Where'd You Park Your Spaceship?, page 27
And one on his bag.
Which is maroon, of course.
I once believed that I was the best SERIES 5 in the
universe.
Who has done it longer?
Who has worked harder at it?
Has anyone, anywhere been more committed?
For laps and laps I’ve gone back at the required times
for UPTAKE SESSIONS and I sit there in those trainings
and I look around at those other SERIES 5s and I always
always always think to myself I am so much better at this
than these people.
That guy.
The confident one.
The one who sits in those trainings and thinks THAT-that’s
the guy sitting here on this bench listening to a man in a
maroon lightning bolt tunic sing a song about friendship and
bitten off tongues.
I point to the two men and then back to him. I make a
talking sign with my hand. I make a QUESTION FACE.
What were we talking about? he asks.
Yes I nod.
I was telling them how there are fifty different cultivars of
turmeric-
I tilt my head.
Cultivars-you know-kinds, types. Fifty different types of
tumeric!!! Can you believe it???!!! And you know one of
the things turmeric is good for? Everybody knows about its
anti-inflammatory properties. Yeah, yeah, yeah-and of
course turmeric is the unheralded heartbeat of a good
curry-that goes without saying. But you know what else?
Depression!!! Turmeric helps with depression!
He says it the second time like it’s a confounding mystery
that just punched him in the face.
Imagine that!!! This little plant with it’s little CHUBBY
KNOBBY NUBBY fingers helps with depression. Who
knew?
I didn’t.
He says WHO and KNEW in a high falsetto voice.
I rub the thumb of my right hand against my finger tips
and frown.
Oh yeah, so true.
He knows what I’m referring to.
If you get it on your hands it takes forever to get out. And
your clothes? Forget about it. That little chubby knobby
nubby wonder of a plant does some STAININ’!
I make a fist and punch the air.
Again, I’m totally with you-tumeric has power! Power to
stain your clothes and ruin them, but SWEET LORD if
you’re gonna help lift a person’s spirit, you’re going to
have to have some power, right? Makes sense in a strange
sort of way.
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Literally.
Well, he says as he stands up, THIS PLANET DOESN’T
JUST SPIN ON ITS OWN, DOES IT?
He does his Dill Tudd bow.
And he’s gone.
*
I return from my break. Borns and Lan Zing are talking on
the bench in back. I hear him say Lines as I approach.
And then the word troubled.
Lan Zing is listening intently.
Oh good, Heen, I’m so glad you’re here. I was just telling
Lan Zing about something that happened last night with
Lines.
I immediately give a thumbs up mixed with my QUESTION face.
Oh yes, yes, he’s fine.
Whew I think. I try to look relieved.
I sit down between them on the bench. I stretch out my
arms along the top of the bench. I would never have sat
between them like this before.
Borns continues So last night Lines asks if he and I and
Peeble can have a meeting. A meeting? I thought he was
joking. But he wasn’t. He led us past our buildings where
he had set up a temporary table he made out of an old
door with some stumps for chairs. He was very formal,
telling us where to sit. We are not very formal people,
mind you.
I make my agree sound. HMMMM.
And then he points to where he has marked out a
rectangle on the ground. He then proceeded to explain
that he would like to build himself a room that would be
just for him. Apart from us. He showed us a small pouch
full of money he has been saving up. He showed us
drawings of how tall and deep and wide it would be. He
laid out before us estimates for the cost of the supplies.
He mapped out a timetable for how many hours of labor it
would require-
Lan Zing interrupts. What did you say?
Nothing! We were shocked-
It is quiet impressive-
No, GREAT BOSS ONE-Not impressive! Disturbing. He
wants to have his own space??? This goes against
everything we have taught him.
Lan Zing looks at him like there’s something wrong with
him. What? What do you think you have taught him?
I love how she presses him.
To be together! To be with us! To share his life! Not to
isolate himself but to be part of this family that we have!!!
Borns is really worked up.
Panicked, even.
Borns, calm down. Take a deep breath.
He tries. But he is tense.
Relax. You’re going to be fine. Lines is going to be fine-
He erupts. But I don’t know that ! We don’t know where
this is headed-
Stop!
She is so firm. So commanding with him. I haven’t seen
this dynamic between them.
Maybe Lines is different from you.
Ohhhh!! She said it. I thought it, but she said it.
Maybe he doesn’t want to be around people all the time.
She keeps going.
Maybe he needs a little time and space to himself now
and then.
It’s clear this has never occurred to Borns.
