The Pearl Inside of Anything

What seems like hours later, still in the chair

Even when Margaret comes back and scoops up Precious, I stay right where I am, picking fur off my cape and feeling sniffy. Suddenly, my chair swings around and it's Tommy. He thrusts a Coke at me and barks:

"Now listen up! Here's what we're doing. And I'm not asking, I'm telling! Telling I tell you! There was one spot left and I've switched us from freestyle Grand Slam to solo sculpture. It works like a lottery. They close off registration in about 10 minutes and everybody who's entered goes and draws a theme card. Whatever theme you pick, that's your inspiration. We'll colour it this afternoon, I'll design it tonight, we test run it tomorrow, do it up for the judges on Wednesday and see where we land. And it better be the mainstage finals. Because this year, even solo winners go to Dallas. And I want that ticket, Wendy. I WANT it."

He's really fired up. For a little guy, he looks huge. Half David, half Goliath.

This time, my head stays still, hands stays down.

"Whatever I get on my card," Tommy goes on, "That's what I style. No trading, no putting it back and drawing again, no, no, NO backing out!"

"Got it?" says Tommy, his face about an inch from mine.

Gulp. Nod. So got it.

"Good!" says Tommy, and he's instantly back to bouncy guy. Let's go see what we draw!" He whips off my cape, grabs my hand.

"And Wendy?" I look up and we lock eyes in the mirror. "Whatever we get, it's going to be wild."

Mainstage seats, 10 minutes later

"Yay!" Tommy waves the envelope in his hand and runs back from the stage to where I'm sitting in the audience. "Oooh! I love this part!" he crows, sitting down with a little wiggle while he fiddles with the envelope, turning it over and around.

I lean over and nudge him with my shoulder. "Tommy, aren't you going to open it?"

"Can't. Rules. Nobody gets even a minute of extra lead time. We all open them at the same time. Hold on, wait for it, wait for it..." His eyes are on the stage, and some guy in a suit and tie with a gong in his hand swings a beat and then there's all this crazy ripping and tearing followed by whoops and groans and laughter in the audience around us.

I look at Tommy. He groans and then goes quiet, staring at the card in his hand and dropping the empty envelope to the floor.

"Well? C'mon, what did we get?"

I lean over but he doesn't show and instead says, "Oh geez, this is going to be a mess."

"What? Show me! What is it?" I try to grab the card out of his hand but he holds it up out of my reach, and just shakes his head and mumbles:

"Not the card I was hoping for."

"Tommy, come on give me that," I swipe my arm over his head and manage to grab the card. There's only one word on it.

Tornado.

Tommy's looking around jealously at all the stylists giggling and happily waving their cards. Most of them, anyway. A couple look a little sick, like Tommy, but I bet none of them got a natural disaster. "Storm, wind, waves, beach huts bashed around," grumbles Tommy, "What a way to end a holiday, I am so never going back to the Bahamas..."

"Not, tyPHOOn, Tommy," I wave the card at him so he won't faint on me. "It says tornado."

"Tornado, typhoon...what's the difference?" Tommy says, dropping his chin onto his hand dejectedly.

"Well, quite a lot actually. Hair-wise, a typhoon really would be a mess. Tornadoes, otherwise known as twisters, can form the fastest winds in minutes. Up to 300 miles per hour! Their recognizable by the funnel shape of cloud that narrows as it descends rapidly to earth," I pause, to see if he's following along.

Tommy stares at me. Oh no, I knew it. Too much information, Wendy! I get that look from Yammy sometimes when I do the fact freakizoid thing.

"I have a 97% average in Geography," I mumble and stare at the floor.

"It's okay! Keep talking! You'll be my Typhoon Mary! "

"Uh, that would by Typhoid Mary, and you don't want me to be her. Her real name was Mary Mallon and she infected at least 53 people with typhoid between 1900 and 1915. She ..."

Tommy raises one hand. "Okay, okay, don't tell me, let me guess, you have a 97% average in History?" says Tommy.

"Something like that."

"Okay so not typhoid, I get it, TorNAYdo." says Tommy, repeating it under his breath a few times. "What else should I know?"

"Well, unlike hurricanes, which form over oceans, tornadoes most often occur in the plains of North America between the Appalachian and Rocky Mountain ranges." I glance at Tommy, his eyes haven't rolled to the back of his head yet, so I go a bit further. "They start when a supercell thunderstorm a few miles above the earth develops a mesocyclone and the rainfall drags it down to the ground. As it gets lower, warm air rises and the tornado's funnel forms in a spiral of heat convection and when it hits the ground, voila, chaos!"

"So they're the ones that look like spinny tops, right?" says Tommy, waving his hand like a lasso in the air. I'm not quite sure he's grasped the particulars, but spinny top is good enough for a visual. I nod.

"And it's like in the Wizard of Oz, where the tornado picks up the house and stuff?"

"Exactly! But sometimes it's the giant hail or thunderstorms they come with that do the most damage. Real tornadoes usually burn themselves out within minutes, unlike, say, Hurricane Ginger. She took 27 days to die down."

"Well, your tornado has to last til Friday, okay sweetie?"

I smile and nod. I'm sweetie again!

"I can see it already!" says Tommy. "I'm thinking Wild West, a sculpture with your head as a field caught up in a funnel of hair twisting into a foot-high cloud..." Tommy is talking so fast now I'm the one who can't keep up. He leaps in the air and does a rock star karate kick. "And to think I was wishing for a nice pompadour! Too tame! Pomps are so last century." He's so happy crazy with excitement it makes me laugh as he pulls me back to our station and the crowd parts sharply for us right down the middle.