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Authors: Elizabeth Flock
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now that she has the weight issue. Her hair is the one thing she feels good about when it comes to her appearance.
Misty Rae said that it would grow back but—and she made a big deal out of this part, made me write it down even—she said that if Mother used a brush on her hair while it was trying to grow back “it will fall out all over again and she’ll stay bald the rest of her days.” Those were Misty Rae’s exact words. She said we were to use a comb when Mother’s hair was “coming in,” as if it was the ocean tide.
“Go on and get yourself a comb,” she said, “and keep it clean and where you’ll remember it. Your momma will thank you for it later on.”
So just now, when Mom brought up the comb I keep in a Tupperware container, I had to do some fancy footwork to concoct a plausible reason I had it. There is no way on God’s green earth I would tell her about cancer and chemo. She’s got enough to worry about without that pushing its way into her mind.
Misty Rae saying Mother would have cancer was just one of many awful Misty Rae predictions—several of which have proved correct, I’ll have you know. Not that I’m glad that Cricket broke her leg in three places and had to stay immobilized for almost five weeks last summer. Or that I lost my job as a secretary at the law firm of Marlowe & Hayes due to the unforeseen recession. Of course I wasn’t glad Misty Rae was right about all that. It did confirm to me, though, that Misty Rae is a psychic of the highest level so me paying her money I hardly have is justified, because, of the predictions that didn’t come true, I’m certain at least half were prevented because I knew about them in advance. I will say somemade no sense whatsoever. What was all that about a box that gives an electric shock to the person who opens it? I asked Misty Rae if she meant a fuse box or some electrical outlet and she shook her head with her eyes squeezed shut and described what she was picturing: sawdust, a dark room, a box the size that could hold a pair of ladies’ shoes, and a hand slowly reaching to open it and whipping away after the shock.
Then there was a three-legged brown dog kicked by a child’s foot. She was dead certain it was a little girl’s foot, but my girls would no sooner have hurt an animal than they would have driven a railroad tie into their own feet. There were a few more crazy visions like these but they made no sense so I paid them no mind. You can’t be one hundred percent right one hundred percent of the time and Misty Rae’s only human after all.
The past year was bad for many reasons, but the thing I thought was the worst of all has turned into a blessing, if you ask me. Cricket and I had to move back in with my mother, and honest to goodness I think we’ve all needed one another in ways that would have stayed invisible had I not lost my job, my marriage, and all my money. The big surprise of it all is that it turns out Cricket needed the move more than anybody. She needs someone who doesn’t inexplicably break into tears one minute to the next. She needs to be with people who aren’t thinking about her dead sister around the clock. I’ve tried so hard to pull it together for her, but I know she sees it’s a real struggle for me. Hell, just getting out of bed has been a struggle, I won’t lie. Mother is perfect for Cricket right now. She focuses on her the way girls need a grown-up to focus on them. The two of them can roll their eyes at me together, and maybe that makes Cricket feel normal. I tried to tell her people mean well when they become solemn, cock their heads to the side, and ask how she’s really doing, but I myself know that it wears you down, always being associated with sadness in other people’s minds. I see Cricket watching friends greet one anotherin front of school, smiles breaking out (and what’s with the hugging? The girls hug each other in greeting now, as if they hadn’t seen one another in school just
Misty Rae said that it would grow back but—and she made a big deal out of this part, made me write it down even—she said that if Mother used a brush on her hair while it was trying to grow back “it will fall out all over again and she’ll stay bald the rest of her days.” Those were Misty Rae’s exact words. She said we were to use a comb when Mother’s hair was “coming in,” as if it was the ocean tide.
“Go on and get yourself a comb,” she said, “and keep it clean and where you’ll remember it. Your momma will thank you for it later on.”
So just now, when Mom brought up the comb I keep in a Tupperware container, I had to do some fancy footwork to concoct a plausible reason I had it. There is no way on God’s green earth I would tell her about cancer and chemo. She’s got enough to worry about without that pushing its way into her mind.
Misty Rae saying Mother would have cancer was just one of many awful Misty Rae predictions—several of which have proved correct, I’ll have you know. Not that I’m glad that Cricket broke her leg in three places and had to stay immobilized for almost five weeks last summer. Or that I lost my job as a secretary at the law firm of Marlowe & Hayes due to the unforeseen recession. Of course I wasn’t glad Misty Rae was right about all that. It did confirm to me, though, that Misty Rae is a psychic of the highest level so me paying her money I hardly have is justified, because, of the predictions that didn’t come true, I’m certain at least half were prevented because I knew about them in advance. I will say somemade no sense whatsoever. What was all that about a box that gives an electric shock to the person who opens it? I asked Misty Rae if she meant a fuse box or some electrical outlet and she shook her head with her eyes squeezed shut and described what she was picturing: sawdust, a dark room, a box the size that could hold a pair of ladies’ shoes, and a hand slowly reaching to open it and whipping away after the shock.
Then there was a three-legged brown dog kicked by a child’s foot. She was dead certain it was a little girl’s foot, but my girls would no sooner have hurt an animal than they would have driven a railroad tie into their own feet. There were a few more crazy visions like these but they made no sense so I paid them no mind. You can’t be one hundred percent right one hundred percent of the time and Misty Rae’s only human after all.
The past year was bad for many reasons, but the thing I thought was the worst of all has turned into a blessing, if you ask me. Cricket and I had to move back in with my mother, and honest to goodness I think we’ve all needed one another in ways that would have stayed invisible had I not lost my job, my marriage, and all my money. The big surprise of it all is that it turns out Cricket needed the move more than anybody. She needs someone who doesn’t inexplicably break into tears one minute to the next. She needs to be with people who aren’t thinking about her dead sister around the clock. I’ve tried so hard to pull it together for her, but I know she sees it’s a real struggle for me. Hell, just getting out of bed has been a struggle, I won’t lie. Mother is perfect for Cricket right now. She focuses on her the way girls need a grown-up to focus on them. The two of them can roll their eyes at me together, and maybe that makes Cricket feel normal. I tried to tell her people mean well when they become solemn, cock their heads to the side, and ask how she’s really doing, but I myself know that it wears you down, always being associated with sadness in other people’s minds. I see Cricket watching friends greet one anotherin front of school, smiles breaking out (and what’s with the hugging? The girls hug each other in greeting now, as if they hadn’t seen one another in school just
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