All of you together, everybody talking and interacting and
moving as a pack-everybody in everybody else’s business-that’s how YOU want it, right?
She doesn’t wait for him to respond.
That might work for some people, it might not. Might be
too much for Lines all the time.
Wow, Lan Zing just doesn’t let up.
Borns exhales.
Maybe.
Still a little resistance there. But it’s waning.
It strikes me that there’s some reason why this matters so
much to Lan Zing. I point to her. I don’t know what I’m
trying to say by pointing. Something about how she can
relate to Lines?
She ignores me.
I think.
But then she says I know what it’s like to have a strong
father who has definite ideas about how things should be
done.
Firdus.
Where people say these kinds of things to each other.
I have never witnessed a conversation like this.
Borns is very quiet.
I can be a bit much.
He winks.
She isn’t done. Let Lines be Lines.
If I could speak I would say That’s a good Line.
Which is a dumb joke.
But true.
I make a gesture with my hands, holding them apart and
then pointing to the distance between them.
I repeat the gesture.
I have a question.
I do it again, slower.
Lan Zing looks at me quizzically. Something about
distance? Space? OHHHHHHH! Of course. You’re asking
how far Lines’ house would be from the rest of their
houses?
Yes, exactly. Double thumbs up.
Borns points to the bakery, and then the building next to
the bakery.
They’re about twenty feet apart.
*
I sit in my flat and I stare at the disc.
Again.
I think about what I would ask him if I could ask him anything.
Randy, what’s your favorite food?
Or
Randy, where did you grow up?
Or
Randy, have you ever been in love?
Or
Randy, do you ever wonder what you’d be doing if you
weren’t listening to reports like mine?
*
I fling open the front door.
I burst into the bakery.
I shake my hips.
I do a little thrust with my thumbs from one side to the
other.
I roll my eyes and make fish lips.
I swing my arm around in a sweeping gesture like I’m
saying something important.
I cannot talk, but I can do a killer imitation of Borns.
He loves it.
So do the others.
This is our new ritual.
I put on my apron.
Lan Zing makes me a smoothie.
It’s a big day.
We get to work.
I mixed the first batch of sourdough with rosemary yesterday.
We’ll bake it this morning.
I see Bobby Freelance in the alley. A large group of people
are gathered around him, each of them trying to get his
attention. It looks chaotic. He is calm, as always.
Ziga Mey sees me watching him. What a mess he’s got on his hands there.
I have so many questions. Why are people always coming to him? What does he do for them? What is he?
Tomorrow I will be able to talk.
I will ask my questions then.
I watch as he motions to these people who have gathered
around him to stop talking.
They keep talking.
He turns and starts walking into the bakery.
They stop talking.
Ohhhhh.
They need him.
For something.
He returns to them.
They’re quiet.
He tells them something. I can’t hear what from the
kitchen, I can only watch their faces. He points over their
heads, behind them. Whatever he just said, some of them
appear stunned.
About half.
The others are smiling.
He holds up three fingers, then two, then one.
Lan Zing joins me in watching the show.
He just did a three count.
I don’t get it.
She explains I’ve seen him do this before. Works every
time. Watch what happens next.
At that moment, half of the group turns and leaves. They
don’t appear angry or upset. Whatever it is he just said,
they accept it and then they go. Quickly.
I shrug and look at her.
I want an explanation.
She says Some people take a while.
And then she goes into her office.
I’m more confused than ever.
Heen…
Borns is calling me from the storage room. I find him
rearranging the flour bags.
Peeble gave me instructions to pass along to you:
Tomorrow night when you come for dinner, she will check
your jaw, and assuming it’s all good, she will remove your
wire.
I point to him and then the others in the kitchen.
You don’t want us to watch? But it will be powerful, yes?
To be there for your first words…
I wince a bit.
You don’t want us all to be there?
I hesitate.
My children are planning on it. They were talking last night
about what word you will say first. Oh my, they had some
naughty suggestions.
He giggles, like he’s seven.
I give a thumbs up.
So this plan sounds good to you?
I hold my hand up palm down and tilt it back and forth.
It doesn’t sound good?
I do the talking motion with my hand and then shake my
head.
You like this idea of saying filthy words?
He laughs.
I try to laugh but my jaw hurts.
*
I’m swapping out a new tray of ciabatta in the display
case when a man walks in carrying a ball. He’s dressed to
play. I point at the ball and smile and then point at my jaw
and roll my eyes.
You play? he asks.
I nod Yes.
