The Pearl Inside of Anything

3:00 p.m., Terminal One arrivals

"Got yourself a bit of a trim, did you honey?" says Dad, pulling my suitcase off the carousel.

"Something like that," I answer in a small voice. "It's good, isn't it Dad?"

"What do I know about these things?" says Dad, shrugging. "All looks the same to me. Ask your mother."

Mum is mute. She has her hand over her mouth. Just in case the wrong words, escape. Now I feel a bit frantic. "It doesn't get any better than this, right Mum? Right?"

But it's like she doesn't hear me. She is staring really hard at my head. Dad gives her a little poke.

"What?" she gulps. "Oh, Wendy. You had fun right? Food was good? Hotel was nice? See any bats? Cowboys?"

Oh no. I gulp and tug my one little remnant hair lock nervously. This is not good. Nobody's chair dancing now.

7:20 p.m., home where I now share a room with a five-year-old and four goldfish. Yay.

"That's Laverne, that's Shirley, that's Lenny and..."

"Wait, let me guess, Squiggy?"

"Right! How can you tell?"

"Oh, it's the black markings. It's like he's got a little leather jacket on."

"And he's the smallest," says Patrick. "Somebody has to be the smallest." He shakes a few specks of fish food in the top of the bowl.

"Small does have its advantages." I say.

"Maybe he's still growing?"

"Maybe. But he's fine the way he is." We watch Squiggy dart around the tank. In and out of the little cave and making circles around the diver, rooted in the sand, which happens to be one of the Barbies.

"The world's his oyster," I say softly.

"What does that mean?"

I have to think. Not be sciencey. Put it in five-year-old terms.

"Well, I guess it means he'll always find the pearl inside of anything."

August 11th, 10:00 a.m., Mrs. Daltry's apartment

I ring the doorbell with my elbow. I don't want to ring the bell, actually. I'm so afraid Mrs. D will say the "A" word (Abominable) when she sees my hair. But my hands are full of dress bag, and the little Allouette tea set. And it's all feeling really heavy really fast.

"Do come in, Wendy, how lovely to see you," says Mrs. Daltry. "I'm ever so glad you're here! You're timing is perfect. Angie is in the living room, we're doing a portrait."

It's then that I notice that Mrs. D. is not wearing her slacks and sweater ensemble, but a black velvet evening gown. Sleeveless, with long black satin gloves and a thick rope of pearls wrapped around one wrist up to the elbow. The velvet trails behind her on the carpet, and the shoulders are sharply pointed out to each side. Her hair is still tightly pulled back, but it's wrapped in a silk turban and held in place with a band of multi-coloured metal dragonflies framing her face. Her "hideous things" are nowhere in sight. She looks like an exotic sorceress.

"I have your dress, Mrs. D. Thank you so much."

"And how did it travel?"

"Oh, it had a great time. I mean, it was absolutely great. I felt amazing in it."

"Good girl, that's as it should be," she turns and carefully feeling her way with her fingertips along one wall, she beckons me to follow her into the living room. Angie has her back to me, fiddling with her lights set over a small chaise lounge chair. "Hiya Wendy. How was Texas?"