In the Unlikely Event...

by Saxon Bennett

  “We better go help her,” Addison said.

  “Thanks for everything,” Chase said to the nurse.

  They ran toward the elderly woman and then veered toward the car, hopping in like they were in a getaway.

  “How’d it go?” Gitana said.

  “Fine. The nurse caught on to us,” Chase said, lathering her hands and arms with antibacterial gel. Addison and Bud were doing the same thing. Bud scrubbed at her face and then pulled out Q-tips.

  Chase looked alarmed.

  “I know it’s gross, but nasal swabs are in order,” Bud said, handing out the swabs and a bottle of saline solution.

  Addison and Chase both grimaced.

  “Trust me. Just do it,” Bud said.

  “One word—yuck,” Gitana said. “Can we go to the movie, now?”

  “Yes,” Chase said. They’d conquered one fear, now onto the next adventure. She pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to Tramway and on to the movie theater.

  “What movie are we going to see?” Gitana said.

  Chase glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Addison and Bud both shaking their heads.

  “Oh, it’s just this movie that has had some interesting reviews,” Chase said.

  “It’s a cult classic,” Addison added.

  “What’s the title?” Gitana said.

  Chase pulled in the parking lot of the theater. “Gosh, I don’t remember, something about insects,” Chase said.

  They went up to the ticket booth where Chase bought four tickets. She whispered, “Three adults and one child for The Human Centipede.”

  “Three and one coming up for The Human Centipede,” the pimpled-faced boy said into the mike for everyone to hear.

  “Did he say The Human Centipede?” Gitana inquired. She examined the movie poster.

  Bud yanked on her hand and said, “Come on, we’re going to be late.” Bud pulled her along to the theater doors and past the concession stand.

  “Don’t we get popcorn and Milk Duds?” Gitana said. “I mean, how can we not?”

  “Addison and I will get the necessary provisions while you and Bud get seats. It’s probably going to be standing room only in there.”

  Bud whisked her off.

  “Whew, that was two close calls. First, Nurse Ratched and then the movie guy,” Chase said.

  “I wonder what the previews to a movie like this will be?” Addison said.

  They got four medium popcorns because, as Addison pointed out, they were about the same size of an airline barf bag and could be used as such if necessary. “The airlines must have done research about how much space a vomit will require in order to be contained.”

  “You sound like Bud.”

  “I know, right. I don’t know how I feel about it,” Addison said.

  “I’m with you. What do you think about beverage size?”

  “I would go with larges because soda will help with a sour stomach,” Addison said.

  “Are we sure we want to do this?”

  “If we can watch this we can get through any cultural experience, even a marketplace in a Third World country,” Chase said. They both shuddered.

  The concession man handed them their order. In addition to Milk Duds they got York Peppermint Patties, for the breath issue in case anyone did toss their cookies. They went to the theater where the centipede awaited them.

  Other movies in the multiplex theater had lines waiting to get into them. They were the only people in this theater. Chase handed Gitana and Bud their popcorn and drink.

  “I thought you said this was a popular movie,” Gitana said.

  “Maybe everyone is running late,” Chase said.

  Gitana furrowed her brow but dug into her popcorn.

  The previews were tame enough—alien spores, giant worms coming out of people’s brains, a shoot-em-up scene with a car crash, but when the movie started, Gitana whispered, “Are you sure you want to see this?”

  Chase nodded. She ate her popcorn and stared at the screen as children were abducted and operated on by a seriously creepy man. All her fears—kidnap, surgery, gore rolled into one hideous movie.

  When it got to the sewing together of body parts, Chase, Addison and Bud pulled their T-shirts over their heads. Gitana continued to eat her popcorn and then theirs. “It’s not that bad. It’s downright kitsch. I mean look how fake that is,” she said, thrusting a finger at the screen.

