DAY TWO
Upon awakening, I arose quickly and went straight to the bathroom to face myself in the mirror, hoping to see prematurely gray hair, and stubble I’d need to shave.
Instead, I came face to face with thick black hair, buckteeth and millions of freckles. I was still eight years young.
Nebraska had already figured this out, studying her hands, when I returned.
“At least we’re still alive,” she said.
I didn’t answer, didn’t feel like talking. About anything.
“What’s the matter?” asked Nebraska. “You got the orneries?”
I glared at her. “The what?”
“That’s what my mother used to say when I was in a bad mood.”
I considered this, then remembered something about myself: When I woke up as a kid, I couldn’t face anyone or utter a word until I sipped from a mug of hot cocoa placed in front of me.
Wordlessly, I reached into my bag for a clean shirt, slipped on my shoes and crept out.
Downstairs, I took a seat in the breakfast room. “Hot chocolate,” I muttered to a server.
I was almost two-thirds into my cocoa when Mularski and Nebraska skipped toward me.
Now I could smile.
Mularski eyed my chocolate. “No fair,” he whined. “I want one too.”
“So order it,” I said.
Nebraska sat beside me.
I patted her knee. “Sorry, I’m grumpy in the morning. When I’m eight, anyway.”
“Yes,” Nebraska said. “Still eight. What are we going to do about that?”
I shrugged, resigned to being eight forever.
“Maybe it’s a Seattle thing,” said Mularski, sitting opposite us.
A Seattle thing?” said Nebraska, pulling a face.
“Yeah. It happened when we arrived in Seattle. As soon as we leave Seattle, we’ll be normal adults again.”
“I don’t get that,” said Nebraska. “Places don’t do that to people.”
“No?” I said. “What does?”
“Let’s think logically,” said Nebraska.
“You kidding?” said Mularski. “There ain’t nothing logical about this.”
“Let’s examine that,” said Nebraska. “It happened right after our plane almost crashed. We had a near-death experience. If this were a movie, I’d say we need to have another near-death experience to bring us back.”
“I think one of those was enough,” I said. “But let’s say you’re right. Why just us? I didn’t notice any of those other passengers looking like kids after we landed.”
“When I was a little girl,” said Nebraska, “my favorite books were Alice in Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz. In both, a little girl gets lost in a fantasy land and needs to find her way home.”
Mularski rolled his eyes. “So, it’s all about you again.”
“Hold on, this is interesting,” I said. “How old was Alice?”
“Seven-and-a-half,” replied Nebraska.
“She looked older than that to me,” said Mularski.
“That’s because you’re relying on what you saw in the Disney cartoon and didn’t read the book,” said Nebraska. “There’s a point in the book where the Queen of Hearts asks Alice how old she is, and she answers.”
“So what?” Mularski seemed also to be in need of hot cocoa to mellow his morning manners
“So nothing,” said Nebraska.
“How old was Dorothy in Wizard of Oz?”
“Judy Garland was 16 years old when she played Dorothy in the movie,” said Nebraska, “but they made her look younger. She had to wear a special corset so her breasts wouldn’t show. In the book it never says, but Dorothy is supposed to be about eight.” Nebraska paused. “In both stories, their adventures are a dream. But it takes an event to wake them out of it.”
“Ruby slippers,” said Mularski. He looked at me. “Is she saying we need to remove ruby slippers from a witch?”
I shushed Mularski and spoke. “According to Glinda, the Good Witch of the North, Dorothy always had the power to return home.”
Said Nebraska, “All she had to say was, ‘There’s no place like home,’ over and over again.”
“What about Alice?”
Nebraska retreated deep into her mind, her chin resting in one palm, looking to the heavens, while tapping the table with her right hand. “Okay, I got it,” she said. “Through the story, Alice was in awe, and sometimes she got sad. But it was only after she got angry and stood up to authority that she woke up. So maybe…”
“Hold on a sec,” said Mularski “What if this is all about me, not her?”
I shrugged.
