The Summer of No Regrets (6 page)

The dad isn’t evil.

Pandapriestess
responds:

let’s see…he’s cold, heartless, beats his son, forcing him to run away…no, he’s really a nice guy.

Cindylou
responds:

His wife died. And he lost his multimillionaire job. He went a little His wife died. And he lost his multimillionaire job. He went a little crazy.

DapperDan
responds:

Excellent casting choices. I, too, was surprised by Trent Yves’

emotional range. A demanding role for one so young. I think we’ll see more of him in serious roles. BTW, Mystic, I’ve been perusing your blog and have added it to my links. You might want to have a gander at mine, www.filmbuff.bloggapalooza.net. I am a film student at VFS. You’re asking important questions.

DragnMonkee
responds:

this movie was stupid. it wuz supozd 2b an action movie, but it wuz realy just “o i hate my daddy” & then he was all crying & crap at the end.

y wud anyone see it 9 x? imlandrea was stupid to. my sister made me sit thru it. thot id puke.

Aquarius0210
responds:

Mystic, what did you think of the church scene?

Mystic
responds:

Where Rocket is praying when Theo gets sick? Or his mother’s funeral?

DapperDan
responds:

The church scene (first one) was intriguing for the camera work. Why do you think the director showed first the gargoyles, then the saints?

The long down-the-aisle shot with Rocket the sole person in the building was provocative. In an action movie, one would expect fast cuts at this point. I don’t think this director was aiming for
Die
Hard,
even with the gritty motif of the film.

DragnMonkee
responds:

yah hes all “o my poor boyfreind theo. pleez god dont let him die.”
Trentsbabe
responds:

i hav seen imlandria 29x. btw theo wasnt rockets bf. theo just took care of him on the street. y do u think they were bfs?

DragnMonkee
responds:

“i hav seen imlandria 29x.” u must be realy stupid. only gud thing abt imlandria was gwen meliers ass.

Aquarius0210
responds:

DragnMonkee, why don’t you go play with yourself?

Mystic
responds:

Good to meet you, DapperDan. Aquarius, I’ll respond about the church scene later. DragnMonkee, you are history.

I blocked DragnMonkee from my blog and signed off. It was quiet without Malory home. Mom and Dad were with the Buddhists, who were mostly silent. I flipped my bedroom light off (using it when there was still daylight was cheating) and went to start dinner.

The movie trip had taken most of the afternoon. Monroe is forty-five minutes by bike, which is my only transportation.

(Malory thinks I need to grow up and get a driver’s license, but cars kill people. Besides, bikes save the earth.) I lopped off some radish tops and dropped them into the compost jar. I felt guilty for seeing
Rocket
without Natalie, but if I was going to break down and see it, I had to do it alone. Now my insides felt upside down. The movie had done a number on me, and I couldn’t get it out of my mind.

Trent as Rocket was more dangerous than I’d ever seen him.

He was deadly angry. After surviving a brutal beating by his father (Christopher Walken), he takes a gun and is going to shoot him in his sleep, but freaks out and runs away instead.

I culed some cucumbers from the vine. The leaves had little whiteflies again. Maybe the ladybugs would eat them.

Trent’s long
Imlandria
hair was short and dyed black.

Rocket wore bondage pants and a black shirt that had a bloody knife on it. He had piercings in his ears, eyebrow, and chin, and two leather wristbands—one with skuls and one that said

“folow your dreams.” His eyes were gray, almost black. What color were they in
Imlandria
? in
Presto!
? in
Sparrowtree
?

color were they in
Imlandria
? in
Presto!
? in
Sparrowtree
?

Because every time I looked at him I kept seeing them blue.

The last scene had stunned me—the one Aquarius said he wouldn’t talk about. After living on the streets for several months with Theo and refusing to go home, Rocket finaly does go back on the night a hired kiler is stalking his father. The kiler tries to shoot Rocket, but Theo takes the bulet for him and dies.

I grabbed a can of tahini from the pantry along with a jar of Mom’s chickpeas. Why had the story taken hold of me this way? That scene was stuck in my head—Rocket’s dad coming in as Theo fals; Rocket exploding, beating on his dad, punching his face, kicking, knocking him down. And his dad lets Rocket whale on him. He doesn’t defend himself, until finaly Rocket breaks down sobbing.

