“So how am I supposed to feel about that?” he said. “Is that what’s next for misplaced Miles? What color door will I live behind for the rest of my life?”
“But that man probably has dementia,” she said. “That’s a whole other thing. He’s got something that won’t go away.”
“Yeah, well how come it’s been weeks and I haven’t gotten any better?” argued Miles. “I mean, what if I never snap out of this?”
Circa’s insides began to churn. She felt like such an idiot for not thinking about how going up there might affect Miles that way. So much so, she wished she could erase that part of his memory, too.
“I’m sorry, Circa, I’m not trying to be a big jerk,” said Miles. “I know you were trying to help. And that’s real nice, especially with all you’ve just been through. But it’s just I can’t help thinking…Where’s my wall full of thens? You know?”
Miles picked up a rock and skipped it across the street. “Sorry,” he said. “Sort of.”
Circa couldn’t find the right words to say. Somehow, suddenly, her own ordeal didn’t seem to tower over Miles’s ordeal quite as much. Even so, she considered how Miles probably had a family right around the corner just waiting to swoop him up and celebrate his memories all flooding back. But Dad would never be around the corner for her. No swooping. No celebrating. Still though, she couldn’t shake the sensation that she and Miles had something, maybe even something big and heavy, in common.
As the two of them silently continued their walk, Circa trailed a few feet behind Miles and felt the weight of so many big questions. Who was this boy really, and why had he come to them? Why did she feel so connected to him, so comforted by a crinkle and a crooked smile? She grew angry at herself for asking Miles if he was scared. Of course he was. It must be completely terrifying to walk around in all that blankness, even if it was temporary. She did, after all, have Mom and Nattie and a home, and memories. All he had was a dirty backpack and a sunburn.
“Aren’t you coming?” called Miles wearily over his shoulder.
Circa was surprised to see he was so far ahead, sitting on a stump waiting for her. She’d stood absolutely still right under the Wingate town-square clock without even realizing it. “Um, yeah,” she said, shaking off her trance. She looked at him as he sat there in the distance with his face in his hands and considered the mystery that was Miles. There were countless unknowns about the boy, but one truth now tugging hard at Circa: that Dad would have absolutely hated this boy’s suffering. But what would Dad have done about it? That seemed to be the most urgent question.
Then as the clock sounded the half hour loudly above her, Circa had a flash of inspiration.
“Come on,” she said, running to catch up to Miles. “I’ve got something to show you.”
Pappy Joe wasn’t fond of letting his wife’s wings hang on the clothesline for the whole neighborhood to gawk at. And little Jamie always pitched such a fit to try them on. For these two reasons, sometimes Pappy Joe would take the wings down early, while they were still damp around the edges. And every time, he would gently assure Jamie that she too would have her own pair someday.
Mom was waiting at the entrance to Studio Monroe when Circa and Miles returned. Circa knew this eagerness had to mean Mom had either gotten a call about Miles or had gotten herself in a tizzy of worry.
“I was getting concerned about you guys,” Mom said with her brow pinched tightly as they walked into the studio. “Circa, you promised a short visit.”
“Did they call?” said Miles.
Mom shook her head. “Not yet,” she said.
Circa felt a small sensation of relief about no one claiming Miles. “Sorry it took us so long, Mom,” she said. “Please don’t be mad. It’s because Hank-not-the-Mayor counted out lunch for us.”
“All right, then,” said Mom. “So Hank. Is that the Kool-Aid teeth guy?”
“Yep. Grape today,” Circa said as Mom wiped her camera lens with a dust cloth.
Miles had already begun his own wandering tour of the studio and its gallery of images.
“Oh, yeah,” said Circa. She’d forgotten he hadn’t seen it. “Miles, this is Studio Monroe.”
Circa’s eyes took a minute to adjust from the outside sun to the dimly lit room. So much so, she almost didn’t see her own best friend seated neatly on the beanbag in the corner, tinkering with one of the old-timey cameras in Mom’s part of the studio.
“Nat! What are you still doing here?” said Circa.
