Girl in the Arena - Lise Haines [32]
I know turning the train set off without warning will create a crash in his mind so I call out to the conductor. —Bridge out! I’m hitting the brakes!
I ease the power knob to off and the trains come to a rest. Maneuvering my dress, I get down on the floor and lie close to Thad, who remains coiled beneath the table waiting for the repair crew. I tell him not to worry if he sees some bandaging on the back of my head.
Then, because he insists, I show him, moving this way and that until he’s satisfied.
—Did someone crack your head open?
—Just enough to let some pressure out. I’m okay, really. Julie put a few stitches in the back. I’ll show you when I change the bandages later.
—Do you have a Freeway bar?
I try to always have a Freeway bar for Thad but all I have left is a Bullet. I fish this out of my bag and peel back the silver wrapper. The lines in his forehead relax as he sucks the candy like a giant thumb. Thad is big on anime so there are posters everywhere around his cowboy bed and over the turtle tank. Sometimes he’ll take one of the posters off the wall and spend hours tracing a big-eyed girl with pink flowers in her hair, fighting a demon.
—I’m sorry about all the people in the yard, I say. —They’ll get tired of being here eventually and go home.
—You better watch out for Allison’s bed, he cautions.
I wonder if Thad’s on the prediction track again.
—I fell from the clothes tower, he says.
—You okay?
—I’m the most famous person you’ll ever meet, he says.
I run my hand over his hair.
—I remember that. But did you hurt yourself?
—I want a bandage like yours.
—Then we can match, I say.
—I want that.
—Me too. I’ll find one in a little while. You know, Mom’s feeling a little nervous right now, so she’s probably trying on too many outfits and they just kind of pile up on the bed. She wants to look good for the media. If you climb on the clothes, she gets worried.
—Something’s wrong with Tommy, Thad says, as if he’s just remembered he turned a pot on to boil three hours ago.
—We’re all feeling sad because we lost Tommy in the arena last night. Do you remember seeing him fight?
—He needs a safe job.
—I know, I say, thinking I’ll wait for a better time to explain. He tends to fuzz out on the worst aspects of reality until he’s ready to grapple with them. I reach out and take his hand.
—Tommy’s going to miss us as much as we’ll miss him, I say.
—You love Tommy, Thad says.
—We all do.
—But you’re going to lose your head.
Thad is more than still now, looking circumspect.
—Ah. I see. Did you let Mom know this? I say, and touch my throat.
—I said Lynie’s going to lose her head.
—Okay. That’s okay. So look, I’m going downstairs to talk with Mom for a while. I think your favorite show’s on soon. Will you come down and watch it with me?
—You’re my favorite show, he says, looking at the rough wood of the train table, touching my name in blue marker there. Sometimes he likes to write my name on surfaces. I hug Thad lightly because I don’t want him arresting suddenly and bashing his head on the table.
—I love you, Thad.
—I love you, Lynie.
I’m headed to my room to change when Allison calls me to come downstairs for a minute. I stop and get a scarf out of her top dresser drawer and tie this around my neck, feeling the Marie Antoinette chill in the air. The thing is, Thad’s not always right about his predictions and even if it is true, it might not happen for another fifty or sixty years, and by then maybe I’ll be grateful to lose it.
Allison calls a second time from the library. We have, thanks to my first father, Frank, one the best collections of books on gladiators and ancient Rome in the United States. Some in English, some in Italian, French, and so forth. Many are illustrated. I spend a lot of time hauling volumes up to my room, poring over them, and as much as Allison hates it, taking them into the tub with me.
There’s a Living experience that Allison