Read Online Dora: A Headcase by Lidia Yuknavitch - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lidia Yuknavitch
Tags: Fiction, Coming of Age
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Maria’s mother swimming us to the door and Ave Maria shooting her high notes, I turn to face
the eaters in Eden one last time, high kick the air for effect, and yell KAPOW.
9.
IN MARLENE’S KITCHEN I TAKE THE ZOOM H4N OUT OF my Dora purse and stand there sort of bouncing from foot to foot like a tard kid. I’m excited. You know, excited like kids are when they wake up and see snow. The H4n – it’s black and sleek. It’s got a shock-resistant rubberized body. About the size of a spy rat. If rats were spy cyborgs. There’s a bitchin’ LCD display and the two mics are on the top – one points left and the other right – towards each other – two little silver cocks.
Marlene’s got an indigo silk kimono on and a blonde braid helmet – like Heidi. I mean if Heidi was a black tranny. Marlene showed me the Shirley Temple “Heidi.” It’s awesome. Orphan Heidi is left at her grandfather’s mountain cabin by her mean aunt Dete. The old man is a grump. Slowly, he grows to love Heidi. Evil Dete returns and farms Heidi out as a companion for Klara, a rad wheelchair girl. The housekeeper, Frau Rottenmeier – yeah, I know – fucking hates Heidi. When Heidi teaches Klara to walk again, Frau Rottenmeier tries to sell Heidi to gypsies. But her grandfather sacks up, sells all his shit, and finds her.
Heidi should have gone with the gypsies.
I don’t have braids. Or hair. I’m still bald … more than a chemo head though. I rub my head for luck. “You ready to hear it?” I go, holding my finger over the playback button.
“Yes Lamskotelet,” Marlene goes, but then she says “wait!” and she runs around the kitchen gathering two fluted glasses and some red shit in a bottle from the fridge.
“Um, what’s that?” I say, pointing to the cough syrup looking stuff.
“Kirsch! We are celebrating your capture!”
Kirsch, it turns out, is German for cherry water. Distilled from black morello cherries and their pits. You’d think it would taste sweet, but it doesn’t. It tastes like almonds and pepper. We toast. She pours again. We toast again. She pours again. My head’s kinda hot and my cheeks flush. She laughs the Marlene laugh. I laugh a laugh I’ve never heard come out of me before.
Whoever we are right then, I suddenly wish it wouldn’t end. I grin so big I feel air all through my teeth. I push playback. The first voice is the ferret guy’s from the restaurant.
The H4n goes, “ What are you drinking, you wily bastard? Scotch? Lemme get you a scotch. Sigmund, I gotta tell you, you’re gonna want a stiffie when you hear what I’ve got. It’s hot, baby, I’m telling you it’s hot.”
“Am I to infer that the publisher has purchased my collection of case studies?”
Sound of an old man’s hands rubbing briskly together.
I hit pause. I’m nervous. Who knows why. I take a deep breath. I look across the kitchen table at Marlene. She smiles. I finish off my cough syrup. I can feel it sticky on my upper lip. I hit play again.
“Think bigger, Sigmund.”
Sound of ice spinning maniacally in a glass.
“I told you, I’ve found the ultimate case study. This is the one that will prove to be the pièce de résistance – this exquisite plum,” the recorder says.
I jam my finger on the pause button of the H4n. It scoots across the table. “Plum? Which one of us is his plum?”
I sit staring at the H4n on Marlene’s table. Marlene wears an expression of concern. I stand up. I sit down. “Gimme another shot of that cherry shit. I think I’m going to need it.” She pours. Rain beats on the kitchen window. My head itches. My cheeks suddenly feel like fucking burning plums.
I hit playback. Siggy’s voice sounds tight and screechy.
“What ‘bigger picture?’ Is it the publisher? Jackasses. The prestige I have brought to them over the years!”
Sound of old man fist hitting table.
