Where the Forest Meets the Stars(29)

“Since before you became a bigot.”
“I’m not a bigot!”
“If you believe everyone who lives in rural America is a backward hick, you’re a bigot.”
“Okay, so maybe they all aren’t.” She picked up the drawing of Gabe. “Maybe this guy isn’t, even though he uses his beard to clean grits off his plate.”
“He reads Shakespeare.”
“No shit?”
“All his barn kittens are named after Shakespearean characters.”
Tabby burst into laughter.
“Seriously.”
She laughed harder, wiping at tears.
Ursa nearly ran back to the table. “What’s so funny?”
“Shakespeare,” Tabby said.
“Not usually,” Ursa said. “Most of his characters have sad fates.”
“Oh my god!” Tabby said. “Even she reads Shakespeare! I take it all back about Banjo Land!”
“What is Banjo Land?” Ursa asked.
“It’s where purple shoes are harvested.” Tabby pushed her purple boot out from under the table and wedged it next to Ursa’s purple gym shoes. “We have the same color taste in footwear.”
“Purple is my favorite color,” Ursa said.
“I see that,” Tabby said, noting her lavender puppy shirt and purple shorts. She looked at Jo. “She has to hear it.”
“No,” Jo said.
“Hear what?” Ursa said.
“You see that thing over there, little alien?” Tabby said.
“What thing?” Ursa said.
“That machine with the colored lights.”
“What about it?” Ursa said.
“It’s called a jukebox, and it plays music from all of human history, all the way back to the original version of ‘Walk Like an Egyptian.’”
Ursa stared at the jukebox.
“The most awesome song ever written is in there,” Tabby said.
“Please don’t,” Jo said.
“What song?” Ursa said.
“‘The Purple People Eater.’ Have you ever heard it?”
“No,” Ursa said.
“It’s about an alien,” Tabby said.
“For real?”
“For real,” Tabby said, digging in her wallet.
“This is lunch,” Jo said.
“What about it?”
“Only drunk people think this is funny.”
“Quit being so uptight.” Tabby took Ursa’s hand and led her to the jukebox. After explaining how it worked, she let Ursa put the money in the machine and select the song. When the absurd song came on, Tabby started singing and dancing in front of everybody. She’d been doing that since she’d discovered the song their sophomore year, but usually she had more than two beers in her. The diners laughed when she took Ursa’s hand and showed her how to dance. “Look at the alien go!” Tabby called to Jo. “Jojo, get over here!”
“Come dance with us!” Ursa shouted.
Everyone turned expectant smiles on Jo, which made remaining in her seat more humiliating than dancing. She took Ursa’s other hand and tried to look like she was dancing. Ursa had no idea how to dance either, but she didn’t care. She laughed and jumped and shimmied, as radiant as Jo had ever seen her, as if starlight shined straight from her Hetrayen soul.


12

At the start of the trip back to Southern Illinois, Ursa used her third and last piece of paper to draw a picture of Tabby. An hour later, she was still working on the portrait.
“How can you draw in a moving car without getting carsick?” Jo asked.
“I’m used to doing things at star speed,” Ursa said.
“You mean light speed?”
“We call it star speed. It’s different from light speed.”
“You love drawing, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I’ll get you colored pencils. Those crayons are too thick to get good detail.”
“I know,” Ursa said. “I made the purple jewel in her nose too big.”
“Art is supposed to represent how you see the world, not exactly copy it.”
“I wish I could exactly copy Tabby.” “Why?”
“So I could always have her with me.”
“I know the feeling. She’s the most free-spirited person I’ve ever met. Even when I was really sick, she could make me laugh.”
“It’s done.” Ursa handed Jo the drawing over the seat.
Jo glanced at it as she drove. “This is good! It looks like her.”
“Tabby is my third miracle.”
“Really? Tabby ranks up there with baby birds and kittens?”
“She’s kind of like a baby. She didn’t know she was supposed to grow up, and that makes her more fun than other grown-up people.”
“Good assessment.”
Ursa looked at the approaching exit ramp. “Why are you slowing down?”
“To get gas.”
She looked around in all directions. “Wait . . . where is this?”
“A city called Effingham. I usually stop here. There’s a station that has cheap gas.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
“I’m out of gas. I have to.”
“Can’t you go somewhere else?”
“Why?”
“I don’t like this place.”
Jo looked in the rearview mirror. “Have you been here before?”
She didn’t answer.
“Have you?” Jo said.
“I said I don’t like it because it’s ugly.”
“Maybe it is, but we’ll only be here for ten minutes. You’d better use the bathroom. They have a clean one here.”