QUAKING
Chapter One.
Families come in all varieties but with no warranties. I have lived with first cousins twice removed, second cousins once removed, and now a third cousin who is removing herself. I call her Loopy. Because of her large earrings. And because she is insane.
Loopy drives like a ten-year-old car thief on a sugar high. "Don't worry," she says, as we skid across the ice-encrusted Pennsylvania Turnpike, "everything will be fine."
We are driving to my next hostile takeover. I crouch in the back because the front seat implies friendship. It is also the Seat of Death with Loopy behind the wheel. The Loop-mobile doubles as her self-storage facility so I pile rolls of toilet paper and a bag of rock salt on top of me for protection.
"I wish I could bring you on my
Loopy is taking Jesus on the road, whether He wants to go or not, and apparently there is not room for all three of us. I tell Him that being nailed to a cross would be preferable to riding with Loopy but I am sure He does not hear me. He never does.
"You need some TLC, sugar."
TLC is not "Tender Loving Care" in Loopy-speak. It stands for "The Love of Christ."
Give me an Almighty Break. Like most of my born-again relatives, Loopy feels more at home with Jesus than with me. But I do not care for them, anyway. Nor do I care for the pseudo-religious relatives, who could only get five of the Ten Commandments right on a pop quiz - six, if they said, "Jesus Christ, I always forget these!" and then remembered the one about not taking God's name in vain. The nonreligious cousins, who do not even pretend to be sacred, are more my style. Except they get fed up with me faster because there is no Jesus screaming at them to be nice to their enemies.
Loopy shakes her earrings. "What's going on with you, Matt? You're a sweet girl, and so smart, too."
According to most, it is my mouth that is smart. And occasionally my ass.
Loopy sighs. "I finally found a second cousin of mine, but you need to make it work, Matt. This is the end of the line for you."
I glare at the rearview mirror.
"They're . . . um . . . different but . . . really religious." Her earrings spin.
Oh, God. It is a cult. I just know it.
"They're Quakers."
Quakers? Excuse me? I thought Quakers were extinct. Or maybe that was Shakers. It was one of those trembling-type religions. Who can keep up? I am not even sure it is a religion. Maybe it is a commune. Or a disease. Oh, God, is there no one else?
"You'll love these people, honey."
I do not love anyone. I have no feelings. She should know that.
"Give them a chance, okay?"
My stomach acid is eating my internal organs. I must be carsick. I try to open my window, then remember that nothing works in the Loop-mobile.
I chew my nails.
"Stop chewing your nails. And spit out any nail bits you have in your mouth."
I have nothing in my mouth. Except wicked words. I shoot my Evil Woman look at the back of her head.
"I saw that!" she says, without turning around.
I hide behind my wall of rock salt and chew my nails some more.
"Their names are Sam and Jessica."
Sam and Jessica? They sound old-fashioned and fairy-tale-ish, like Little House on the Prairie. Could it be? I am picturing a farmhouse. Sam is in overalls chopping wood. Jessica is in a long dress and is baking me some apple crisp. It is my favorite dessert but no one has ever baked it for me. I have just enjoyed it by accident because someone else wanted it.
"They'll love you, I'm sure. They're already foster parents for a disabled boy."
My face gets squashed against the window as the Loop-mobile spirals its way around an exit ramp. I stare out into the snow and see the spindly trees that have a coating of ice on them, still, hard and cold. As we drive down a two-lane highway I see the fawn, also frozen, beside a Dumpster, alive but motionless so no one will see her. I understand. It is the only way to survive in the wild. Do not get involved. Do not be noticed.
It is a lesson lost on many. Like Loopy. She makes noise constantly. She is now singing about Making a Joyful Noise unto the Lord. I hope He is finding her yelping joyful because there is no stopping her. The only thing that can interrupt Loopy is herself.
"Oh, look! Here we are!" The Loop-mobile takes a sharp left onto a narrow street, heaves over a curb and jolts to a halt.
I think I might heave, too. My hands and feet are icy cold. I stare at my fingernails, or what is left of them.
Loopy pulls me out of the backseat. I watch the toilet paper and rock salt swallow my niche. I take a breath of the arctic blast, and shards of ice pierce my throat and eyes. I shiver convulsively and drop my backpack in the snow.
Loopy drags me up a path, but not to a farmhouse. Casa Quaker is an ugly, gray, two-story duplex. A huge rainbow flag with giant white letters on it hangs from the roof all the way down to the top of one of the front doors.
"I think that's a peace flag," Loopy says. "You know how Quakers are into peace."
No, actually, I know nothing about Quakers. Besides, the letters on the flag spell pace. Either they need to buy a vowel or Sam and Jessica are advertising their last name. And they are overly enamored of it.
The door under the pace flag opens and Loopy shoves me from behind. "Here she is!"
I am definitely not in Little House on the Prairie. These people wear jeans, although you could fit two Jessicas into one pair of Sam's jeans. She is skinny and pinch-faced. Her brown magazine-model hair has a few streaks of gray. I wish I had magazine-model hair. Instead, I have frizz. Sometimes it frizzes out horizontally so I look like a tetrahedron head. But that is better than a tetrahedron body, like Sam's. If he were a handyman, he would be the crack-showing kind.
Loopy pokes my ribs and hisses, "Say hello!"
I open my mouth but the words, if there are any, are frozen.