It would have been completely cheesy if Trent hadn’t acted it so wel, but I believed every second of his rage, and the tears were just…I don’t know. I felt like I’d witnessed something private. Like Trent wasn’t acting.

The falafel bals sizzled in olive oil. I transferred them to a bowl and set the table. What would it be like to have Luke over for dinner? Was he there at his house? Was he staying away on purpose? Would he ever come back? Was I only dreaming about him because I wanted him to be Trent?

Onawa’s face haunted my sleep: the ruff of fur around the ears, the staring eyes. I heard the shot over and over. On day six I stopped again at the tree with the scratches. Touching them, I stopped again at the tree with the scratches. Touching them, I almost felt I could hear her speak. But what was she saying?

I was almost afraid of Luke coming back. What if he looked exactly like Rocket: the strong cheekbones, eyes that shot fire but had sorrow locked behind them? Yes, it was stupid. Okay, it was extremely stupid. But every time I thought of Luke now, he morphed into Trent.

What if he realy hadn’t made it home? What if Onawa had kiled him behind his mansion? What if he realy was Trent and a strange, hippie princess had alowed him to be eaten? Would weeping Trent fans come to The Center with lit candles? Would photographers in helicopters hover overhead? Would
Entertainment
Tonight
call me the most hated girl in America?

I crossed the bridge. Was that him, leaning against Eve?

My heart bounced a couple of times.

Luke’s hands were in his pockets. An easy smile spread across his face. Rocket’s smile? Of course not. The corners of his mouth were wrong. But then, Rocket had hardly smiled.

He was wearing jeans and a black shirt with snap buttons.

The breast pockets had metal side zippers, and the shirt was open at the colar. I had to refrain from launching myself into his arms.

“So,” I said nonchalantly, “you’re alive.” (And not under a pile of leaves with all your organs missing.)

“Yeah,” he said. “Mum and I had to get away for a few days.”

“Oh,” I said. “To escape your adoring fans?” I attempted a laugh.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “That’s it exactly.”

“I mean,” I rambled on, “it was kind of a media circus here.

Wel, maybe not a circus, but there was one reporter and people came with lasagna.”

I should have told him Felicity had no idea he’d been here—

that his secret was safe with me. I smacked myself mentaly.

that his secret was safe with me. I smacked myself mentaly.

Why had I gone to that movie?

Luke shrugged. “I was on vacation.” He ran a hand through his hair: brown hair, with threads of blond. I tried picturing it black.

“Yeah? So where did you go?” I hadn’t meant it to come out so pissy.

“Aruba.”

“Aruba? You mean like snorkeling? Tropical fish? That Aruba?” He did look tanned. And his hair had gone lighter.

Was
it
a
movie
shoot?
I asked myself.
Stop
it!
myself answered back.

“Mum wanted to go. We only got a few days. But it was nice.”

Nice. A little jaunt to Aruba? Life’s tough for some people.

Luke stared at a chipmunk darting into the brush. I picked at an oak leaf. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to tell him how it had been since Sunday. I wanted to tell him I’d had dreams about him holding me. But I wasn’t crazy.

“Did you read the
Chronicle
?” I said finaly. “There was a big photo of the cougar after she was shot.”

He looked up, surprised. “They shot her?”

“Wel, of course they did.” I felt irritable again. “She almost kiled you, remember? What planet are you from?” He laughed, and I instantly regretted how I was acting.

“Ilinois,” he said. “I’m from Planet Ilinois where cougars, also known as pumas, also known as mountain lions also known as species
puma
concolor
are not an everyday thing.” I smiled. “You’ve been doing your homework.”

“Wikipedia. The homeschooler’s friend.”

“You homeschool, too?”

“Yeah. You?”

I nodded. “Hey!” I remembered. “I’ve got that clipping up top. Do you want to see it?”

“Up top?”

“Up top?”

“The tree house. Above your head.”

He looked up and realization dawned. “That’s where you came from! I thought you were, like, Jane of the Jungle swinging from the trees.”

“You didn’t know there was a tree house?”

“Wel,” he reminded me, “I was a little preoccupied.” I went up first, showing Luke where the ladder boards were hidden. He puled himself through the trapdoor after me and stepped through the main door, running his hand along the wals.

