Read Online Mitochondrial Curiosities of Marcels 1 to 19 by Jocelyn Brown - Free Book Online Page A

recreation wing Grandma Giles talkedabout. My cold sores, now a colony, are killing me. Maybe pain equals Yes, you’re on the right track.
    I almost run into myself. Who puts a mirror at the back of a display case? There we are, me gasping at the abominality of my bottom lip, the pigs smiling. Pine-cone pigs with pom-pom ears, each on a velvet square. ‘My dad would have loved these,’ I say to a guy in a wheelchair who comes round the corner. He says he made two of them with minimal supervision. He shows me which ones.
    â€˜Go, go!’ the man shouts all of a sudden. ‘They’ve been waiting all day.’ I’m around a corner when he’s still mid-sentence, passing a sign that says Tim Letorneau Centre for the Arts. Instead I see god. Really. The Divine Source of Wealth. Everything I had thought of plus more, on different shelving maybe, but don’t be attached to the visuals, says Jojo Bunting, the essence is what matters. And the essence of god, my god, is before me. We’re talking fabric, felt, handmade paper, raffia, wicker, on floor-to-ceiling shelves. An entire cupboard of thread racks. Spools of ribbon, some of them unravelled in joy, bags of stuffing, boxes and boxes I can’t see into, ceramic ornaments. Two Bernina sewing machines. A big sink in the corner. A pottery wheel. Good paints. Bookbinding clamps? Be still my heart.
    I rotate back round to the table at the back where four people are working on crafts. Leather and basket and beading supplies are spread out in front of them. Oh, the wonder of it all.
    Two of them look at me.
    â€˜Holy smokes,’ I say.
    â€˜Well, do come in and join us,’ says Louise, her nametag about the size of a paperback. ‘Everyone is welcome here.’ She notices my necklace, and yes, I tell her, I made it, those metal rings were washers from a hardware store, only fifteen cents each. I tell her my name and meet Bernie who is wallet-lacing and Roxannewho is beading. How totally cliché to think this way not to mention wrong, but they look completely normal, especially compared to the fourth person. Mrs. Brandt has a twitchy, frizzy thing going on, plus flat, staring eyes that make me imagine body parts in a freezer. She stares even harder when I say hello.
    I put Marcel on the table and tell Louise I’m experimenting with sock creatures, can I make some eyes with Fimo? She says, oh please, they have no idea what to make with it, and just look at this creature. ‘Isn’t he marvellous. Ah, look how you made the hat. Ah!’
    I break off hunks from the blue, yellow and silver blocks and start rolling snakes. Except for Mrs. Brandt, the others talk about the hospital’s spring fair, which, actually, I know about since Grandma Giles always took Paige and me when we were little. So I joined in re: the horseshoe game being too far away and potentially dangerous when people have lousy aim.
    I take a break to pull Fimo residue off my fingernails. Mrs. Brandt’s voice is raspy, like she dragged it over broken glass. ‘Rowena Giles and her fancy piano fingers,’ she says.
    â€˜Oh, Rowena Giles is my grandmother,’ I say, all Miss Wholesome. ‘Do you know her?’
    â€˜How are you doing with your basket, Mrs. Brandt?’ Louise says. Basket? It’s a bashed-together nest of broken sticks for very angry birds.
    â€˜Rowena Giles, fancy fancy Rowena Giles in 54E’
    â€˜Grandma works just down the hall, actually.’
    â€˜Okay, Mrs. Brandt, I’m calling your orderly,’ Louise says. ‘That’s enough for today.’ While she’s at the phone, Mrs. Brandt leans over to me and whispers ‘54 E 54 E fancy fancy 54 E ’
    â€˜Oh knock it off,’ Bernie says.
    â€˜54 E ’ I ask. ‘Where is that?’ Louise comes back to nudge Mrs. Brandt out of her chair. ‘What’s 54 E ’

    â€˜Old hospital,’ says Bernie. ‘Second floor