Circa Now

by Amber McRee Turner

  “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing. Forget it.”

  “So why did Mrs. Linholt pretend not to know you today?” she asked instead.

  “I don’t think she was pretending,” said Miles. “She probably didn’t recognize me because she never much paid attention to me in the first place.”

  “Huh. Maybe so,” said Circa, suddenly distracted by a fresh question that needed asking. “Miles,” she said. “Did that woman look really pink to you?”

  Miles smiled. “Of course she looked pink to me,” he said. “Super pink. I thought she had on too much makeup or something. Or else she was really embarrassed, which she should have been.”

  “Yeah, well, I have another theory about it,” said Circa, bubbling up inside.

  Mom came back in holding a fistful of tissues and gulping a glass of water.

  “But I’ll tell you later,” Circa whispered.

  “Mrs. Barbara Linholt,” scoffed Mom. “Talk about someone being in the wrong job.”

  “Like Stanley Betts,” said Circa.

  “I just find it hard to believe someone like her is capable of having a child’s best interest at heart,” Mom said.

  “Mom, listen to this,” said Circa. “You won’t believe it, but you know that second phone call Dad got that afternoon when he was leaving? The one he acted so weird about?”

  “Yes?” said Mom.

  “It was Miles,” said Circa.

  Mom had to sit herself down.

  “That sparkly phone just made him remember,” said Circa. “He said he walked up to the reunion place, where that mean Mrs. Linholt wouldn’t even help him. She pretended she was helping, but she was really just calling to fuss at Dad. Then Miles snuck her phone and called Dad too.”

  “I told him I couldn’t remember anything,” Miles said. “Not even who I was. I thought he would just hang up, but he was nice to me. Like he understood.”

  “That’s Todd Monroe, all right,” said Mom, squeezing herself into the available space at the end of the couch. Circa could tell she was trying not to cry in front of them.

  “Maybe that’s why I felt like I should come to Studio Monroe when I saw the stamp on the back of that picture,” he said. “Because Mr. Monroe had treated me nice.”

  “Miles, do you remember anything else about him?” said Mom. “Did you ever see him?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “How about before you got to the reunion? Are you remembering anything before that?”

  “No,” said Miles. “But maybe this means I will.”

  Or maybe not, thought Circa. Mom laid her head back into a squishy sofa pillow, like her pill had taken hold quick. Circa patted Mom on the knee and was overcome by a fit of restlessness. “Can Miles and me go to the studio for a while?” she said.

  “I suppose so,” said Mom. “But help me listen for the phone, okay? Mrs. Linholt’s going to be calling about this psychiatric thing.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  Circa couldn’t get Miles into the studio and shut the door fast enough.

  “So what’s this theory you’ve got on the pinkness?” he said.

  “Look at this,” said Circa, finding the crumpled, smeary Linholt Reunion photo that Miles had brought with him where Mom had left it on the desk.

  “They all look pink in this,” he said.

  “Right,” said Circa. “But now look at this one.” Circa dug up the original photo from the middle of a stack on Dad’s desk.

  “A lot less pink,” he said.

  “Exactly,” said Circa. “You see what I’m saying?”

  “Not really,” said Miles.

  “Well, that awful Linholt woman insisted that my dad pinken them up in their photo,” Circa explained. “So he did, and you saw what happened to her face.”

  “Okay…” said Miles. “Still not real sure what you’re getting at.”

  Circa felt like she was about to turn inside out. “Well, how about this,” she blurted. “What would you say if I told you that those purple glasses didn’t even exist before I Shopt them onto a picture of my dad? And that nest outside my bedroom window, the one with the mama bird that pooped on Nattie. What if I told you that it didn’t exist either until I Shopt it into a photo?”

  Miles got the crinkle. “I’d say you’re the one who needs the psychiatrist,” he said.

  “No, really,” she said. “And it might even work in reverse, too.”