When we got to the clipping, I suddenly felt exposed. He touched the dripping candle and read the word I’d pinned under the picture. “What’s ‘Onawa’?”

“It’s a Native American word. From a book.” I wanted to escape. Even if it meant leaving Luke here.

He studied the picture. “It’s her name,” he said quietly. “You named her.”

For a minute I thought I’d cry. I bit the inside of my cheek. “It means ‘wide awake,’” I told him.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “She was.”

We stayed an hour. I told him about The Center, and he didn’t think it was weird at al. He told me about some of the places he’d been: Ireland, the French Pyrenees. He told me about his dad’s property in Ilinois—woods, but different from here, with a pond. He had two horses there.

He was easy to talk to now that he was warmed up, much easier than Devon had ever been. I thought if he’d showed up when I was bowing to grass blades, he’d have understood. But I was glad he hadn’t.

It struck me that he’d hiked all the way back through the woods today not knowing the cougar was gone. And that now he was sad she was. Maybe he was the kind of person who would get why I wanted a religion. Natalie thought it was weird.

Malory didn’t believe in anything except psychology and “the Malory didn’t believe in anything except psychology and “the indomitable human spirit.”

Would Luke understand all this stuff? I wanted to believe he would. But I also wanted to pretend he was Trent Yves.

I am pretty sick.

“So,” I said. “What else do you know about cougars?” He stretched his legs out on the floor in front of him. “They have very big teeth. How about you? You must know a lot about them.”

I didn’t want to admit that even after living in cougar country my whole life, Onawa was my first cougar.

“I can show you where she’s been.”

Luke stood. “Lead on!”

He was amazed by the cougar scratches. “And look here.” I pointed to a slight dip under a cedar tree, where the earth was matted down. “That’s where she was sleeping.” Would Onawa mind my sharing her secrets with Luke? She seemed to have chosen him. I might have seen the cougar marks before if I’d paid better attention. But I’d been preoccupied with Devon. While I hunted for more cougar signs, Luke stepped off the trail. “Don’t get lost,” I caled.

A minute later, I heard him shout.

I folowed his voice to an old cedar snag that stood like a chimney a foot or so taler than me. Malory and I had played in it until she’d outgrown that sort of thing. Luke poked his head inside the opening at the bottom.

“What is it?”

He reached in and lifted something out. It was a kitten, the size of a small house cat. Round, curious nose, spotted fur.

“That’s a cougar kitten!”

He handed it to me. The kitten fit into my arms like a baby dol. It had a wild smell—strong and pungent. It laid its head listlessly against my hand. Vibrant blue eyes looked up at me.

“There’s another one.” Luke lifted out the sibling.

They had huge paws, but their limbs were so floppy. Mine They had huge paws, but their limbs were so floppy. Mine began to purr. Luke’s gave a pathetic mew.

“Onawa’s babies,” I said.

Luke nodded. “Orphans.”

My kitten opened its white-mustached mouth, but no sound came out. It was spotted, almost like a leopard. They must outgrow their spots, the way fawns do.

Overhead, a woodpecker drummed. A gnat buzzed in my ear.

I roled the kitten on its back. “Mine’s a boy,” I said. “I think.” Luke checked his cat. “Another boy?”

I peered at his cub. My cat Ophelia had borne two litters before she’d been spayed. “I don’t think so. Male cats have hidden genitals. See the round spot on mine? That’s the p—” I felt myself redden. “Anyway. I’m guessing yours is a girl.” Luke sat cross-legged and tucked the kitten into his lap. She batted at him weakly.

My kitten began to purr again and to knead my chest with his paws. “Ouch!” I unhooked his claws from my shirt. He looked at me languidly. I ran my finger across the fuzz of his chest and could feel his ribs underneath loose skin. How long since they had eaten? Onawa had been dead five days. It had rained once since then, so maybe they’d had water. Maybe.

Luke rubbed the girl cat’s ears. “What are you going to do with them?”

Me?
What was
I
going to do with them? I shook my head.

Luke knocked a bug off his forearm. “Aren’t there people Luke knocked a bug off his forearm. “Aren’t there people who deal with things like this? Some department somewhere?”

“Are you kidding? That would be Fish and Wildlife.”

“So call them.” He put his nose against the girl kitten’s nose and scratched behind her ears.

