“In this case, your life is your art, and no one, no one but you can tell you how to finish this piece. You just have to live it and see how it turns out. And if you don’t like it, you do what I do when I’m working on a canvas that goes south.”
“What’s that?”
“You paint over it,” she says. Such a simple solution.
“Will the church really let me do that?”
“This has nothing to do with the church. God? Sure. Ask Him what He wants if that’s something you wish to do. But He and the church are not necessarily the same on this.”
We work alongside each other for several more hours. I haven’t said much since I said everything. We’re okay with the silence, semi-okay. “You really don’t care who I date?” I ask.
“I care that you find someone kind and loving. Someone who won’t let you hide. Someone who pushes you to be a better person. But there is nothing I’ve seen in Janie Lee or Davey that worries me.”
“But Dad said—”
“You’re not talking to Dad. Baby, I went to art school. I have many friends who have chosen many different lifestyles. They just don’t live here.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. I argue, “You married a preacher. Do you really think it doesn’t bother him?”
“I married a preacher, not a saint,” she says. “My faith in God is useless without trust. Maybe that’s na?ve, but I believe things will work out. With this costume. With Davey. With Janie Lee. With the Corn Dolly and the Harvest Festival. Even with your father and the church and the fire. All you have to do is be yourself.”
“I don’t know how to do that anymore.”
“Sure you do. You’ve always known yourself really well. But someone’s made you doubt that. I want my kid back. The one who set the church on fire.”
I stop gluing. “You yelled at me about that.”
She tsks. “It’s a metaphor. You do you, sweetie. The rest will take care of itself.”
By midnight, the costumes are finished, and I can feel my fire coming back.
29
Today is the first day of LaserCon: the day we win a thousand dollars.
We rendezvous at Molly the Corn Dolly at seven a.m. Then we pile into Woods’s mom’s Suburban.
In every other yard we pass, there is a promotional sign for the Harvest Festival. Woods has outdone himself. I’ve stolen him for moral support. I’ve stolen them all. Woods and Fifty in the front. Janie Lee and Mash in the middle. Davey and me in the back. Belle and Beast in the cargo hold.
When we decided to skip school as a group, Woods had Doc Robbins write Janie Lee an excuse.
“But what about you all?” she asks, accepting a powdered doughnut from Mash.
“Hell.” Fifty giggles, steals the doughnut from her hand. “We can’t all have heavy menstrual problems.”
“It does not say that.” She unfolds the doctor’s note, reads for herself, and crams it into a pocket of her backpack.
Woods is turning onto the interstate, admitting he suffered from an unfortunate loss of imagination when he spoke with Doc Robbins last night. Janie Lee is as red as a channel bass, and we’re all ripping with laughter. Sounds about right to me. Sounds much better than the awkwardness of this past week.
I am not worried about my excuse to Otters Holt High School. One for Dad? Well . . . that could be a problem. He can always be a problem. Especially right now, when he is eagle-eyeing my life for signs of Janie Lee. I could have told Mom, should have after she helped me with the costumes, but no one else told their mom. Which meant I stole a piece of bacon from the plate this morning and said I’d see her later. She’d told me she was excited about KickFall tomorrow, and I’d said, “Me too.” All truths.
Pastureland becomes fast food exits become Nashville. The Music City Center wows from the interstate. The wavy roof sits low on the skyline, well beneath the Batman building, just as imposing. It is two, no, three blocks wide. Woods exits.
I am unprepared for the overflow of LaserCon attendees. Inhabitants of Middle-earth, post-apocalyptic Georgia, Asgard, and many more crowd the sidewalk. Three stormtroopers and a herd of guys and girls dressed as characters from 300 draw the attention of every vehicle on the road.
They are all a thing of beauty. A world apart from Otters Holt and Nashville.
“Crazy-ass people,” Fifty mutters.
“What a wonderment,” Woods says.
“These are my people,” Davey comments quietly.
Janie Lee steals a glance in my direction. I wink. She winks back. All week long we have been attempting normalcy. Not postkiss us. Not kiss us. The us that has existed from the moment I hauled her ass out of Kentucky Lake. It’s been a bit like climbing Everest, but the dual winks are a good sign we’re coming back.
Police barricades block the front of the convention center. “I think, children, I’ll have to drop you off and park,” Woods announces. “Can I trust you not to get into too much trouble?”
Horns blare, urging him to pull away from the curb. Everyone hops out. I shoulder two duffel bags of accessories and Davey balances Belle and Beast on the sidewalk. “Text us,” I say to Woods.
He’s already pulling away from the curb, driving as if he knows where he’s going when he most certainly does not.
Gerry and Thom’s last text swears they are heading our way. This convergence excites me. We are in a hive of superheroes. People who must meet here every year are hugging and dueling and drinking and striking poses. Three Dragon Ball Z friends chat about attending a manga session. A gang of Marvel characters talking up Stan Lee, who is rumored to be attending. Every third or fourth person is a Potterhead. There are no ages, no genders. Bodies are hidden completely, or totally exploited. That’s the peculiar thing that happens when you pretend to be someone else: you are someone else.
I get to be Elizabeth McCaffrey, born 1999—d. ? R.I.P.: Princess. Who the hell saw that coming? But I think I can do it. And it will not be like Billie Wears a Dress to School Day. I’m doing this because I want to. Not because I feel obligated. And I made this costume myself.
A deep, booming voice calls out, “Hey, McCaffrey, who you gonna call?” The yelling Ghostbuster is Thom. Gerry’s dressed as Lara Croft, and damn. She’s dyed her green hair as black as Janie Lee’s. I make the introductions.
Davey is easy today. Relaxed. He has none of the pensive energy from the time when we didn’t know how to navigate each other. We are in his playground, and he is confident.
Thom puts Beast under his arm, chides me with mock-worry. “I’m not sure you’ve done enough work on these.”
We all laugh. I want to thank Thom for saying this. For making Davey smile so broadly.
There’s so much concrete. So much gray. Even though I am happy to be among the mill of humanity, I can’t imagine living here in all this noise. Davey will probably live here again soon, and I’ll return to the trees and the majesty of Kentucky Lake. I hope.
“You okay?” Davey asks.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m excited.”