“Sigmund. Sig. My friend. Settle down. Will ya? It’s not even about the book anymore. Books are dead, Sig,
the eaters in Eden one last time, high kick the air for effect, and yell KAPOW.
9.
IN MARLENE’S KITCHEN I TAKE THE ZOOM H4N OUT OF my Dora purse and stand there sort of bouncing from foot to foot like a tard kid. I’m excited. You know, excited like kids are when they wake up and see snow. The H4n – it’s black and sleek. It’s got a shock-resistant rubberized body. About the size of a spy rat. If rats were spy cyborgs. There’s a bitchin’ LCD display and the two mics are on the top – one points left and the other right – towards each other – two little silver cocks.
Marlene’s got an indigo silk kimono on and a blonde braid helmet – like Heidi. I mean if Heidi was a black tranny. Marlene showed me the Shirley Temple “Heidi.” It’s awesome. Orphan Heidi is left at her grandfather’s mountain cabin by her mean aunt Dete. The old man is a grump. Slowly, he grows to love Heidi. Evil Dete returns and farms Heidi out as a companion for Klara, a rad wheelchair girl. The housekeeper, Frau Rottenmeier – yeah, I know – fucking hates Heidi. When Heidi teaches Klara to walk again, Frau Rottenmeier tries to sell Heidi to gypsies. But her grandfather sacks up, sells all his shit, and finds her.
Heidi should have gone with the gypsies.
I don’t have braids. Or hair. I’m still bald … more than a chemo head though. I rub my head for luck. “You ready to hear it?” I go, holding my finger over the playback button.
“Yes Lamskotelet,” Marlene goes, but then she says “wait!” and she runs around the kitchen gathering two fluted glasses and some red shit in a bottle from the fridge.
“Um, what’s that?” I say, pointing to the cough syrup looking stuff.
“Kirsch! We are celebrating your capture!”
Kirsch, it turns out, is German for cherry water. Distilled from black morello cherries and their pits. You’d think it would taste sweet, but it doesn’t. It tastes like almonds and pepper. We toast. She pours again. We toast again. She pours again. My head’s kinda hot and my cheeks flush. She laughs the Marlene laugh. I laugh a laugh I’ve never heard come out of me before.
Whoever we are right then, I suddenly wish it wouldn’t end. I grin so big I feel air all through my teeth. I push playback. The first voice is the ferret guy’s from the restaurant.
The H4n goes, “ What are you drinking, you wily bastard? Scotch? Lemme get you a scotch. Sigmund, I gotta tell you, you’re gonna want a stiffie when you hear what I’ve got. It’s hot, baby, I’m telling you it’s hot.”
“Am I to infer that the publisher has purchased my collection of case studies?”
Sound of an old man’s hands rubbing briskly together.
I hit pause. I’m nervous. Who knows why. I take a deep breath. I look across the kitchen table at Marlene. She smiles. I finish off my cough syrup. I can feel it sticky on my upper lip. I hit play again.
“Think bigger, Sigmund.”
Sound of ice spinning maniacally in a glass.
“I told you, I’ve found the ultimate case study. This is the one that will prove to be the pièce de résistance – this exquisite plum,” the recorder says.
I jam my finger on the pause button of the H4n. It scoots across the table. “Plum? Which one of us is his plum?”
I sit staring at the H4n on Marlene’s table. Marlene wears an expression of concern. I stand up. I sit down. “Gimme another shot of that cherry shit. I think I’m going to need it.” She pours. Rain beats on the kitchen window. My head itches. My cheeks suddenly feel like fucking burning plums.
I hit playback. Siggy’s voice sounds tight and screechy.
“What ‘bigger picture?’ Is it the publisher? Jackasses. The prestige I have brought to them over the years!”
Sound of old man fist hitting table.
“Sigmund. Sig. My friend. Settle down. Will ya? It’s not even about the book anymore. Books are dead, Sig,
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