  Chase knew she’d have nightmares for years if she watched any more, so she was forced into turtle mode. Bud and Addison had quickly mimicked her. She plugged her ears and tried to think of pleasant things—like a calendar of puppies, a funny British sitcom, clean sheets, the soft petals of a morning glory after it just opened and before the insects got to it. Her mind reeled—insects, centipedes, body parts. She had to start over. Calendars with pictures of kittens, the serenity of falling snow…

  “Tell us when the gross stuff is over,” Bud said. “We can watch the thriller part.”

  “That’ll count,” Addison said.

  Chase didn’t come out for the thriller part. She stayed in her cocoon of nice thoughts or tried to except that Gitana kept poking her and saying, “You got to see this.”

  When the movie was over, the three of them staggered out of the theater—shell-shocked. Gitana was fine. “Some parts of the movie were downright funny,” she said.

  “I’m so glad that’s over with, and I don’t think I’ll be going to another movie for eleven years,” Chase said.

  “No,” Gitana whined. “I like the movie theater. It’s like going to another planet for two hours,” she said. “But I’ll pick out the movies from now on.”

  “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have such a good visual memory,” Addison said.

  “Bud, are you all right?” Chase said as they walked to the car.

  “Why would someone write that and then make a film about it?” Bud said.

  “There’s no accounting for taste,” Chase said, and they all blanched, thinking back to the movie and the feeding part of the centipede. Except for Gitana, who pulled the Milk Duds out of her jacket pocket and popped two in her mouth.

  “Anyone else?” Gitana said.

  Silence and then a three-way, “No, thank you.”

  Chapter Seventeen—It’s a Wrap

  The Expo Center in downtown Albuquerque was filled with vendors of wrapping paraphernalia that Gitana found interesting as they passed through the maze. There were long tables lined up and filled with samples of wrapping papers, bows and ribbons, different kinds of boxes and packing supplies.

  “Hey, look at this,” Gitana said, picking up a small implement that looked like it had been misplaced by a surgeon.

  “That’s a paper cutter. It’s an enclosed razor and cuts perfectly straight lines,” the buxom woman dressed in purple chiffon explained to Gitana.

  “Oh, that’s ingenious,” Gitana said.

  “Half the battle in wrapping something well is getting the paper cut straight,” the woman continued. “Would you like to try it?”

  “Okay,” Gitana said. She looked around for Chase, who was staring at the stage.

  The stage was divided into two-sided cubicles, each with a table and a cart of wrapping supplies. The audience could watch the contestants, but the contestants couldn’t see each other. Chase and Bud had viewed all the websites, so none of this was a surprise. Still, seeing it up close and personal with all the chairs packed in the middle of the Expo Center and the people already waiting made Chase break out in a sweat.

  Bud squeezed her hand. “You can do this,” Bud said. “Remember, you can wrap anything.”

  “Just so long as it’s not a pony in the Eiffel Tower, right?” Chase said, scanning the crowd for Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks.

  “Sure, but I bet you could,” Bud said.

  Gitana caught up with them. “I had no idea this was such a big business,” she said.

  Bud and Chase threw her a see-I-told-you-so look.

  “I mean
this is serious stuff and a lot of money is at stake,” Gitana said, looking around the Expo. “These people mean business. I thought the Orchid Show was a big deal. We just all walk around and look at the new products and talk smack. I had no idea there’d be so many people.”

  Chase stopped and stood, catatonic, in the middle of the crowd.

  “Look what you did,” Bud said.

  “What?” Gitana said.

  “You can’t talk about big things—big important things, big business things, with someone who suffers from performance anxiety. I don’t know if we’re going to get her through this now.” She snapped her fingers. Chase continued to stand erect, but her eyes were vacant.

  Gitana said, “Oh, no. What are we going to do?”

  “Stop saying the word ‘big’ for starters,” Bud said.

  “Okay,” Gitana said. “I won’t say big. Oops, I won’t say that word.”

  Bud nodded. “Or enormous, gigantic or humonguous.”

  “What shall we do?” Gitana said.

  “We need to shock her out of it with a pleasure or pain stimuli,” Bud said.

  “I know. You step on her toe and I’ll stick my tongue in her ear,” Gitana said.

  Bud made a face. “Your tongue in her ear?”

