Madison Square Murders, the first book in C.S. Then we had to lug some of that outside for a yard sale and the rest to the Salvation Army and then we had to clean and watch as future renters tromped through our rooms notingĪnd then there was the packing and moving of the beds and clothes and books and pots and pans-oh, it hurts my head to remember it so let’s skip it. Which is how I came to meet Zora, though not quite so easily as it might sound because first we had to give our landlord a month’s notice and then we had to clear out all our closets and cupboards and the dreaded storage garage. I hadn’t expected they would take me seriously. Their voices had the glint of sea and sky. My parents had met in Maine many years ago No, I mean out of this city, my mother said. My father took his hands off the wheel and raised his palms to the sky. We’re in a car and we’re on a road, but I noticed that he was adding a runway and an airplane to his drawing.ĭrivers all around us were HONKing their horns like crazy, and the smells and the heat and the NOISE were pouring in the windows and squeezing us
In the car, when Mom said, Because that’s the flight path we’re on, Luke said, Flight path? We’re not in an airplane, you know.
He drew for hours and hours: contorted heroes leaping and jumping and vaporizing bizarre enemies with gaping mouths and sharp talons and horns and complicated towns with alleys and bridges and dungeons. Luke was drawing with a black marker in the yellow notebook that was nearly always with him. He was full of questions and energy and opinions except when you wanted him to have any of those things. Sometimes he acted as if he were two, and sometimes twelve. I was sitting in the backseat with my brother, Luke, a seven-year-old complexity. Is that what you see yourself doing ten years from now? So, my mother said, do you still like reporting? We were on our way to drop my father off at another job interview. My parents had recently lost their jobs when the newspaper they worked for went out of business. On a day that was hotter than hotter than HOT Then one day, when we were stuck in traffic
I am Reena, twelve years and two months old, formerly of a big city, a city of monuments, and people of many colors, a harlequin city The truth is, she was ornery and stubborn, wouldn’t listen to a n y b o d y, and selfish beyond selfish, and filthy, caked with mud and dust, and moody: you’d better watch it or she’d knock you flat.
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