Read Online Queen of the Oddballs by Hillary Carlip - Free Book Online
Authors: Hillary Carlip
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time we reach Carole’s new street, I’m panting heavily.
Note: Rethink my diet of Sappho cookies, potato chips, and Dr Pepper!
“Now all we have to do,” I say, gasping for breath, “is go up and down the street and look for 545 APC or 812 BRD.” And we’re off….
DAY #29–DAY #40
Monday, July 19–Friday, July 30
We spend the next week and a half trudging up the canyon to Appian Way, looking for Carole and Charlie’s cars. When we don’t see them, I come up with Plan B to keep Greg interested. We begin to visit random houses, knocking on doors with fake excuses. “Sorry to bother you, but we’re lost. Can you explain how to get back down to Wonderland?” “We’re waiting for our friends, who aren’t home yet, and we really have to use a bathroom. Would you mind?” “My mom ran out of gas. Could we use your phone?” Everyone is kind, and when they welcome us in, one of us goes into the bathroom or writes down directions or pretends to use the phone while the other looks around, searching for clues—a piano, family portraits, or a room that matches the pictures we’ve seen of Carole’s house. But, CRAP, we find nothing.
Between the hour-long hike up the steep hills and the door-to-door scheming, by the end of the day we’re exhausted. At the top of Appian Way we find a rest stop, a lookout point blanketed with orange trumpet flowers and stinky (good stinky) sage. There’s a tree that has low branches for us to sit on and a killer view of the city. The stillness is so unfamiliar and, well, kinda unsettling. At home there’s always noise: Howard banging on his drums; Mom and Dad’s blaring television, which they fall asleep to every night; my records constantly playing.
One afternoon I clear my throat and say softly, “Sorry.”
“For what?” Greg asks.
“For dragging you up here and ruining your summer vacation. It was a crazy idea.”
“Well, yeah….”
“Allright. Let’s go. We’re done.” I take Greg’s hand and pull him up from the ground. We’re brushing the sage off our pants when we hear a voice. I SWEAR. Right when we’re about to call it quits again. It’s so spooky how that keeps happening! The voice is unmistakable. No one else in the whole wide world has that voice, which the Los Angeles Times called “raspy, tender-tough, rawly whining-pleading, pulsing: delightfully unpolished. Real.”
IT’S CAROLE.
Saying good-bye to some friends at her door.
In the house……DIRECTLY ACROSS THE STREET FROM US!!!!!
Oh. My. GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We hear her front door close, and I grab Greg. “Come on.”
Her friends—two men and a lady—are dressed all in white. As they climb into a tan VW van, I call out, “Hey,” trying to sound as cool as possible. “Can we hitch a ride down the hill with you?”
“Sure,” the taller of the two guys says.
We hop into the backseat with the lady. On the dashboard are several pictures of an old, mystical-looking Indian man with a gray beard. Greg and I listen closely to Carole’s friends.
“She’s just so nice,” the driver says. (We knew that.)
“It’s not often you meet someone like that in yoga class,” the taller man adds. (Yoga?!) “And it’s really cool that she agreed to give some of the proceeds of her concerts to Swami Satchidananda’s work.” (Swami? Naturally.)
“She’s very special,” the lady coos. (DUH!!!!!!)
The van pulls into the Country Store parking lot and drops us off. We jump out, shouting, “Thanks for the ride.”
Greg and I are dizzy with excitement. As we wait for my mom, we clink our Dr Pepper cans together and toast our achievement.
DAY #43–DAY #47
Monday, August 2–Friday, August 6
For the last five days Greg and I have watched the house from our lookout point while we decide exactly what to do now that we’ve found Carole. And here at last, this morning we finally have an actual sighting!!! We hide behind the tree as Carole pulls her car—545
Note: Rethink my diet of Sappho cookies, potato chips, and Dr Pepper!
“Now all we have to do,” I say, gasping for breath, “is go up and down the street and look for 545 APC or 812 BRD.” And we’re off….
DAY #29–DAY #40
Monday, July 19–Friday, July 30
We spend the next week and a half trudging up the canyon to Appian Way, looking for Carole and Charlie’s cars. When we don’t see them, I come up with Plan B to keep Greg interested. We begin to visit random houses, knocking on doors with fake excuses. “Sorry to bother you, but we’re lost. Can you explain how to get back down to Wonderland?” “We’re waiting for our friends, who aren’t home yet, and we really have to use a bathroom. Would you mind?” “My mom ran out of gas. Could we use your phone?” Everyone is kind, and when they welcome us in, one of us goes into the bathroom or writes down directions or pretends to use the phone while the other looks around, searching for clues—a piano, family portraits, or a room that matches the pictures we’ve seen of Carole’s house. But, CRAP, we find nothing.
Between the hour-long hike up the steep hills and the door-to-door scheming, by the end of the day we’re exhausted. At the top of Appian Way we find a rest stop, a lookout point blanketed with orange trumpet flowers and stinky (good stinky) sage. There’s a tree that has low branches for us to sit on and a killer view of the city. The stillness is so unfamiliar and, well, kinda unsettling. At home there’s always noise: Howard banging on his drums; Mom and Dad’s blaring television, which they fall asleep to every night; my records constantly playing.
One afternoon I clear my throat and say softly, “Sorry.”
“For what?” Greg asks.
“For dragging you up here and ruining your summer vacation. It was a crazy idea.”
“Well, yeah….”
“Allright. Let’s go. We’re done.” I take Greg’s hand and pull him up from the ground. We’re brushing the sage off our pants when we hear a voice. I SWEAR. Right when we’re about to call it quits again. It’s so spooky how that keeps happening! The voice is unmistakable. No one else in the whole wide world has that voice, which the Los Angeles Times called “raspy, tender-tough, rawly whining-pleading, pulsing: delightfully unpolished. Real.”
IT’S CAROLE.
Saying good-bye to some friends at her door.
In the house……DIRECTLY ACROSS THE STREET FROM US!!!!!
Oh. My. GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We hear her front door close, and I grab Greg. “Come on.”
Her friends—two men and a lady—are dressed all in white. As they climb into a tan VW van, I call out, “Hey,” trying to sound as cool as possible. “Can we hitch a ride down the hill with you?”
“Sure,” the taller of the two guys says.
We hop into the backseat with the lady. On the dashboard are several pictures of an old, mystical-looking Indian man with a gray beard. Greg and I listen closely to Carole’s friends.
“She’s just so nice,” the driver says. (We knew that.)
“It’s not often you meet someone like that in yoga class,” the taller man adds. (Yoga?!) “And it’s really cool that she agreed to give some of the proceeds of her concerts to Swami Satchidananda’s work.” (Swami? Naturally.)
“She’s very special,” the lady coos. (DUH!!!!!!)
The van pulls into the Country Store parking lot and drops us off. We jump out, shouting, “Thanks for the ride.”
Greg and I are dizzy with excitement. As we wait for my mom, we clink our Dr Pepper cans together and toast our achievement.
DAY #43–DAY #47
Monday, August 2–Friday, August 6
For the last five days Greg and I have watched the house from our lookout point while we decide exactly what to do now that we’ve found Carole. And here at last, this morning we finally have an actual sighting!!! We hide behind the tree as Carole pulls her car—545
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