Inconstant Moon - Default Font Edition (3 page)

Liz watches them. Irritated.

“What?” she says. Amelia and Maggie just laugh harder.

“What!?” Liz says again in frustration.

Amelia is laughing, hugging herself trying to draw breath. Maggie brushes the tears of laughter away and says “Don Quicks-Oat,” then doubles over again.

Liz purses her lips, folds her arms and sits back, watching. Any trace of her normally sunny disposition is gone.

She waits.

Finally they start calming down, getting under control.

Maggie grins at Liz and says, “Lizzie, you have just provided the laugh of the day.” Catching a glimpse of her raccoon eyes in the makeup mirror Maggie says, “Shit, I'm gonna have to start over.”

Liz narrows her eyes. “Wanna let me in on the joke, Mary Margaret?” Venomous.

Maggie scowls. “There's no call to get mean.”

Liz can't believe it. The urge to slap Maggie is strong.

“Slow down,” says Amelia, realizing Liz is not a happy camper. “It's funny. Truly. The name is Spanish. The book is Spanish. You pronounce it 'Don Key-Ho-Tay'.”

Liz rolls her eyes, getting it. “You mean the crazy old man and Sancho Panza?
Man of La Mancha
.”

Nodding, Amelia says “That's the one, yeah. I know, I know, you've just never seen it written down. Part of what made it so funny is I remember the first time I saw it written. You're not the first one to sound it out English style.”

“Okay,” says Liz, “but tell me this. You're an English major. Why study
Don Quixote
if it's Spanish?”

“It's thought to be the first novel, and we're studying the novel form. Before this there were only epic poems and theatre.”

“Oh.”

“The musical is great, but the novel is the story Cervantes tells in the jail during the play.” Waving the thick book she grins. “There's an awful lot more of it for one thing. The musical is about Cervantes being arrested for writing his seditious book
Don Quixote
during the Spanish Inquisition.”

Maggie pipes up in perfect mimicry of the
Monty Python
faux Spanish accent, “No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!” and the three girls crack up. Together this time.

When they're quite done, Liz stirs her coffee and takes a sip. “My mom took me to see that show on Broadway when I was in high school. It was so great.”

“That sounds awesome. Wanna trade moms?” asks Maggie. “Mine would never do anything like that.”

Smiling, Liz thinks maybe Maggie isn't so bad.

“It was just us girls. It was fun taking the train to New York and then staying in a hotel. My Dad wouldn't go to a musical to save his life, so he stayed home with the boys. And it was great, but I was bawling my eyes out by the end, though.”

“Wow,” Amelia smiles, “I'd love to see it done live.”

“The music was beautiful but it rocked visually, too. The set was amazing, I mean it was a dungeon and all but it was like. . . um . . . grotty, but artistic. And the lighting was amazing.”

“Broadway.” Amelia says almost reverently. “That is so cool. The closest I've come is the Peter O'Toole movie.”

Maggie asks, “Peter O'Toole?”

“He's an old movie star my Mom likes,” says Liz. “He played Orlando's dad in that movie Troy.”

Maggie nods, “Okay, yeah.”

Amelia says, “He was good as Quixote but you could tell his singing was dubbed. You know, the play is as fictional as the novel, but I think the musical was a way to make points about the importance of free speech.”

Maggie asks, “Isn't free speech always important?”

Amelia says, “I think so, yeah, but more so when it's in danger of being taken away. The original play was a TV broadcast during the McCarthy witch hunt in the 1950's. The play showed how nasty the Spanish Inquisition was, so they could imply that the McCarthy 'Un-American'crap was just as bad.”

“Kinda like that Wikileaks business now,” says Liz.

“Oh yeah, lots of similarities, out of touch government, erosion of civil liberties, like that. The irony is that there's no evidence Cervantes was ever jailed.”

“It's still a good story,” adds Maggie.

“Absolutely.” Liz smiles, mostly restored to good humour, until she looks at her coffee and grimaces.“You know, I swear I bought a litre of milk yesterday and now there isn't any.”

“Oh, that's right,” Maggie nods, “Mouse got a care package from her mom with weird sugar cube things called Annie's blocks.”

“Anise? I've seen that in the produce section but don't know what it's for.”

Maggie says, “Yeah, that one. Annie's blocks are licorice sugar cubes you dissolve in warm milk.”

