Magic in the Key of Joy (A Wylde & Cray Adventure) UIC2022

Chapter 5 - The Wyldes of Improvisation 101

Chapter 5 - The Wyldes of Improvisation 101

I'm awakened by blood. And screams that sound like auditions for "Carrie: The Musical." Maurice, who usually sleeps on my chest, is instead perched upon the headboard, screaming territorially at Sunny and Luna, who are down at either end of the bed, sitting upright, expressing the calmest of demeanors that I have ever seen in the face of one of Maurice's hissy fits.

"Wylie," says my mother, rolling by with her walker, "You should have told him we had guests!"

"Let them work it out," I say, dabbing the blood that's welled up on my chest. It's a small scratch and will heal quickly. I look at my odd, elongated felines and in my most cheerful voice, I ask them politely to explain themselves. As I brush my teeth in the bathroom, I look in the mirror and watch, as there seems to definitely be a civil discussion happening between the opposing parties.

By the time I'm dressed, they're acting like old friends. That is, until Maurice brings in one of his catnip toys. It's the one shaped like a fat cigar. He bats it over to Sunny and Luna; Luna attacks it first, and has it half-covered in drool before Sunny snatches it away with a growl and dashes out of the room so fast you'd think he was jet-fueled. Maurice struts after him, while Luna looks stoned. Big time.

I prepare Mom's favorite breakfast – cream-soaked waffles with pureed strawberries. She has no teeth, and can't wear dentures due to some obscure bone condition. Soft foods are not just the best option, they're her only one. It makes mealtime challenging. It doesn't do her speech any favors either, but she was an English teacher for 40 years. If she ever loses her enunciation, I have orders to kill her. Communication is her life, she always says.

"That statue that you wanted to throw out?" she asks, emphasizing 'you' – which means I'm an idiot.

"The one that makes me think of Freddy in Nightmare on Elm Street?" I reply. I'm making my morning protein shake breakfast-to-go: Plain Greek yogurt, Vanilla Instant Breakfast powder, frozen mango & pineapple chunks, and a banana.

"It's been in your father's family for as long as I can remember. He said it was Buddhist. It's supposed to be Mara, some sort of bad god. Anyway, it sold on E-Bay last night – a very high bid, too. But the buyer wants it delivered."

"Please tell me," I beg, sipping my superman tropical brew, "he lives in Paris and is sending me a round-trip ticket!"

"No, dear. Although if you were going to Paris, you'd have to take me with you. Wouldn't you know, he lives right here in Thousand Oaks. I'll give you the address. Could you drop it off after your classes?" She lays down her knife and fork in the 'I'm finished' position that anyone who's ever been a waiter knows very well. She's eaten only half, and I frown. She sees my displeasure, lays her gently trembling hand on mine and sighs, "I'll eat the rest later."

I tune the radio in her room to KUSC, where the day's featured composer is Mozart. She's always bouncier and more energetic when the 'enfant terrible' is performing. There's no sign of Sunny or Luna – or Maurice, for that matter. I'll be late if I look for them, so I'll have to leave them behind. I pick up my blue-eyed mystery lover's backpack and head to Mom's closet, and find the ugly, really old statue. I remember once putting two flat, plastic wiggly eyes on its face. They never stayed on, even with Krazy Glue. I'm about to put it inside the backpack, but think better of it and put it in a souvenir 'Sweeney Todd' cloth sack instead and head for the bus stop. I mean, if I were Mister Eyes of Blue, I wouldn't want some ugly-ass statue put in with my stuff. Would you?

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It's a good thing that I can run pretty damn fast when I have to, because the bus was late. Also, that this generation's students are time-challenged. That's due in part, I think, of having Zoom-classed school for two years. They're also cool, and pretty forgiving.