Munmun(48)

I mean she’s notwrong, I just wish we could have other conversations, but when you’re talking with someone of a super different scale, scale is all you talk about.

“Warner,” she asked onenight after dinner, “what do you want.”

I was plopped on her sweetsmelling bed playing mathwars on a screen.

“Retrack ofcourse,” I said.

“I mean what’s like your heartsdesire,” she said.

I must have looked confused because she explained, “If you could have anything you wanted, in the whole world, what would that be.”

Obviously the answer was, still have my mom and dad around, mom not catcrippled, dad not stepped on.

Instead of saying that I just airscraped my throat a few times.

“How big would you be,” she forexampled.

I said, “As big as you I guess.”

“And what would you do,” she asked.

“Prettymuch nothing,” I said, didn’t mean to be funny but she thought it was hilarious.

“Ohman that is a hoot,” she giggled.

I glanced around for something to change the subject, in the closet half a guitar peeked at me from behind dresses.

“Bytheway do you ever try to play your dreammusic in Lifeanddeathworld,” I asked her, a classic Change The Subject from me, king of changing the subject.

She ducked her eyes for a second at her hands.

“Uh, not really,” she said, allofasudden she was the muttery one.

“It would be super hard I guess,” I realized, “forstarters you would have to be a thousand people.”

“Well, it’s just, for me, it’s kind of impossible to play anything,” she mumbled.

It was a voice of, I don’t really want to explain this, suddenly I knew we were talking about why Tony called her Poor Kitty.

A couple pangs went through me watching this richgirl sadly chew a lip, immediately I felt like I had to soothe her into not talking or she would start hating me.

So I nodded and also shook my head like a maniac, trying to tell her with my wideeye tightmouth face, it’s super okay, I get it, stoprightthere, howabout we discuss something you like instead.

But she misunderstood my clumsy headbobbling, thought I wanted her to continue.

“So, okay,” she sighed, “I was born a little wrong, pretty early and with a pinched spine, and the doctors had to do a ton of surgeries on me, like when I was a baby. I’m really basically fine now but the easiest way to put it is, my brain is still not a hundredpercent plugged into the rest of my body, maybe closer to ninetyeight. So there are a few things I can’t do as a result, like play instruments or do any sports, I just don’t have coordinated enough motorcontrol.”

“Oh dang,” I said stupidly.

“I mean it’s barely ever an issue really,” she said.

“I guess that last twopercent is your heartsdesire though,” I thought and also blurted like an idiot.

“It’s actually not,” she snapped. “It’s enough for me to get to make music in Dreamworld, honestly that’s probably the reason I’m good at it.”

“Ofcourse ofcourse,” I apologized, “no yeah no obviously, what am I even saying, howabout we never speak of it again.”

She watched me babbling and softened, her lips scrunched and smiled, opened to speak.

“Can I be honest with you about my heartsdesire,” she said.

“Only if you want to,” I urged.

“It’s to be a beloved dictator queen,” she confided.

That got a giggle out of even stiffmouthed me.

“Like of as many people as possible,” she daydreamed. “But chosen by the people, like so rapturously adored that I got elected queen yewnanimousely by the entire planet because every single person loves me so uncontrollably.”

“Gottabehonest, I don’t think you’ve got Daisy’s vote,” I pointed out.

“Gonna have her murdered I guess,” agreed Kitty.

It was nice to joke and riff, happy little moment but over prettyquick, soon I got weird and stiffmouth again, we went back to work.

Meanwhile the guitar kept peeking at me, would it really live there if she didn’t hope for the day she picks it up and strums a song she hears.

“Bytheway it’s not a big deal, but if you could not talk about the brain thing to people I’d appreciate it, maybe not even Prayer if that’s okay,” she asked later, I promised I wouldn’t.

We were a littlebit the same but only in ways you can’t talk about, two kids being wordless about their unfillable wants, pretty squeezyhand giant and lifty orphan pet.

That night before sleep, Prayer confronted me.

“You’re not crushing on Kitty, right,” she wanted to know.

“No,” I lied.

“It just couldn’t possibly work, an interscale romance between you and her, and I should know, I have a little experience in this department,” she said.

“No one’s crushing on anyone,” I said.

“Well, that’s not true, she crushes on you alittle forsure, but it can never work ever, so please don’t screw things up by getting mushy feelings,” she said.

“Wait what do you mean she crushes on me,” I said.

Prayer looked into my eyes and saw a carcrash.