  Circa lowered her voice. “Listen, don’t tell Nat I told you this, but the other day she had me Photoshop a wart off her face, and after I did…poof. It was gone.”

  Miles looked skeptically at Circa. “How long have you been thinking about this?” he said.

  “All week,” said Circa. “That’s why I didn’t want us to do anything too cruel to Stanley, in case it came true.”

  Miles narrowed his eyes at Circa. “I don’t buy it,” he said. “What about all that other stuff you’ve done? The Sphinx and the skywriting and the pretzel? Not to mention that big stack of crazy stuff your dad did.”

  “I don’t know about all that yet,” she said. “With the Internet down, I haven’t really been able to do any research. Plus, I don’t know if it’s like a Monroe family magic thing, or just that computer or something.”

  Circa’s mind was racing. “Not to mention,” she said, finally taking a breath. “Maybe not all of it comes true, but only some of it.”

  Miles went completely still.

  “I even tried to test things out myself the other night by putting a—” Circa felt the weight of Miles’s stare and chickened out on the details. “By doing something to Nattie’s yard,” she said.

  “Did it work?”

  “Not sure,” said Circa. “But even if it didn’t, maybe there’s a good reason why. I just don’t know about it yet. I mean, it’s not like any of this makes much sense, right?”

  “You got that right,” said Miles. “Circa, those purple glasses were bent and scratched like they really were old. They didn’t just appear.”

  “I know,” she said. “But remember, the picture of Dad that I Shopt them into was from way back when he was skinny, when he could wear that T-shirt you’ve got on,” she said. “That was like ten years ago. So maybe the glasses appeared as already ten years old.”

  “Okay, now you’re just being silly,” said Miles. “Come on, let’s get on with it and just do a Shopt something. I want to hear what finally happens when Great-Uncle Mileage and his long-lost nephew meet up.”

  Circa slapped the desk in frustration. “But maybe I’m not just being silly.” She nodded toward the Shopt folder. “And like you said, think about if it is a Monroe thing, and that my dad had the power too. Think about what that would mean.”

  Circa could hardly wait any longer to prove herself. She was about to suggest that they both put her own Shopt powers to the test immediately, when with a whap! the front door to Studio Monroe slammed open.

  There stood Nattie huffing and puffing. “Two things,” she said. “I just saw out my window…a man, a tall, serious-looking man…getting out of a car in front of your house.”

  Nattie caught her breath. “You guys don’t think he’s here about the fight, do you?”

  Leonard suddenly wished he’d checked out “The Wind in the Willows” instead. Now Lenny desperately hoped the library had the sequel, “Un-vanish Your Head.” Or at least his secret second-best choice, “Vanish the Rest of Me Too.”

  Circa ran to look out the studio window, but the man must have already made it to the porch. Shortly after, Mom stepped into the studio. “Miles, the psychiatrist is already here,” she said, slow and solemn, like she was announcing the executioner’s arrival. “Come on into the kitchen. This Dr. Jones says he can do the evaluation here.”

  Miles gave Circa a defeated shrug.

  “Sorry,” Cir
ca mouthed to him. She was sorry about him having to go through with whatever a “psych eval” entailed, but mostly sorry that their Shopt wonderings had been cut short.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Maybe he’ll help me remember some more.”

  “I sure wish that Mrs. Linholt wouldn’t do us any more of her favors,” Mom said under her breath as she rubbed twenty minutes’ sleep from her eyes. Then Miles and Mom disappeared into the kitchen and shut the door.

  “Doctor?” said Nattie. “What’s going on, Circa?”

  “Oh, Nat, this woman from the state of Georgia came today,” said Circa. “She’s the same terrible Linholt woman who made my dad take those pictures to that stupid reunion. And get this…she even met Miles there that day. He was lost and scared, but she wouldn’t even stop to help him.”

  Nattie’s face tightened up into a scowl.

