And my daddy?
“What did he say?”
Yes! That’s my mama’s voice! I’m home! I’m about to cry out with joy when my daddy answers.
“He said Lottie must have pushed Dillon down the stairs.”
Oh. My. Crap.
I don’t say a word. I don’t move a muscle. I’m assuming I’m Lottie again, back in my room at home, but there’s no way I’m opening my eyes to find out. I am in deep trouble. They think I can’t hear them, and I don’t want them to know I can.
My daddy continues. “Today was a better day for Dillon. Since we brought him out of the coma this was probably the best day he’s had so I allowed him a few visitors. I was standing outside his room reading his chart, and I guess his family must have gone to the cafeteria because there was only a young man standing next to the bed crying. He asked Dillon why his girlfriend did this, and Dillon said something I couldn’t hear, and the young man angrily responded that he knew Lottie was there and pushed him down the stairs.”
I’m dead. I’m so relieved to hear that Dillon is better, but I’m definitely dead. I need to open my eyes and come clean. I need to tell them what really happened. That I freaked out. That I lost my cool. That my Oh my GAD reared its ugly head and destroyed me. And that I hated that I was mean and ugly and terrible, but that I did not push him down the stairs.
I hear my mama start sobbing. “Do you really think she could have?”
What?
My heart rate skyrockets. My chest constricts. My stomach crumples in on itself. I can’t believe it. My mama thinks I hurt Dillon on purpose. My mama thinks I could have done that.
My own mama thinks I’m a monster.
I don’t even hear what my daddy replies because I’ve already wished myself far, far away.
CHAPTER 23
I make a decision
I’m fighting the tears that are bullying their way into my eyes. This can’t be right. I must have misunderstood my mama. She didn’t say I pushed Dillon. Surely, she didn’t mean that I did. Surely, my daddy doesn’t agree.
I hold my breath and listen. But I don’t hear anyone. I only hear… trees… and they’re rustling.
Oh, geez! Now, where am I?
I take a big risk, and peek open one eye. I sigh. I’m back in Thailand. I don’t know how I got here, but I find myself face to face with the reclining Buddha in the meditation garden. I remember Fah telling me that she is dying, and then running away. I wanted to forget. I wanted to forget the despair I saw in her eyes.
And now I want to forget what my mama and daddy said.
I want to be somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Out of this dream, or whatever the heck it is! The old monk is convinced this is all real. That my soul is so pissed at me for burying my pain that it broke free from my body. And as hard as that is to swallow, I think I now want to believe it. Because if this is real and not a dream, then at least I have options. At least I have some control. And I like the sound of that.
The old monk said I have a choice. If I choose to feel everything again- including this god-awful misery, I might go back to my old life as Lottie. But if I choose to bury my pain, my soul will flit around the world trying to make me feel everything. I laugh at that. I’m pretty good at burying my feelings. I think I could win that struggle. And think of the new adventures I’d get to have. I always did want to travel the world.
But that would mean I may never go back to being Lottie. Which would mean never seeing Mama, Daddy, and Berg again, and that makes my breath hitch with sadness. But that also means I wouldn’t be the lunatic with Oh my GAD anymore, and I would love that.
Holy crap. My mind is about to explode.
I stare at the Buddha in front of me. His content face, immortalized in his happy moment of enlightenment, seems to mock my tortured one. Maybe Buddha had the right idea. He left this dreadful world with all its pain and suffering. He got the heck out of dodge and went towards the light.
Something rubs against my leg. I look down and see the white kitten parading around, tail high in the air, mewing at me. I pick it up, and hug it close. It purrs, and I feel happiness overcoming the pain.
Happiness. That’s what I want. That’s what I’ve always wanted. I just want to feel happy.
The more I think about it, I don’t know why I want to go back to my life as Lottie. I hated who I was anyway. And now everyone there hates me, too. I almost killed Dillon. God knows what crap I’m going to face over that. Berg and Mama are pissed at me. And what if someday my mama or daddy get cancer and die just like Fah? Why go back to all of that when I have the chance to escape all that misery, see more of the world, and just be happy.
