shuffled her brain like a deck of cards. A guitar solo tossed her into a field of long grass before reggae flutes lassoed her round the chest and hauled her skyward, where she rode on pink afternoon clouds.
Although she wasn’t aware of it, Blue had begun to dance. She spun round, arms outstretched, dipping and soaring, knees bending and flapping, her head and hair flying about.
When the music finally stopped, Blue was puffing.
‘What was that music?’ she asked as she tried to catch her breath.
‘Ah! That was reggae music, Blue, and a bit of dance-hall. From Jamaica, a small island in the Caribbean. So much music from such a tiny island. Most cures have a bit of Jamaican in them. Terribly therapeutic. They’re masters of musical medicine, the Jamaicans, AB-SO-LUTE MASTERS!’ Dr Boogaloo shook his head in awe.
By the time Blue and Dr Boogaloo emerged from the Reel-to-Reel room, it really was night. And the beetle-black sky was full of stars.
‘Oh my, I must have lost track of time, didn’t mean to keep you so late. Your mother will be very annoyed with me, Blue.’
Blue and Dr Boogaloo hurried back around the pond. Thin ice was beginning to form on the edge like a frozen frill of glass.
Blue felt different. Somehow the whole world looked different. Blue was sure her heart must have snapped on a pair of wings and ridden high above the clouds just the way Bessie had told her. She thought that finally she understood what the Doctor had meant when he talked about the difference between listening and feeling.
‘Oh, look! A falling star! Did you see that, Dr Boogaloo?’
‘I did, I did. Make a wish!’
Blue remembered her mother’s ultimatum. She held her breath and made a wish.
Please be today.
Please be today.
Please be today …
CHAPTER 14
Jane Bond
6.30 am.
Blue woke up.
It was a new day.
She woke excited, as she had done every morning since starting her treatment with the Boogaloos. Then it hit her – the sharp punch of reality.
No laughter.
Her wish had not come true.
Lead sinkers hung from her heart.
Blue lay there, staring at the ceiling. What was she going to do now? For the life of her, she had no idea. Blue remembered her mother’s ladies’ lunch the day before. It was rare for her mother to be out of bed before Blue left for school any day of the week, but it was especially rare if she’d been out with her girlfriends. Maybe she’d have forgotten all about her ultimatum?
Ever so quietly, Blue go
t up and got dressed. Extra careful not to fall over any furniture, she tiptoed downstairs and across the hall. She turned the lock on the front door as gently as if she were cracking open a safe.
‘Stop right there!’ bellowed Blue’s mother from the living room. She removed the icepacks from her cheeks so she could bellow at full force. ‘You’re not going anywhere. Time’s up. No more Ooglybooglies! You didn’t think I’d forget, did you? I can tell you’re still a first-class misery guts.’
Her mother’s appearance must have caused Blue to grimace. Her mother’s cheeks were red-raw like fresh steaks.
‘Don’t worry, it’ll die down. Ursula here’s just given me a special laser treatment to whiten and tighten up my face.’
‘Please, Mother. You’ve got to let me go. It’s working, I know it is. Listen.’
Blue opened her mouth wide and let out her best fake laugh ever.
‘AR HA HA HA HA HA HA HAR,’ she wheezed, running out of breath.
‘Oh my lord! Cover your ears, Ursula. Captain Hook would’ve walked the plank himself if he’d heard that! You could disperse a crowd faster than a tsunami! I know I was the one who took you to those bonkers Ooglybooglies in the first place, but I’m spiritually aware enough to know when I’ve made a mistake.’
‘But yesterday I was humming, Mum,’ pleaded Blue. ‘Dr Boogaloo says that’s a definite sign treatment is beginning to work. Please, Mum, I just need a bit more time.’
‘What on earth has humming got to do with laughter? I told you they’re cuckoo. Crackers. Loons. NUTS, darling!’ Blue’s mother did her best impersonation of an emu while twirling her index finger around in circles near her ear to emphasise her point. ‘As if music was ever going to make a difference. It’s just noise pollution. Anyway, I’ve cancelled your treatment already. I called the clinic yesterday and told – what’s-her-name?’