“Mom said I could wait around for you guys after the portrait,” said Nattie. “Since I explained to her I was mainly just checking on you last night.”
“Checking on me?” said Circa.
“Well, yeah, something like that.” Nattie smiled. “So how was Maple Grove?”
Circa looked to make sure Miles couldn’t hear her answer. “It was so great, Nat,” she said. “We all need to go back sometime.”
Circa put an extra emphasis on the word all, so that Mom would catch on that she was invited too. She so wanted for Mom to ask about their visit to Maple Grove and the people and the wall, but Mom never did. Instead she just pulled down a plain blue backdrop and said, “We should probably go ahead and take a good picture of Miles like the police recommended, in case we need to put out some posters or something.”
But Miles didn’t even hear Mom’s suggestion, he was so mesmerized by the work displayed at the other end of the room. “Circa, is this your father’s stuff?” he asked as he drifted to the Dad half of the studio.
“Yep,” Circa said proudly. “Those are the befores and afters of his restorations.”
“Wow,” said Miles. “He was good.”
Circa picked up a printout of the Boone family photo from Mom’s little printer. “Hey, Nat, is this the one you guys chose as your favorite?” she asked, prompting Nattie to get all weird and squirm up out of the beanbag as fast and ladylike as she could. Nattie snatched the print from Circa’s hand and rolled it up in her fist.
“What gives?” said Circa.
Across the room, Mom smoothed out the backdrop and placed a tall stool in the middle of it. Then she asked Miles to come over and have a seat. As soon as he was over there, Nattie grabbed Circa by the elbow.
“Quick, Circ,” she whispered as she unrolled the photo. “Take that wart off my face and print a fresh one.”
“What in the world?” said Circa.
“Right there, on the picture, on my right temple,” said Nattie. “It’s awful.”
“Come on, Nat.”
“Circa, for real, Mom made us use this picture because Durret was actually sitting still in it, but my hair is flipped back in this one. And I don’t want Miles to see the wart on there.”
“Is this why you stuck around?” said Circa, but Nattie just shrugged.
“You think he’s kinda cute, don’t you?” teased Circa.
Nattie put her hands on her hips. “Well, what’s so weird about that?” she said. “There is something kind of special cool about him, right? I mean like in an endangered species kind of way.”
“Yeah, whatever, Nat,” said Circa, agreeing way more than she let on.
“Quick,” Nattie said, glancing over at Miles situating himself on the stool. “Go on and do it, while he’s over there.”
Circa sat herself down into the dents of Dad’s chair. It felt so good to sink back in. Over to the side of her, Mom was asking Miles to turn this way and that way. To smile and then not to smile. The not smiling seemed to come the easiest to him, but Circa still had a plan for that, just as soon as they could coax Nattie home without hurting her feelings.
She wiggled the mouse to wake the computer up and placed the Boone photo on the scanner.
“What did you do to catch warts? Smooch a frog?” she snickered.
“Ha, ha, very funny,” said Nattie. “Besides,
that’s a myth.”
Circa opened Photoshop and then quickly clicked on a tool that would let her sample and match Nattie’s skin color. Then, with just one swift click, she blotted out the wart on Nattie’s face.
“Poof, done deal,” she said. “Are you happy?”
“I don’t know,” said Nattie skeptically. “Can you print it, so I can see for sure?”
“Come on, Nat.”
“Plllllllease, Circ.”
Circa clicked PRINT, and as they waited for the printer to spit out a copy, Nattie nervously chewed on her braid again. When Circa handed the picture over, she took a good look at Nattie’s real right temple.
“Nattie Boone,” she fussed, “you didn’t even have a wart in the first place.”
“What do you mean?” Nattie said, feeling her perfectly flawless skin.
“It must have just been a camera speck or something,” Circa said.
“But it was there during the photo shoot,” said Nattie.
“I didn’t notice it this morning,” said Circa.
“That’s because my hair usually covers it,” said Nattie. “I’m telling you, I’ve had it for days. My mom’s been putting gunk on it all weekend.”
“Maybe it just fell off then,” said Circa.