I suddenly find clarity. I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to pull a Buddha. I will escape this endless cycle of misery and sadness and anxiety. I will transcend all pain and suffering, so that, finally, I will be set free.
I kiss the kitten on top of its head, set it down on the ground, and give it a little pat. I whisper, “Goodbye,” as it scurries into the trees. No more getting attached equals no more pain.
And I’m beyond ready for that.
It feels so good to have made a decision that I inhale one of the deepest breaths I’ve taken in a long time. I salute the Buddha statue. “Thanks for the help, big guy.”
“You have decided then?”
Without turning around, I know it’s the old monk. I recognize her voice, and before she finishes her question, she’s standing inches away from my face. I forgot to talk to her about my personal bubble.
I take a step back. “Yes, I have. I’m not going back to being Lottie.” My voice is strong and happy, and I know I’ve made the right choice.
She raises her eyebrows. Her galaxy eyes look dull. “Are you certain?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Absolutely one-hundred-and-infinity percent?”
I snort. “Yes. Absolutely one-hundred-and-infinity percent.”
She takes a step back. “Then now it is my turn to ask why?”
I shrug. “I’m so sick of feeling sad and angry. I hate being anxious. I hate losing my temper. I hate feeling everything so strongly that I just don’t want to hurt anymore.” I motion to the Buddha. “Just like him, I’m choosing to escape the misery of human life and live in my happy enlightenment. I choose only happy. I choose Nirvana.”
The old monk tilts her head. “You believe only feeling happy will be Nirvana?”
I roll my eyes. “Um, yeah. How could it not be?”
“Hmmm…that is the question, isn’t it?”
I shake my head. “Nope. There’s no question. It will be.”
“Are you sure?”
I wink. “Yes. Absolutely one-hundred-and-infinity percent.”
She slowly nods her head. “This is your decision to make, and you have made it.” She glances down, and gestures to the white kitten that has returned and is rubbing its head all over my robes. “Would you like to take your kitty with you? I can arrange it.”
I shake my head. “Nope. This time I’m on my own.”
She nods. “Okie dokie. As you wish.” She picks up the kitten, bows her head to the Buddha, and grins at me. “Goodbye, Lotus. I hope I will see you again very soon.”
She starts walking down the path, and I have an epiphany.
“Venerable Bhik, you sent me the postcard didn’t you?”
She turns and grins. “Maybe.”
“So… I’ll probably run into you giving me a henna or sending me another postcard?”
She shakes her head. “Sorry, not this time. As you said, you are on your own.”
“Then can I ask you a question?”
She raises one pale eyebrow. “You can always ask.”
“You moved your soul, didn’t you? While you were meditating, you moved your soul into Ms. Foofaraw and the henna lady and the woman in Kabul so you could be with me?”
Her galaxy eyes twinkle. “Maybe.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, if you di
d, then can you teach me to control my soul?”
She answers me with a question. Of course.
“If you are your soul, aren’t you always in control?”
I sigh. “Yes, I get that. We’re one and the same. Blah, blah, blah. But can I choose where we go? Is there a trick to this soul-wandering thing? Cause I’d hate to go someplace like Kabul again. I mean, who could possibly find happiness there?”
She raises both eyebrows. “Yes. Who could?”
I shake my head. “I’m guessing no one. That was misery at its finest, and I’m burying that memory so deep archaeologists won’t even be able to find it.”
She purses her lips. “I see. And have you thought about where you think you will find happiness?”
I grin. “Not yet, but there are so many happy places out there. The beach. The mountains. A palace in Versailles.” I clap my hands together. “That’s it! Paris! That’s where I need to go to find happiness.” I waggle my eyebrows. “It is the city of love. And being in love is always happy.”
The old monk nods. “If you believe you will be happy there, then maybe your soul will believe it, too.” She gives me a wide grin showing off her crooked teeth. “Well then, this is goodbye for now, soul wanderer. I hope you find what you need.”