“Fish and Wildlife?” Was he realy that stupid? Only a few minutes ago he’d been caling the kittens orphans. He’d understood why I had to give their mother a name. At least, I thought he had.

“What?” Luke looked up at me with those blue, blue eyes of his. They were almost the same color as my kitten’s eyes. He smiled, rather adorably, and I decided to forgive him his stupidity.

“Fish and Wildlife sent Officer Mark.” I tried to speak patiently. “The guy who shot Onawa?”

“They wouldn’t shoot kittens.”

“Luke! Kittens grow into cats. Big cats.”

“Yeah.” He stood, cradling the girl cat. “They’ll die if they don’t eat,” he said. “You have to do something.” Me again.
I
had to do something. “Don’t you care what happens to them?” I glared at him.

“Of course I do,” he said, surprised. “They have no mother.

They should be in a zoo.”

“They live here,” I said. “It’s not their fault we shot their mother.”

“We?”

“Yes, ‘we.’ Consumerism. Greed. America shot their mother.”

Luke raised his eyebrows. “Not bad,” he said.

A ridiculous sense of pride overcame my irritation momentarily. My kitten nipped feebly at my finger. Onawa’s child. I had a sacred obligation to her. We had to keep the kittens secret. If I caled Fish and Wildlife, they would send Officer Mark. He’d shoot them with a sad, sad look on his face, Officer Mark. He’d shoot them with a sad, sad look on his face, but he’d shoot them. Or Buck Harper would do it and want to get paid. A cougar’s a cougar. Even a kitten would be a threat to people like Buck. “You haven’t lived here long,” I told Luke.

“I’m not turning these little ones over to be kiled.” Luke sighed. “Isn’t there a zoo in Seattle?”

“A zoo? Yes, there is a zoo, where these creatures, who are indigenous to this very woods and who have lived here for thousands of years could be put on display like circus freaks for the entertainment of spoiled twelve-year-olds whose daddies work at Microsoft and who would rather be playing Xbox. Is that the life you’d pick for the animal the Snoqualmie Tribe caled Protector?”

“Wow,” said Luke.

I blushed.

“Brigitta.” Luke stroked his kitten. It was the first time he’d said my name. “How are they going to survive?” I had now officialy painted myself into a corner. I pictured Buck Harper coming onto the property with a hunting rifle and a bunch of cronies, including Officer Mark’s father, who he’d taught to hunt. They’d be accompanied by wildlife agents and zookeepers with huge cages on poles like the one in
Horton
Hatches
the
Egg
. Felicity Bowen would be snapping pictures. I would face them all down. I’d block the cedar snag with my body. I’d call on the spirit of Onawa. “No closer!” I’d command, and I’d be so fierce that they would shrink back, convicted of their evil intentions. Luke watched me questioningly.

“I’ll be their mother.” I decided it right then. “And if you’re interested, you can be their dad.”

I couldn’t believe I’d blurted out such a bold suggestion. I couldn’t imagine saying something so pushy to Devon.

Luke gazed at his kitten thoughtfuly. Then he smiled. “Okay,” he said. “See if you can find some water.”

I had three jugs of it in the tree house. I fetched one. It took a lot of tries to get the kittens to drink. When we poured the water lot of tries to get the kittens to drink. When we poured the water into a bowl, the kittens wouldn’t lap it.

Luke put some water on his finger and dribbled it into his kitten’s mouth. He had a scratch on his arm and was watching the kitten intently through his dark lashes. In my mind, Luke kept shape-shifting into Trent and I wondered what he was doing here. I was no better than Natalie. The kitten licked at the water.

Luke dribbled more in. I remembered Natalie’s 4H project where she weaned a calf. I dribbled water into my kitten’s mouth and lured her to the bowl with my wet fingers. Finaly, finaly, the pink tongue darted in. Victory. When Luke’s kitten figured out the water trick, I thought he was going to do a jig. “Sweet!” he whispered.

“So the cougars are gone from Ilinois?” I stroked my kitten’s ears.

“Some people say they’re not.” He sheltered his kitten in his lap. “But I’ve never seen one.”

“Same in Indiana,” I said. “I used to spend my summers there.”

“Realy? Where?”

“Cherrywood.” I felt exposed again for having said it.