There’s a game today at the pitch around the corner. You
want in?
He heads for the door with his bread and ball under his
arm. He turns and says to me We start at four.
I could make that.
*
I pull the tray out.
Six loaves of rosemary sourdough.
I take one off the tray and place it in the middle of the
table.
Bobby Freelance hands Lan Zing a knife.
Borns pours olive oil on a plate.
Ziga Mey salts the oil.
Lan Zing slices the loaf.
We each get a piece.
Bobby Freelance says I feel like we need a speech.
Borns turns to Ziga Mey. Yes…?
She squirms. Me? No. Lan Zing is the GREAT BOSS ONE.
Lan Zing demurs. Honestly, this is all a bit much for me-I feel like I’m breaking the rules-my Father had very specific ideas about bread and this-she holds up her slice-I don’t think this was what he had in-
Oh stop it! An unexpectedly sharp response from Ziga
Mey. This IS the tradition!
We all look at her, waiting for more.
Lan Zing, why did your parents start this bakery? I have
seen this before, this strength and force from Ziga Mey.
Lan Zing answers My mother always said:
IS A PLANET WITHOUT GOOD BREAD EVEN A PLANET?
Classic.
I haven’t heard that one before.
Borns throws up his hands. We should have that written somewhere on the wall!
Ziga Mey jabs the air with her finger. I love it! THAT’S it right there-
Lan Zing isn’t following her. Right where?
She looks around. I notice how jumbled this all is for Lan
Zing.
I see how our hearts get cluttered with all the stories we tell ourselves about who and where we come from.
Ziga Mey is clearing this up for her before our eyes.
Right here is WHERE! They wanted people to enjoy good
bread. That’s what you’re doing, you’re giving them good
bread. New bread. Bread they haven’t had before. THAT’S
the tradition: Not any one particular bread! GOOD BREAD-
WHATEVER IT IS.
Borns is thrilled. Ziga Mey has spoken!
She isn’t done. This isn’t a departure, this is an evolution.
Your parents would be thrilled…
It’s a rousing speech.
We each hold up our slice.
Ziga Mey turns to Lan Zing. What was it your mother said? Let’s say that…
IS A PLANET WITHOUT GOOD BREAD EVEN A
PLANET???!!!
*
I arrive at the pitch.
It’s in a dried out river bed.
It IS the dried out river bed.
So if the ball goes out of bounds it will roll up the bank
and then back on to the pitch.
Brilliant.
Instead of shaping nature around the pitch, they found a
pitch as it already exists in nature.
A few players are putting on their shoes, others are
stretching. There’s an old woman sitting in the middle of
the pitch. This is awkward. Someone’s going to have to
tell her we’re starting a game.
I haven’t played in so long.
I run a few lengths of the pitch.
We have enough for seven on seven.
The old woman stands up.
She’s barefoot.
The other players gather around her.
What?
She points to one of them and says ONE, then to the next
and says TWO, then she points to me and says ONE.
Apparently I’m a ONE.
She picks the teams?
ONES vs TWOS?
She’s got her gray hair in a bun on top of her head. She takes a ball and kicks it towards the other end of the
pitch.
Game on.
She yells at me and points.
She’s playing?
She’s on my team?
I’m on hers?
She yells at me again and points to a player on the other
team.
She wants me to mark him?
A player dribbles right at the old woman, who strips the
ball from her. It happens so quickly I can barely follow it.
She reaches in with one foot, drags the ball away and
heads up the pitch with it before the other player can stop
and turn around.
She moves to the right, shouting instructions at a player
on her left. The player makes a run towards the center,
talking the whole time.
Everybody’s talking.
To everybody else.
It’s so chaotic.
I can’t figure out who to listen to.
The old woman hits a pass with the outside of her left foot
that splits two defenders and bends on to the foot of our
teammate who scores.
She runs over to me, yelling THAT GUY ON YOUR RIGHT,
JOLLEET-SEE HIM THERE? HE WILL BAIT YOU EVERY
TIME!! DON’T FALL FOR IT. GIVE HIM SPACE. AND THEN
CUT OFF THE DEEP BALL!!!
I feel like I’m back in class with Ma’am Kirti.
This woman is stern. And fierce.
And tiny.
And did I mention barefoot?
I nod.
I point to my jaw.
I do my best to communicate that I can’t talk.
YOU CAN’T TALK???
She quints.
WELL THEN I DUB YOU SILENCIO!!!
She stands on her tip toes and taps my forehead with her