  “It’s a grown-up thing,” Gitana said.

  “I am well aware of erogenous zones.”

  Gitana raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, I can draw you a map.”

  Gitana smiled. “Okay, ready.” She stood on tiptoe and stuck her tongue in Chase’s ear and Bud stomped on her toe.

  Chase said, “Ouch and oh my…”

  Gitana and Bud bumped knuckles in a show of solidarity and success.

  “What happened?” Chase asked, wiping her ear out with the cuff of her dress shirt. She bent down and rubbed off the smudge Bud had left on her shoe. She’d dressed in her favorite sage-colored Gap oxford shirt and a pair of black jeans with matching black Converse sneakers.

  “You had stress shell shock. Now, come on, I see Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks waving at us,” Bud said.

  “Oh, my goodness, I am so excited and nervous. I’ve never been this close before. You’re going to win, I can feel it,” Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks said, leading them backstage.

  Chase was pale and felt sick to her stomach. “Is my therapist here yet?”

  “Yes, honey. She’s in the green room waiting for you.”

  “There’s a green room?” Gitana said.

  “Of course, this is a—” Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks stopped. Bud slashed her finger across her throat, interrupting.

  “It’s this way,” Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks said, leading them backstage.

  Chase heard Bud whisper to her about the “performance anxiety issue.” Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks nodded.

  Dr. Robicheck looked the picture and essence of relaxation. Chase couldn’t decide if she was doing it so Chase could catch her vibe, or she was taunting her with the fact that she didn’t have to perform and Chase did. The green room smelled of sandalwood from the three candles burning on the table. There was a pot of tea and a bottle of lavender oil on the end table next to the couch.

  “I thought we’d do some relaxation exercises and then some visualization,” Dr. Robicheck said. She pushed the remote that lowered the lights and hit the CD player. Enya’s soft music and soothing lyrics poured forth.

  Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks touched Chase’s shoulder reassuringly. “It’s going to be fun.”

  Chase looked at her dubiously, thinking there wasn’t an Asberger card for that emotion either.

  “I’ll let you get at it,” Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks said.

  “Right,” Gitana said. “We should go too.”

  “No, don’t go please,” Chase said, clutching at Gitana’s arm. She looked at Dr. Robicheck. “They can stay, can’t they? I need them.”

  “Of course. It’ll be good if your support team is de-stressed as well. Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks, you’re welcome to stay as well,” Dr. Robicheck said, her voice soft and melodious like on one of those relaxation CDs.

  Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks looked at her like she was some Cajun voodoo queen inviting her to a chicken dinner. “Uh, I can’t really. I’ve still got a lot to do, but I certainly appreciate your offer.” She made a hasty exit, bumping into the doorframe in her rush to be free.

  “I think I scared her,” Dr. Robicheck said.

  Gitana said, “It does look pretty New Wave in here.”

  “This is a holistic approach to relaxation therapy,” Dr. Robicheck said.

  “What do we do?” Bud said, pouring them all tea. “It’s red bush tea. That’s good. It doesn’t have any caffeine.” She handed Chase a cup.

  Chase beamed at her. Bud was so capable. It made her proud.

  “Yes, let’s start with the tea,” Dr. Robicheck said. She put some lavender oil in a small dish by Chase on the end table. “Dab some on your temples.”

  Bud and Gitana dabbed some on their temples, and then Bud handed the dish to Chase, who did the same, feeling a little foolish and hoping the oil didn’t produce an unsightly pimple in the next five minutes before showtime.

  Chase sipped the tea, and Dr. Robicheck said, in a melodious voice that was several octaves lower than her normal voice, “Breathe deeply, clearing your mind of all its concerns. Relax your body, beginning with your toes and working your way up.”

  Gitana and Bud closed their eyes and relaxed. Chase tried to envision what relaxed toes looked like. Did toes harbor stress? Her neck hurt when she was stressed but never her toes.

  “Next, I want you think about the contest.”