Cherrywood wasn’t a town. It was like sharing the name of my teddy bear. “I mean, Indiana. My grandparents’ place. They had a house, some acreage.” My throat tightened. I peeked through the white fluffs of fur in my kitten’s ears and examined them for mites. His ear canals were pearly and clean. Onawa had seen to that.

Luke watched me and didn’t ask more questions. “I’m hardly there in the summer,” he said. “Usualy we go to Switzerland or something.”

Switzerland. “What does your dad
do
anyway?” Luke frowned. I’d offended him. I wanted to crawl into the snag and pull the cubs in over the top of me. “I’m an idiot.” I examined a troop of ants near my foot.

“No, you’re not.” Luke brushed my hair back from my face.

“No, you’re not.” Luke brushed my hair back from my face.

His touch jolted me.

“My dad’s in telecommunications,” he said. “He’s part-owner in one of the larger cell phone companies in the Midwest. He just got in at the right time, when I was realy little.”

“So you haven’t always vacationed in Aruba?”

“No.” Luke stretched his legs out. “So,” he said, “what are you naming our kids?”

“What? Oh! The kittens!”

Luke let out a laugh. “Brigitta.” He said it as if he’d known me forever, as if he knew my quirks and liked them. He was so easy with his words, so not like Devon, who clammed up whenever he might be caled upon to register an opinion of me, good or bad.

“Let’s name the boy Felix,” I said impulsively, “and the girl Kalimar—you know, from
Imlandria
.”

“You sure?” Luke tickled his cougar’s chin. “Kalimar croaked at the end.”

“Aha! You do too folow movies!” Felix licked the back of my hand with a sandpaper tongue.

“What?” Luke draped Kalimar carefuly over his thigh.

“You told Natalie you didn’t folow movies. At the arcade?

When I…oh, forget what I did.”

He paused. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “That
was
you, wasn’t it?” My cheeks went hot. “I didn’t mean to throw myself at you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His eyes were laughing at me. “Girls do that all the time.”

“Oh, realy?” I shot back.

“Yeah.” Luke grinned. “They think I’m Trent Yves.”

July 6

What Is Death?

An exploration of this topic yields interesting answers from various religions:

Ancient Egyptians believed the dead were ferried across Lily Lake by

“He-Who-Looks-Backward,” who took them to the Fields of Rejoicing.

But only the rich got to go.

Hindus believe the dead are reincarnated but make a stop in one of many realms between lives. Swami Sivananda says that some souls

“become gods and enjoy the happiness of heaven for a long period.” Christians believe the dead stand before the throne of God where they are judged. The righteous spend eternity with God, dancing on the walls of heaven.

Buddhists believe that after many incarnations, they hope to reach Nirvana, “the out breath,” which is the state of oneness with God.

Tomorrow I will talk about Native American, Islamic, and Jewish views on death.

Aquarius0210
responds:

Wazzup with this topic? What happened to “Mystic-at-the-movies”?

Trentsbabe
responds:

no offense mystic but this is realy deppresing. what abt that guy u saw? who looks like trent? did u see him again? maybe starlet is right. if he likes her she is lucky.

Xombiemistress
responds:

Actually, Buddhists don’t believe in “God” in the same way Christians do. But you’re mostly right.

Mystic
responds:

Xombiemistress, I just used the word “God” because it’s the easiest Xombiemistress, I just used the word “God” because it’s the easiest way to explain it.

Cindylou
responds:

speaking of death, mystic, it’s all over rocket. i mean, that’s the theme of the movie, isn’t it? his mom is dead, he wants his dad dead, his father-figure gets shot. so much of it is like trent’s real life.

Trentsbabe
responds:

what??? trents mom died? when??? mystic is that guy still there? i wish i lived where u live. i wuld tear all his cloths off.

Aquarius0210
responds:

No Trentsbabe, Trent’s mom is not dead (though she may be crazy).

And he has a terrible relationship with his father. After his French movie,
Le
Petit
Chose
flopped (it’s supposed to be like the French
David
Copperfield
), his dad left him and moved back to France. Pix of him seeing his dad off at the airport are here. He looks ready to kill the photographers. That is not a happy face.

Mystic
responds:

Xombiemistress, are you Buddhist? Does the good karma of nursing a sick animal back to life erase the bad karma of killing an animal?

Trentsbabe
responds:

i m just trying to find out, mystic—dose trent live in ur town?????!!!!!