“Ewww, what if it fell off in here?” said Nattie, totally grossing herself out and mildly grossing out Circa too.
Miles came over to Dad’s desk as Mom cycled through the shots on her little camera screen.
“Didn’t you have something you wanted to show me?” he said.
“Me?” said Nattie, looking beyond mortified.
“No,” he said. “Circa.”
“Oh,” said Nattie, rolling up her portrait diploma-style.
“Um…yeah,” Circa said sheepishly. “I think I did say that.
“Hmmm,” she continued. “What was that I wanted to show you?” Circa twisted her mouth and looked to the air in a fake-thinking kind of way.
Miles gazed around at more of Dad’s pictures as Circa worked herself into such a restless fit, if she wore braids, she would have chewed on one. Thankfully, Nattie had been so flustered by the wart scenario, she hardly noticed Circa’s impatience.
“Bye, Nat. We’ll hang later, okay?” Circa blurted out, surprised at how dismissive she sounded to her best friend. It was the first time she’d ever felt something invisible-thick like a secret hanging in the space between them.
Nattie gave Circa a puzzled look and turned to leave.
“Hey,” Miles called out after her. “Good picture of your family, Nattie.”
After that, Circa thought Nattie might very well skip out of the studio. She was so relieved Miles had killed the awkwardness with his compliment.
“Pull up a chair,” she said to him. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
She’d only just popped up that morning, but the bird in glasses had already quoted every nursery rhyme six times over. In the midst of “Hickory Dickory Dock,” the lone photographer wondered if there could indeed be a “Mother Emu” that he’d never been told about. He wondered if anyone would ever believe this wild story. But mostly he wondered…Was her bottom half in Mongolia?
Miles dragged over a portrait stool for himself, as Mom excused herself to the other part of the house to take care of a few things. Circa felt sure that meant another long nap lying between heaps of laundry.
“Sorry to be so weird when Nat was here,” said Circa as Miles settled in beside her at the desk. “But this is something nobody has seen except for me and Dad and Mom, because Dad made me promise to keep it just an us thing. And the thing is, even though you’re not family, well, you sure do—”
Circa paused. “I guess after all that yucky feeling from our visit,” she said, “I thought you might need at least a little something to smile about.”
Circa leaned across the desk and slid out an old, familiar folder. Then she laid it on top of her crisscrossed legs and slowly opened it up. For a second, it felt as though she was handing over the key to the Monroe family treasure chest, so much so that Circa considered making an excuse and stuffing the folder right back into its spot. She started to close the folder up, but Miles quickly threw his hand out to stop her.
“Whoa. What’s that?” he said.
Circa let the folder fall back open across her lap and revealed the topmost picture in the stack.
“This…” she said, taking a delighted glance at the photo before gently handing it over to Miles. “This is one of my favorites.”
Miles studied the photo for a moment. It was an old gray image of a rickety porch, with a little girl sitting there, smiling peacefully at her own feet. Watching from every available hiding place in the house behind her were three furry koala bears. Miles read aloud the words scribbled beneath.
“‘Meet Little Tish, who was carefully looked after by a skilled, if smelly, trio of nannies. There was Audrey to sing her to sleep at night, Reuben to make her toast, and Gus to keep her from falling into the lobster pit. All three would work tirelessly for years to make sure Tish was completely koala-fied for the challenges of adulthood, and one day she would greatly appreciate their efforts. (But on this particular Wednesday, she was far too captivated by her new chunky white shoes to notice.)’”
Miles just sat there for a moment studying the piece of paper in his hands. Circa couldn’t stand the suspense.
“Sorry,” she said, “I guess it was silly of me to think this would help. It’s just that these always seem to make me feel better, no matter what.”
Circa reached out to take the picture back from him, but Miles wouldn’t let her. Instead, he tightened his grip on the page. And he smiled.
“What is this?” he said.
“They’re called the Shopt,” Circa explained timidly. “Like as in, Photoshopped, on my dad’s photo editing program.”
“You mean this is all fake?”
