Read Online The Nose from Jupiter by Richard Scrimger - Free Book Online Page A

they were easier to deal with, in a way. They didn’t talk back. They didn’t spill cookie crumbs and forget to make their beds and stay out late and use bad words. They were living, breathing people, but they were awful quiet. And they didn’t take up much room. And whenyou were tired of them, you could fold them up and put them away.
    I finished my milk and cookies in silence, and went up to my room. The rain came down harder. The wind rose, and I saw the cedars across the road swaying back and forth. There were whitecaps on the puddles. Suddenly the night sky was split by a fork of lightning. Thunder boomed close by. I shivered.
    –
Reminds me of home
, said Norbert with a sigh.
    “The rain?”
    –
No, the thunder. On Jupiter it thunders all the time.
    “Tell me more about Jupiter,” I said. “Do you miss it?”
    –
Oh yes.
He was silent for a moment. I wondered what it would be like to be four hundred million miles away from home.
    –
Mostly what I think about are the smells of home. Smells are what you remember best. On Jupiter there are flowers everywhere, and shops selling cheeses. Ahh!”
    I didn’t know how I felt about cheeses. “You know what I’ve always liked?” I said. “I’ve always liked the smell of chlorine. Swimming pools smell like that.”
    –
Oh yes. Chlorine is great. And wood burning in a fireplace. Apple wood is nice.
    Norbert was right. Smells are very strong in your memory. “Is that why you decided to stay in my nose?” I asked. “To be close to the smells?”
    –
I’m here because I fit here. And it’s a great space for me.
Jupiter is a big planet but it’s crowded. Here I don’t usually have to worry about intrusions. Hey!
    I hastily removed my finger. I hadn’t even realized what I was doing. “Sorry.”
    –
What else do you like the smell of?
he asked.
    I had my eyes closed, remembering. “Oranges at Christmas,” I said. “And grass early on a summer morning.”
    –
What about bacon?
    “Yes, bacon’s not bad. Sort of sweet and smoky at the same time.” We hadn’t had bacon for awhile. We used to have it more often when Dad was around. Mom says it makes a big mess and doesn’t give you much nutrition. “Bacon-flavored potato chips are good too.”
    –
Or sour cream and onion. Mmmmm.
    We’ve had this discussion several times. “What about that old book I opened at the library?” I said. “Remember – the big old atlas with the funny pictures in the maps? I liked the spicy dusty smell. It was like the smell of secrets.”
    –
Or the fall fairground. Remember? Straw and candy and grease and lots of people? That was the smell of excitement.
    “Or the first warm day of the year, after months and months of winter. It’s the day you take off your big coat for the first time, and feel the sun on your back. It’s all the growing things peeping through the cold wet earth…it’s like the smell of hope.”
    –
Warm bread fresh from the oven.
    “Bedsheets that have been dried outside on the clothesline.”
    –
Or the smell of your mom, when she bends over to kiss you goodnight. Her hair and maybe her face powder, and the smell of her cheek against yours.
    The smell of love. I nodded without saying anything.
    Norbert liked talking about Jupiter, but it made him homesick. “Why don’t you go home then?” I asked him. He said he would, one day. He was going to regret leaving the space in my nose, he said, but he missed his parents. I talked about my parents too: told him how screwed up they were, how bad I felt that they weren’t together. And that they didn’t really love me. Especially Dad.
    What is it about dads? They’re the ones who leave, so what does it matter if they love you? You never saw them when they lived at home, and you never see them after they go. I don’t know, but it would make all the difference in the world if my dad would say he loves me. Just once. If your folks are separated, you’ll know what I mean.
    Mom is different. She