Saving Montgomery Sole by Mariko Tamaki

Author:Mariko Tamaki
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781626722729
Publisher: Roaring Brook Press

7

 Mystics

 Table-tipping (See also: Séance)

 Why people put statues of angels on their lawn

Over the weekend, Tesla had soccer games back-to-back, so I had the house to myself. I spent my freedom watching online documentaries about American mystics and people who can talk to the dead.

One mystic used little plastic dolls to communicate with the spirits. Like the kind of dolls I would imagine grandmas collecting. With little painted faces and frozen china hands.

The dead are very forgiving and are never sad about being dead. Apparently that’s something built into the system so that no one feels ripped off in the afterlife.

A couple of the mystics talked about Jesus a lot. About how Jesus was at work in the world of the living and the dead, shepherding people into heaven. Like Jesus was some kind of maître d’ for heaven. If he’s so important, I wondered, why is he working the door?

These people have no logic.

There was this part in one documentary where all the mystics put their hands on the table and it danced around. It’s called table-tipping.

Interesting, I thought.

At one point, on my way to grab a slice at Tony’s Pizza Pie around the block, I took the stone out to a crosswalk to see if I could affect when the lights changed, which is something this guy I found online said he could do with just his brain (which is part alien). Hard to say if it was working; people kept pressing the buttons, so it could have been them.

Naoki spent the weekend at a weaving seminar, sending me pictures every so often of layers of pink and blue and yellow threads. Thomas spent the weekend binge watching eighties romantic comedies, which apparently he can only do alone.

By Monday, I was kind of sick of just being by myself.

That morning, I came downstairs, and Tesla was sitting at the breakfast table in a sparkly pink leotard and tutu, next to a bowl of what looked like black spiderwebs.

I thumped down on my seat and pushed the bowl with my finger. “What’s that?”

“Don’t,” Tesla huffed. “It’s my hair stuff. Mama’s putting my hair up in a fairy bun.”

I had a flash of High Bun, her phone held out.

CLICK.

“Why a bun?”

“Because it’s Halloween? Duh? And I’m a fairy.”

Halloween? I poured myself a giant bowl of cereal and scanned the table for sugar. How did Halloween sneak up on me? Weird.

I looked over at Tesla, suddenly noticing that her hair was already sprayed and pinned into place. “Fairies have buns?”

Also weird:

 Kids’ obsession with fairies

To be clear, every year, for Halloween, Tesla dresses up as a fairy, which, every year, involves some specific fairy thing that I’ve never heard of. When she was eight, it meant she had to have ballet slippers. Last year, when she was ten, she asked to be a “sexy fairy,” and my parents asked her to explain what a sexy fairy would look like.

She drew a picture.

Sexy fairy had a bra over her outfit.

“No sexy fairy,” Momma Jo said.

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