“Only some of it,” said Circa. “The good parts. He took them from his other photos, or sometimes he just drew them right in. You can’t even tell what’s not real, can you?” she said proudly. “My dad was the best at that.”
“Cool,” said Miles, inspecting the photo superclose. “And he made up the story too?”
Circa nodded and picked up the next Shopt picture. Miles grabbed it and studied it intently. It was actually a strip of pictures from a photo booth. Each shot showed a snaggletoothed girl and a disturbingly huge plastic doll with pigtails crowding the frame.
Miles read its story aloud too.
“‘Eager to show off her new shirt, Potty Doll pitched an absolute fit to be allowed into the photo booth. She’d never been good at personal space, and this was beginning to wear thin on her school friends. Especially when she’d shout ‘I a big kid! I go pee pee!’ at the most inopportune times.’”
Miles peered over the top of the page at Circa for a moment. And then, just like that, he began to laugh. Circa felt a tremendous satisfaction at the sun she’d coaxed from behind his clouds. She started to shuffle through the stack of Shopt photos to pick out other personal favorites for Miles, but he stopped her from it, insisting on seeing them all in order so that he wouldn’t miss any. One by one, they studied each of the Shopt pictures, taking turns reading the stories out loud. Before they knew it, they’d moved to the studio floor and shuffled through so many Shopt pics, dozens of images were spread out in front of them in a black-and-white, sepia, and full-color display of imagination across the carpet.
“My dad said that some of these had some hints of truth to them,” Circa said. “Like this one here, with the tuba going over the waterfall. He told me that once, someone found a chunk of brass at the water’s edge. Or this one that has the classroom with all the candy vines growing, he said that he remembered once hearing about a town in Alabama where the kids got to stay home from school while they pruned t
he walls.”
“No way,” said Miles. “Was he being serious?”
Circa shrugged. “I thought so,” she said.
“Crazy,” said Miles as they hit the halfway point in the collection. “I kind of wish this stack would go on and on.”
Time seemed to fly by as the two of them read on about the octopus that crashed a wedding, the fisherman who caught a disco ball, a racehorse that wore roller skates, and much more. As they did, Circa noticed that the Shopt seemed to have the very same effect on Miles that it did on her. Like at the end of the afternoon, they’d both choose to be tucked back into the folder with the pictures if they could.
“Check this out,” said Circa, pulling a fresh one from the dwindling stack. The photo was of a gardener posing proudly next to a bush blooming with cartoon talk bubbles that said Kapow! The story under it was about how she’d snuck her husband’s old comic books into the compost pile.
“This one’s always been my mom’s favorite,” said Circa. “She says she wishes she had a Kapow! plant to pluck some bravery off of every now and then.”
“And speaking of that brave lady,” Mom interrupted from behind, spooking Circa and Miles from their trance. Not only was Mom awake, but she carried a tray full of supper, and boy did it look good. She set the tray on the floor and off-loaded two glasses of milk, two not-paper plates full of steaming pot roast and black-eyed peas, and two oatmeal cream pies already out of the plastic.
“Thanks, Mom,” said Circa.
“Yeah, thanks,” said Miles.
“Thank the Boones,” said Mom. “I’m just handy with the microwave is all.”
But Circa knew that just being able to assemble a meal was a small victory for her mother. As Mom got up to leave with the empty tray, Circa could see her smiling at the gardener and the prized Kapow! bush. And it didn’t even look like a fake “Sunny Backdrop” smile.
“Be sure not to spill milk on that one,” Mom said as she left the studio.
The kids wolfed down their supper in no time and resumed the storytelling. As they neared the bottom of the stack, Circa recognized the jutted-out corner of a very familiar picture. It was the Shopt version of the Linholt Reunion photo, and it set off alarm bells in Circa’s head. She didn’t want Miles to see that one, knowing that it would be such a bummer for him. And she certainly didn’t want to have to tell Miles about how Dad never got to put a story to it. So, while Miles was reading the next-to-the-next-to-the-last story, Circa slid out the Linholt one and twisted around to tuck it away somewhere. As she did, she snuck another good look at that baby.
Circa Now Page 10