‘Bessie?’
‘That’s it, I told Bettina you’re not coming back.’
‘It’s Bessie, Mum.’
‘Yes. That’s it. Brenda. Anyway, don’t worry, your father and I have a new plan. Instead of us spending half the year overseas, we thought you could. I’ve been looking at boarding schools in Switzerland. The ones that don’t let you come home during the holidays. You could learn how to ski. People won’t notice you can’t laugh while they’re skiing, will they? You can wear a balaclava. Gawd, I am brilliant! And all that work with the poles will have been good for something. Now, it’s too early for bubbles, so if you’re done, Ursula, I’m going back to bed.’
Blue’s mother balanced the icepacks on her cheeks and headed upstairs. She yelled out to the cleaners, who were already in bathroom four.
‘Luz, wake me up at bubble-o’clock, would you?’
The idea of boarding school in Switzerland horrified Blue. Although her mum and dad weren’t exactly the most loving parents a girl could wish for, they were the only family she had. Blue couldn’t imagine being more alone in the world than she already was.
She tiptoed up to bathroom four, where Luz and Tracee were polishing the elephant-tusk toilet-roll holders.
‘Hey Blue, Tracee got ninety-eight per cent in Immunology exam, I got one hundred per cent. Watch out, Colonel, here come Luz’s Kwek-Kwek Bar!’
‘That’s great, Luz,’ said Blue, trying her best to sound excited.
‘What’s wrong, Blue? You usually so happy when we get good mark.’
‘Sorry, Luz, I am, I am. It’s just my mum won’t let me finish my treatment at the Boogaloos. She doesn’t understand.’
‘Yeah, well, you can’t pull hair from bald head, Blue,’ said Luz.
‘I guess you’re right. That’s why I need to ask a favour.’
‘You like little sister, Blue. You name it, we do it,’ said Tracee.
Blue had never disobeyed her mother before. Not properly.
Not ever.
Propelled by the rocket fuel of desperation, the words shot out of Blue’s mouth. ‘I’m going to sneak out and I need you to cover for me.’
It was only when she said the words out loud that she realised herself what she was actually planning to do. Blue looked almost as shocked as Luz looked excited.
‘Oooh, like secret agent? Like Jane Bond?’ said Luz, with an attempt at a sexy shoulder roll and pout. ‘Tell me plan!’
‘Well, you know how my mum looks at you but never really sees you?’
‘Yeah! She call me Tracee half the time,’ said Luz, ‘and I so much better-looking, it stupid.’
‘Depend if you like old-style pork or fresh chicken,’ said Tracee.
Tracee and Luz were always teasing each other.
‘Well, you’re exactly the same height as me, Luz. If you dressed up in my clothes and wore my Princess Anna dress-up wig, I don’t think my mother would notice the difference.’
‘Yeah, you even look like Blue,’ said Tracee, ‘just with extra twenty kilo.’ She poked Luz in the behind with the elephant-tusk toilet-roll holder.
So Blue helped Luz squeeze into one of the white frocks her father had sent from Paris.
‘Ooh! My mabungo look so cute in this!’ said Luz, admiring her bottom in the bedroom mirror. ‘Now you go, Blue. We got your mummy covered.’
‘Thank you, Luz, thank you, Tracee,’ said Blue, hugging them tight. ‘I’ll be back before five.’
‘Don’t rush,’ said Luz. ‘Tracee can handle nineteen bathroom herself, no problem. I think I might get a little something from the fridge.’
CHAPTER 15
A Hole in the Family Drum
For the rest of the week, Luz dressed up as Blue and ate her way through half the fridge, Tracee cleaned all nineteen bathrooms on her own, Blue went to the Boogaloos and her mother never noticed a thing.