  “She didn’t even know my dad died,” said Circa. “She just came in and said Miles was on her list of lost kids to come check on, but she didn’t recognize him at all. I thought my mom was going to strangle her.”

  “Oh no,” said Nattie.

  “For real,” said Circa.

  “So now she’s in charge of helping Miles?”

  “Yeah. Messed up, isn’t it?” said Circa. “She said something about Miles having to get a psychiatric evaluation before his placement.”

  “Placement?”

  “I know,” said Circa. “I wondered too. But Miles didn’t even hear that part. You know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because he was too busy remembering something,” said Circa. “Nat, are you ready for this?”

  Nattie nodded.

  “Miles talked to my dad on the phone.”

  “What?” gasped Nattie. “How?”

  “That day,” said Circa. “Before my dad left. Miles took that woman’s phone and called here asking my dad for help.”

  Nattie’s eyes grew huge. “No way,” she said. “And your dad went there to help him?”

  It was the first time Circa had ever seen Nattie get so teary. “I guess he tried,” she said, feeling her own throat get squeezy.

  “Placement,” Nattie pondered aloud. “I thought they were supposed to find his real family.”

  “They didn’t,” said Circa.

  “So what happens in the evaluation?” Nattie said, moving closer to the kitchen door.

  “I don’t know,” said Circa. “Miles seemed to think it might help him remember some more.”

  Nattie pressed the side of her face up to the door. “I can hear the man talking,” she said. “He’s asking a bunch of questions.”

  Circa played back Nattie’s entrance in her head. “Wait, Nat,” she said. “Didn’t you say there were two things you were going to tell us?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Nattie. “It was that I’m sorry for the stink.”

  “Huh?”

  “You mean you don’t smell it?” said Nattie.

  “Smell what?”

  “This.” Nattie held up her foot. “A big pile of it in the middle of our yard. I had to run in here so quick I forgot to wipe it off.”

  “Dog poo?” said Circa, stirring inside. “Wait a minute, Nat. Do you know what this could mean?”

  “Yeah, I know what it means,” said Nattie. “It means I’m some kind of major poop magnet.”

  “Maybe that,” laughed Circa. “But you know what else?”

  Circa sat in Dad’s chair feeling full up with a strange mix of snug secrecy and nagging desire to share something big with her best friend. After all this, surely it would be okay if Circa shared just a taste of this thing that was eating her up inside.

  “Nat, you know all that stuff I said the other night about things appearing kind of mysteriously?”

  “Sure,” said Nattie. “The miracle thing.”

  “And about a person, or two people, maybe having a hand in that?” said Circa.

  Nattie nodded.

  “You want to know what I was talking about?” said Circa.

  “Duh. Yeah,” said Nattie, crossing her arms and turning to lean her back against the door.

  “Remember when I said the word Shopt in the car last week when I was showing Mom that nest picture and you were wondering what that meant?” Circa glanced over the back of the chair at the Shopt folder safe in its spot. “Well, Shopt means Photoshopped,” she said. “Like the things we do to edit photos.”

  “You mean like wart removing?” said Nattie.

  “Exactly,” said Circa. “Only for me and my dad, well, it’s kind of always been more than that. The thing is, Nat—I’m not positive about this—but I think that some of the Shopt things are coming true.”

  “What do you mean?” said Nattie. “What things?”

  “Like that nest in my tree,” said Circa. “That was the first thing I noticed.”

  “Oooh, how is the nest?” said Nattie. “Any hatchlings yet?”

  “No, Nat. Listen,” said Circa.

  “Okay. Sorry.”

  “What I’m trying to say is, when I took the picture of that tree, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a nest there at all. That’s why I Shopt one in, just to test out my skills. But then, that night, there it was…the real deal sitting right there on the very branch I drew it on.”

  Circa had Nattie’s full attention. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said.

  “Because a long time ago I promised my dad that I’d keep the Shopt a secret. Only now, it seems like that’s impossible. It seems like they’re making themselves known.