Liz says, “Well, I like licorice. But putting it in milk?”

“I can't stand the stuff, and that's what it smelt like. But you know Mouse. Everybody had to try it and that was pretty much it for your milk.”

Liz rolls her eyes, thinking about a year of powdered cream. Maybe she'll get used to it.

“Guess you don't like ouzo either,” says Amelia.

Maggie shudders. “No way. Disgusting stuff.”

Liz grimaces as she finishes her coffee. “Now I know why people buy those over priced mini fridges for their rooms.”

“If you decide to get one,” says Amelia, “you might want to make sure to get one that comes with a lock.”

Liz stares at her in surprise. “What, I can't even trust my own roomie?”

Amelia laughs. “Yeah, you can trust me. But we're neither of us very good about keeping the room locked. There wouldn't be any point in having a private fridge without a lock.”

“Nobody swipes my knickers, just my food.”

Amelia laughs. “Probably because you're the only one who goes shopping on a regular basis. You've gotta realize that most of us are used to having magically filled fridges.”

“When you live alone you darned well learn there aren't house elves filling your cupboards at night. It's annoying when stuff gets swiped, not to mention hell on my budget,” says Liz.

“So,” says Maggie, pretending nonchalance as she peers over the top of her glasses at Liz. “What's this star gazing deal? I haven't heard about any stars being in town since they shot that Justin Bieber video last month.”

Amelia's eyes widen. “Justin Bieber, you've gotta be kidding right? That boy looks like he's twelve years old.”

“Yeah, but what can I say, I like his music. So sue me.”

“Wrong kind of stars,” explains Liz, pleased to know something Maggie doesn't for once. “You know, ones in the sky. The Seven Sisters, Betelgeuse, Mars, the Big Dipper. Like that.”

Maggie looks aghast. “Its one thing to lay out under the stars in summer but at this time of year? Baby it's cold outside.”

“Maybe that's why God invented winter coats.”

“Meow,” says Maggie swiping her talons through the air.

“What was it like?” asks Amelia.

“Pretty cool actually.” Liz raises her eyebrows in Maggie's direction, “although not in a temperature kind of way. Jake's friend built his own telescope.”

Amelia says, “Mars is a planet, not a star, though.”

“Wait a minute, Jake?” Maggie turns to Liz. “You mean that little guy could pass for Justin Bieber's younger brother? The one looks all of 14?”

“Yeah, Jake. He may look young but he's an amazing photographer. Ferociously smart too.”

Maggie says, “You're not . . . I mean . . .” rarely at a loss, Maggie stumbles, and Liz suddenly understands the question.

“No, we're not dating if that's what you're getting at. We're friends. If its any of your business, it wasn't just me and Jake. There were other shutter bugs too, like Natasha and Boris.”

“Mmmm. Boris is pretty hot,” says Amelia.

“Way too many muscles for me.” says Maggie. “But I'd walk softly there 'cause Boris and Natasha are joined at the hip.”

“I took some pretty cool shots of Mars through that telescope. They actually came out better than I thought. Not as good as NASA shots, but still, how cool is getting to take my own picture of Mars. Jake's friend Larry thinks the visibility is better this time of year. You should see his telescope, it's huge. Almost as tall as I am. Larry told me the mirror alone cost hundreds of dollars.”

Maggie says, “Sounds like a mirror for Barbie.”

“Barbie? Like the doll?” asks Liz.

“No, like the pre-med student.”

“Barbie? There can't possibly be a real live girl who actually goes by the name ‘Barbie’? Not in med school? No way.”

“Way.” Maggie nods. “In pre-med. Can you believe it? She's even blonde. Boobs out to here, perfect skin, teeth, big blue eyes. Kate saw her file. It's not a nick-name, it's her honest-to-god name. I ask you, what kind of parents would name their kid after a doll?”

“Luckily, not mine,” says Liz, “Never saw the point in those dolls myself.”

“Yeah, talk about weird shaped.” Amelia nods, “I mean forget the physics of how wide her bra straps would have to be just to hold those babies up. Have you looked at those feet? The damage to those poor little doll feet is as bad as that Chinese foot binding thing. Barbie doll feet look like they are in major pain. Can you imaging having to walk on tiptoes
forever
?”