And as she walks away, I swear she’s humming “Happy Birthday.”
CHAPTER 24
How does this darn thing work?
I can’t believe it. I’m going to Paris! Paris!
I wish the Buddha statue au revoir and close my eyes. Time for a huge heart to heart with my soul. Where I may have to stretch the truth just a teensy- tiny bit.
I’m you, and you’re me, which means I’m in charge. I refuse to feel any more awful emotions so it’s time for us to move on. And we’re going to Paris.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and picture the Eiffel Tower all lit up in sparkling lights, just like on the postcard on Lottie’s great-grandmother’s desk.
I slowly open my eyes. I’m still standing in front of the Buddha.
The old me would be frustrated. The new me isn’t allowing that emotion anymore.
Just so you know. I calmly tell my soul. I refuse to feel any negative emotions here, so we might as well move on and head to Paris. I cross my fingers as I lie. Maybe I’ll feel them there.
I close my eyes again. I picture the postcard.
We’re going to Paris.
I open my eyes, and… I’m still standing in front of Buddha.
It’s okay. I can figure this out. What was I doing when my soul left Colorado? I was angry and didn’t want to be, so I was trying to disappear to protect myself from feeling all that pain. And in Morocco I was really sad because Mama rejected me and I found the dead kitten. Then in…
“Pema!”
I gasp. It’s Fah.
“Where are you, kid?”
And Rinzen.
I don’t want to see them! I don’t want to talk to them! And most of all I don’t want to feel their pain.
So, I close my eyes, and wish myself far, far away.
CHAPTER 25
Is this really Paris?
The air shifts. Something compresses my lungs, squeezing my breath like when I want to cry but have to struggle to hold it in. My body twists, and I feel like I’m on a roller coaster as my stomach flops, then flips, and then drops. My body feels like it’s turning inside out. I want to scream, but then the pressure slowly eases and my stomach settles.
Well, that was super uncomfortable.
I’m afraid to open my eyes. I’m hoping my soul and I jumped because I really don’t want to see Fah or Rinzen. I listen. It’s quiet. And hot and sticky.
I dare to peek open one eye. I don’t see Buddha, or Fah, or Rinzen. Did I actually do it? Did I actually move my soul into another body?
I open my other eye and look around me. I’m definitely not in Bangkok anymore. I’m standing in the middle of some sort of grassy area and… OH MY GOD! Is that the Eiffel Tower?!
I jump up and down. I can’t believe I did it! I’m in Paris!
I take a moment to check out my new body. I’m wearing denim cutoffs, a white strappy tank, and pink cowboy boots. I feel my head. And I’m not bald anymore! I have hair! And it’s long enough that it’s up in a ponytail. Yes!
I feel so happy.
And so free.
I wipe a trickle of sweat racing down my face, shield my eyes from the sun, and gawk at the Eiffel Tower. Wow. Just wow. I can’t believe I’m standing in front of the world-famous Eiffel Tower in Paris, France. My heart races with joy and that feels so good.
I tilt my head. Huh. It looks smaller in real life than I thought it would be. And why is there a giant, red cowboy hat on top of it? I stare for a moment. Maybe it’s part of an art exhibit? Like when Lottie’s parents went to Versailles and that artist had a giant pink balloon dog in one of the ballrooms. Parisians are always doing something outrageous and cool like that.
A deep voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
I tear my gaze away from the Eiffel Tower and drink in the man standing behind me. This body must be a lot shorter than Lottie, or he must be really tall, because I have to tilt my head back to look into his dusty blue eyes. His chin is scruffy, like when Lottie’s daddy wouldn’t shave over the weekend, and he’s wearing a button-down, chambray shirt, jeans, and a black cowboy hat.
And he’s grinning at me with the cutest, dimpled grin I’ve ever seen. My stomach does a happy flip-flop.