Said Nebraska, “Okay, so let’s make this all about you. What was your favorite book when you were eight?”
“Chicken Little. My grandmother used to read it to me.”
“Hmmm,” I said.
“Hmmm-what?” said Mularski.
“That’s the nicest part about feeling eight years old again,” I said.
“What is?”
“No more falling sky.”
“Was the sky falling on you before this trip?” asked Nebraska.
“Burden increases with age,” I said. “Unless you’re lucky enough to get Alzheimer’s, and then you become someone else’s burden.”
“Well,” said Mularski, “on the basis that we don’t have any ruby slippers to put on, or a Queen of Hearts to stand up to, I stand by my idea about leaving Seattle.”
“You think Seattle cast a spell on us?” said Nebraska.
“I’m tired of fairy tales.” Mularski got up. “I’m gonna ask the concierge about our options for getting outta here.” Off he went.
“And you?” said Nebraska.
“Now that I’ve drunk a mug of hot cocoa, I’m enjoying this. So let’s split for Portland a day early. I’m always open to spontaneity. Who knows, maybe Mularski’s right?” I paused. “Do you have any more of that Adderall?”
“You feeling A-D-D-ish?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh.”
Nebraska dug into her handbag, extracted another pill, and I swallowed with a final swig of cocoa. She ordered a cup of tea and we were in the midst of consulting the breakfast menu when Mularski slid back to face us.
“Three options,” he said. “One, rent a car. Two, take a bus. Three, take the train.”
We ruled out a car rental on the basis that, well, at least to each other we looked like eight years old, and in our mind’s eye, driving seemed freakish. And we ruled out a bus because a train sounded more fun.
“We can grab one at 11:30 this morning,” said Mularski.
So after breakfast we returned to our rooms, packed our bags, checked out of the Edgewater and taxied to Union Station, purchased canteen seats.
Excitement pulsated my veins as the large locomotive appeared on the track. We climbed aboard, parked ourselves and within minutes began rolling along the track.
Nebraska smiled artificially at Mularski. “At what point, exactly, are we supposed to morph back to adults?”
He looked out the window, ignoring her.
“Would you like to hear my theory of Daynetics?” I said.
“Are you a Scientologist?” asked Nebraska.
“No, that’s Dianetics. Daynetics is my own invention.”
“What is it?”
“Figuring out where you want to live based around your perfect day.”
“Most people don’t have a choice,” grumbled Mularski.
“Yes, but if you do, Daynetics helps you figure out where you should live.”
“How does it work?” asked Nebraska.
“Think of how you’d like to spend your birthday—a perfect day, from beginning to end. For me, it would be to sleep late…”
“No shit,” said Mularski.
“And when I got up, I’d want a great shower. Then I’d like to drink latte in a local coffee roasters. And I’d like it to be in a village, not a strip mall, walking distance of where I live, not further than a few blocks. I like to walk for exercise, and I particularly like walking on the beach. You see how I’m slowly narrowing down my perfect place to live?”
“Go on,” said Nebraska.
“I’d want to be near great food markets, and also at least several good restaurants with a selection of decent wine by the glass, and also a couple of good saloons. So my perfect day would be to eat a late breakfast at home, skip lunch, and dine out at a wonderful restaurant with a fine bottle of wine. That’s why, on basis of Daynetics, my ideal place to live is Santa Barbara, which encompasses all of these elements.”
Mularski gave me a long mournful look, and fixed his gaze on Nebraska. “Have you given him more of that drug?”
I stood, dry of mouth. “I need a Coke. Anyone want anything?”
Nebraska joined me at the canteen counter. “I like your perfect day,” she said. “That’s why I want to move to Malibu.”
When we returned with sodas, Mularski was fixated on passing scenery, and madly chewing bubble gum he’d bought at the train station, the visor of his baseball cap pulled low over his eyes in do not disturb mode.
Nebraska couldn’t resist jibing him. “You trying to will yourself back to adulthood?”
Mularski blew a large pink bubble—and sucked it in a split second before it would have burst all over his boyish face.