  Oh, great, Chase thought, that’ll really relax me. Maybe her toes did feel stress. She swore her big toe was cramping. She shouldn’t think about body parts. Her brain might cramp up and she’d forget her wrapping skills.

  “Now, keep taking deep breaths and relax your shoulders and neck. Chase, I want you to envision winning the contest. See yourself doing it—you’re declared the winner and everyone is clapping and the judges hand you the trophy.”

  Chase tried, but the only visual that came to mind was sitting at the wrapping table and getting stage fright so bad that her hands shook and she couldn’t even hold the scissors still enough to cut the paper. She didn’t know how to make her mind envision victory. She wasn’t hard-wired like that. She thought she wrote like shit, and yet people liked her books. She constantly questioned her parenting skills, yet Bud was an exceptional child with good manners and a caring heart. Gitana loved her so she had to be a good partner, yet it, self-assurance, wasn’t part of her. Victory seemed unimaginable.

  Dr. Robicheck sidled up to her on the couch. Bud and Gitana nestled in the comfy armchairs in a relaxed, slack-jawed stupor. “Chase, I just want you to remember you’re good at what you set your mind to—focus on that. This will be the day your new life starts.”

  Chase didn’t want to wake Gitana and Bud from their deep relaxation by screaming at Dr. Robicheck. Did she really think that Chase would become her ultimate self by winning a fucking gift-wrapping competition? Had this New Age shit baked her therapist’s brain?

  Dr. Robicheck sensed her unvoiced snub. “I’m serious, Chase. I know this is an odd way to realize your potential, but it is the crux of your confidence problem—if you can conquer your performance anxiety, it means you accept yourself.”

  “This is crazy,” Chase whispered.

  “No, it’s life. Now, drink your tea, rub your temples and visualize winning.”

  Chase tried, until Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks swung open the door and turned on the lights.

  “It’s showtime,” she said.

  They all blinked at her like underground forest animals whose den had suddenly been exposed. She scrutinized them. “All better?”

  Chase felt like saying, “We would’ve been if not for the reality jolt,” but she didn’t. For some unknown reason that Chase didn’t understand, she never said anything smart-ass to her gift-wrapping mentor. It was unfathoma
ble—like kicking Santa Claus in the balls. You didn’t do it.

  Chase glanced at Dr. Robicheck’s and Mrs. Meadowbrook-Park’s expectant faces. How could she let them down? Guilt was always a powerful motivator. Gitana’s mother, Jacinda, had taught her that. Jacinda was a devout Catholic, excepting for the gay thing, and she knew the power of guilt. Chase tapped into her inner guilt at letting people down and said, “I am unstoppable.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks said, putting her arm around Chase. “We can do it.”

  “I will do my utmost. Thank you, Dr. Robicheck,” Chase said, not catching Gitana’s eye. She knew Gitana was studying her, and she would know that Chase wasn’t sold on any of this voodoo visualization shit. She had to learn to perform, and she would playact herself into first place—or give it the old college try—what was the line? One for the Zipper? Or was it the Gipper, whoever the fuck that was?

  Bud took her hand and squeezed it. “I love you no matter what happens,” she said.

  Gitana kissed her cheek.

  Chase followed Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks to the contestants’ area like a prize pony at the state fair.

  The second she walked in the room, Chase recognized her competition—a petite Asian woman with the fastest hands Chase had ever seen. They almost were a blur when she wrapped. There were other contenders, but Chase knew it would come down to the two of them.

  They eyed each other as Chase went by. Chase noticed a small crease in one of the folds of the wrapping paper—an imperfection in Kim Lee’s work. It was a standard two by two gift box. Kim Lee was fast, but she wasn’t perfect. Chase was perfect…she hoped.

  “Over here, Chase,” Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks said, indicating which cubicle was hers.

  Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks rubbed Chase’s shoulders. Chase felt like Rocky Balboa.

  Mrs. Meadowbrook-Parks said in a low voice, “I want you to think long term. You don’t have to ace every category. You just have to get enough points to get into the semifinals and then the final. It’s the wrapping finale where you will shine.”