Lottie’s mama would probably think he’s too old for me, but I don’t care. I grin back. Maybe I’m older in this body. I’ve never changed ages before, but I’m pretty new at this soul wandering stuff so maybe this time I did.
Cute Dimples extends his hand. “I’m George.”
“Nice to meet you. Are you the artist?”
Oooo! My voice sounds velvety smooth. And obviously I can speak French!
George tilts his head in the most adorable way. “Excuse me?”
My belly feels warm, and I suddenly feel shy. “Well, since you’re wearing a hat and the tower’s wearing a hat, and not many people in Paris wear cowboy hats, I thought you made the hat, because I didn’t even know it even had one, or at least on postcards it never did, and I didn’t know about the art exhibit.”
Oh my god. Stop talking. You’re babbling like an idiot.
A funny look crosses his face, but then it’s gone and he smiles all dimply and cute. “Maybe we should get out of this heat. Would you like to join me for a cold drink?”
My heart pitter-patters. I feel my cheeks heat up. Cute Dimples is asking me out? And I’m old enough to drink legally? Paris really is the city of love.
I giggle. “I’d love to.”
He tips his cowboy hat, and holds out his elbow. I slip my arm through it, and waves of happiness knead through my muscles until I’m more relaxed than limp spaghetti. I knew I would find happiness in Paris.
George leads me away from the Eiffel Tower and down the sidewalk. We stop at the street to let a battered, red pick-up truck pass by, and George points to the red brick building across the street.
“We’re heading over there. If that’s okay?” he asks.
I can see there’s a little café in the bottom half of the building. A large, black-and-white sign above the door reads The Paris Bakery.
“That would be lovely,” I purr. I am on a date with a handsome Parisian. I must try to sound older and more sophisticated.
George leads me across the street. “They have the best croissants in town here. Although, that’s pretty easy to do because no one else makes them,” he laughs.
I find his comment a bit odd in a city known for its croissants, but when he opens the door, I forget all about it as I’m swaddled by heavenly smells of butter, cinnamon, and yeast.
The bakery is crammed with people. A long line winds past a glass case filled with goodies, and every metal-topped table is full. George leads me to a lo
ng, black bar jutting out from the windows. He points to two open barstools.
“Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get you a croissant and a drink.”
I nod, and flash him what I think is a flirty smile. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
He tips his hat and ambles over to the counter. My heart flip-flops again. He’s polite, and sweet, and tall, and lean. Yay! And his bum looks awfully cute in those jeans.
George bypasses the line and slips behind the counter. He hugs an older woman ringing someone up at the cash register. She’s wearing a white apron and her hair is up in a tight, grey bun. They speak briefly and then he points to me. She looks over, gives me an ear-splitting grin, and waves. I wave back, and find my heart filling with happiness.
A few minutes later, George returns with two, red plastic glasses, and sets them on the bar in front of me. “Here ya go. Nice and cold.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
I can’t believe it. I’m about to have my first alcoholic drink in a real restaurant. Legally! Lottie’s parents used to give her sips of their wine at dinner, but this is so different. This is a drink date. I’m a little nervous, but I like it. It’s a good feeling, full of excitement and joy.
I take a small sip from the straw. It’s sweet but also bold with hints of smoke and lemon. “This is delicious!” I announce. “What’s it called?”
George raises his brown eyebrows. “Sweet tea,” he says slowly.
I take another big sip. It’s so refreshing I want to drink the entire thing, but I know I need to be careful. I have no idea how much alcohol this body can handle.
“What’s in it?” I ask.
He wrinkles his brow. “What’s in tea?”
I nod, and take another sip. I rack my brain trying to think of alcohol names. I don’t want him to think I’m not sophisticated. “Does it have vodka or wine in it?”
A look of concern crosses his face, and he shakes his head. “No, ma’am. It’s just tea, sugar, and water.”
“Just tea, sugar, and…” I pause as my brain finally kicks in. “Oh my god,” I giggle. “This is just plain, old, iced tea!” And without worrying what anyone thinks, my giggles transform into full-blown, belly-shaking laughter.
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