By week’s end, the leaves on Bessie’s tupelo tree were a bright red. Dr Boogaloo had exhausted nearly every instrument in his collection, every tape in the Reel-to-Reel room and every animal in the garden. He’d added water drummers from Vanuatu and a Zulu men’s choir from the small town of Ladysmith in South Africa to Blue’s swims with Leonard. He’d taught Blue to sing in tune and even yodel, but apart from the humming, Blue’s No Laughing Syndrome showed no sign of improvement. It looked as if Blue’s mother had been right, after all.
At the end of the very last day of treatment, Bessie, Dr Boogaloo and the dogs walked Blue to the bottom of the driveway, where Melvin was waiting for her. Fats and Dizzie felt everyone’s sadness. Their wind-screen-wiping tails sat motionless, their saggy baggy jowls hung low.
Blue felt like such a failure.
‘Thank you both for everything,’ she said, always mindful of her manners. ‘I’ll never forget my time here, ever.’ Blue refused to cry. She didn’t want the Boogaloos to feel any worse than they clearly did already. ‘Oh, I forgot to give you these back.’
Blue pulled out the old wooden castanets from the pocket of her white dress and handed them to Bessie.
‘No. You keep them. They belong to you.’ Bessie took Blue’s hands in hers and folded them around the castanets. ‘Promise me you’ll practise every day.’
‘I promise, Bessie.’ Blue battled her tears harder than she ever had before.
‘Remember,’ Bessie instructed, ‘left hand heartbeat, right hand tapping in a rolling motion from pinky to pointer. Make them talk to each other, now … like two people in love.’ Bessie’s eyes filled with tears. She hugged Blue so tightly she nearly crushed Dolly and Makeba, who squealed in protest.
As the car drove off, Blue stared out the back window. Dr Boogaloo and Bessie stood holding hands. They waved goodbye till Blue was out of sight.
Blue went back to her old life. She was beyond miserable. While she’d tried not to get her hopes up, hopes have a life of their own and Blue’s had taken flight. She had been so sure the Boogaloos were going to fix her laughter. After all, their cures had never failed. Why had their musical medicine not worked for her? What was so very wrong with her?
Strangely, Blue had almos
t got used to suffering from No Laughing Syndrome. But she didn’t know how she was going to get used to not seeing the Boogaloos. Being at the clinic had been the best two weeks of her life. How she missed the music, Bessie’s pygmy possums, her rides on the iBike and swimming with Leonard. But more than anything, she missed Dr Boogaloo and she missed Bessie.
All day, everyday, Blue sat against the fence and tried to soothe herself, listening to the Taylor house mayhem. But even that didn’t work anymore. It seemed the only thing that could distract her from her misery were her castanets.
Blue practised the way Bessie had taught her.
Clack-clickety-clickety clickety clack-clickety-clickety clickety clack.
‘That’s it! she could hear Bessie say. ‘They’re talking to each other … like two people in love.’
Dr Boogaloo was in an even worse state.
Each day the waiting room at the clinic became steadily more and more packed as he fell behind with his patients. Every time he opened the book of Boogaloo Musical Cures he ended up on the same page – 308,704 – reading and rereading the same entry – No Laughing Syndrome – hoping to find something he may have missed.
As the weeks wore on, his kind eyes became permanently flecked with worry. His shiny suits lost their sheen and became dull. One day he turned up without a necktie, his suit not only dull but crumpled. His confidence shattered, he relied more and more on Bessie as his knowledge of instruments and musical cures became shrouded by his despair. He didn’t know a bassoon from an oboe, a ukulele from a double bass. Eventually, Doctor Boogaloo stopped seeing patients altogether. He spent all day, every day, and all night, every night, in the Reel-to-Reel room.
‘You’re completely frazzled, luv, you need to sleep,’ said Bessie, bringing the Doctor a cup of sweet milky tea just before midnight.
The Doctor was high up a ladder, riffling through tapes that hadn’t been played for half a century.
‘There’s a Siberian waltz in here somewhere. I want to play it with piccolos and harmonica, maybe add a loop of Tibetan monks chanting.’