  “So listen. There’s more,” said Circa. “Then after all that, there were these purple star glasses that appeared out of nowhere in a box upstairs after I Shopt them onto an old picture of my dad. And remember your wart disappearing the other day? I think that it happened then too.”

  “But I thought my wart fell off,” said Nattie.

  “I did too,” said Circa. “But now, I don’t know. And then, today, there’s the pink woman.”

  “The who?”

  “Mrs. Linholt,” said Circa. “She made my dad pinken her whole family in the reunion picture. And even after a whole month, that woman couldn’t be any pinker than she was today.”

  Circa paused. She had to know what Nattie was feeling about all this. Nattie slid down the door into a sitting position and stared at Circa with a raised brow.

  “And you called me a nuthatch?” she said.

  “I know, I know,” said Circa. “I keep telling myself it’s crazy too, but I just can’t stop wondering about it all.”

  Circa bowed her head. “That’s why I asked you to look out your window the other night,” she said. “That picture of Ernie Brown the dog was a test. I put a dog in there to see if it would really happen.”

  “Oh,” said Nattie sadly.

  “But I really did think you would enjoy having the picture as a present,” said Circa. “And if the dog had appeared, I was going to give him to you.”

  “But there wasn’t a dog,” said Nattie. “Did you see a dog?”

  “No,” said Circa, “But it could have pooped and run off, right?”

  “Yeah, but wouldn’t I have seen it run off? Or heard it?” Nattie gave her a flat look. “I’m sorry, Circa,” she said. “I mean, this is a neat story and all, but do you really think that stuff could happen? I mean, like, scientifically?” Nattie set the picture down. “Besides,” she said, “nuthatches can build nests really fast, you know.”

  “I know it doesn’t make sense, Nat,” said Circa. “But like you said, anything can happen. And a lot of things don’t make sense, right? Like the platypus?”

  Nattie pressed her ear to the door again. “So then try something right now,” she said. “Do something to that poster picture of Miles, and then when he’s done with his appointment, he’ll walk in here a
nd we’ll see if it worked.”

  “Oh, Nat, I don’t know,” said Circa. “I’d feel funny doing something to Miles.”

  “Circa, you edited my face.”

  “Yeah, but you asked me to. That’s different.”

  “Come on, Circ. Just do something tiny.”

  “Okay, let me look,” said Circa reluctantly, twirling the chair around and waking up the computer.

  “The doctor is talking about hypnotizing him,” Nattie said.

  Circa opened the picture of Miles.

  “Something about counting backward from a hundred,” Nattie continued.

  Circa searched Miles’s face for something to edit subtly, yet still have it be noticeable.

  “The doc is going to wake him up with a special sound when he’s done,” said Nattie.

  Circa decided to erase a small scar from his chin.

  “The special sound will be…tree sap?”

  Circa zoomed in so much that the scar looked more like a pixelated gash.

  “No, no,” Nattie corrected herself. “The special sound will be three snaps.”

  “Of course you thought it was tree sap,” said Circa, sampling Miles’s skin tone with an eyedropper tool and then setting to work painting out the scar, one pixel at a time to get it perfectly precise. She couldn’t help feeling guilty about it though, messing with Miles like they had done Stanley. Even if it was an improvement, it still felt like a major shmoo of a thing to do. All the while, Nattie listened at the door. After a few more minutes, she left the door and stood next to Circa’s chair to watch her finish up.

  “I don’t think it’s going well in there,” Nattie said.

  “How do you know?” said Circa, erasing the last speck of the scar.

  “Just by the sound of Miles’s voice. It sounds like he’s super upset,” said Nattie, bending close to inspect Circa’s work. “So you really meant all that Shopt stuff you were saying, huh, Circ?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I do.”

  Circa hovered her finger over the mouse button in hesitation, then clicked to save her changes. “We’ll be able to tell right away when he comes in whether the scar is there or not,” she said. “Now you just go back and listen for the three snaps.”