“Physics?” asks Liz. “What do you know about physics?”

Amelia nods. “I was a Physics major last year. Just I lost my way in the math, so I kinda flunked out. Only other choice was English.”

“That's a big jump.” says Maggie.

“Not really. The plan was always to be a science fiction writer,” Amelia tells them. “You know, maybe Barbie's mom is one of those crazed Barbie doll collectors you hear about.”

“But a blonde,” Liz snorts, “named Barbie. I mean, what kind of place IS this. I'd have shopped around for another school if I'd known what kind of students came here.”

Amelia says, “You can't hardly hold it against her, Maggie. Her parents named her, and if she's pre-med, she must be smart.”

Liz shudders. “I dunno, if my folks saddled me with a name like Barbie I'd have legally changed that sucker by now.”

“Yeah really. Me too. Or at the very least told everybody my name was something like ‘Moonbeam’or ‘Peaches.’ You know something with a bit more credibility.”

Liz snickers. She especially likes ‘Moonbeam.’

“There's a reasonable probability Barbie may not actually be pre-med smart,” says Maggie. “Nick thinks Barbie is in med school to shop for an MD, not become one.”

“You mean marry a doctor?” asks Liz. “For real?”

“God. I thought we stopped doing that generations ago,” grumbles Amelia. “Don't you need good grades for pre-med?”

Maggie says, “Not as good as you need to get into the U of G Veterinary College but still . . .”

“You need better marks to be a vet than a people doctor?”

“Absolutely. The smart ones become vets.” says Maggie.

“Bet you wouldn't say that if Kate was here.” says Amelia.

“Of course I wouldn't.” Maggie rolls her eyes. “I want to live, don't I? Doesn't mean it isn't true though.”

Amelia says, “You have to be plenty smart and dedicated either way. More people want to be vets. After all, your patients are guinea pigs, bunny rabbits and puppy dogs. They don't talk back.  I bet malpractice premiums are lower for vets too.”

“I don't know about that. You should have seen all the blood the first time I tried to give our cat a bath,” says Liz.

Amelia grins. “Well, cats . . .”

“I miss my cat.”

Maggie says, “I wouldn't mind having a cat around, Lizzie.”

Liz rounds on Maggie and says, “For the last time, my name is not ‘Lizzie', Mary Margaret.”

Maggie narrows her eyes. “Fine. Be that way. Liz it is.”

Liz nods. “While we're clearing the air, what I do and where I go is my business, so I'd appreciate it if you would stop giving me the third degree all the time.”

“Third degree? That's called ‘making conversation.’ Sometimes I get worried when people aren't in when they ought to be. Last night I was up way late and you still weren't back. Then I thought maybe you had a hot date. So shoot me, I was just asking. You don't have to get your knickers in a twist.”

“I don't meddle in your love life, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't stick your nose in mine.”

“I wasn't meddling, girl, I was just hoping.”

Liz scoops up her cup, and stomps off to the kitchen, and Amelia shoots Maggie a look.

“What?” Maggie asks, defensive. “She's mad at me for worrying about her?”

Amelia shakes her head, glancing pointedly at the clock. “Don't you have a computer to fix, or a class or something?”

The leaves crunch satisfyingly under foot, filling the air with the tang of autumn. The rich golds and reds seem to glow as they strike a satisfying contrast with the deep forest greens. The scents of trees, leaves, and mossy forest floor mingle with the last lingering sweetness of wildflowers.

Liz breathes a little easier, walking through the quiet forest, kicking at a drift of leaves makes her smile even as the tension slowly melts away.

Unslinging the oblong case from her shoulder, she unzips it, then slides out the tripod, setting it up efficiently in the small clearing alongside the creek. Liz has been doing this for years, which is why the necessity of getting a degree galls her. Dad gave her her first camera before she even started school. When the pictures came back everyone laughed at how her perspective was so different, but being under three feet tall gave her a different world view and it showed. It made her realize, too, that people see the world differently. It was empowering to photograph her world. Addictive, too.

It wasn't long before her photographs started showing signs of technical mastery. The yellow plastic kiddie camera with the cute little gorilla face didn't have any manual settings. She learned how to position herself just the right distance from the subject. She had to figure out light by trial and error. They gave her a real single-lens reflex camera for her seventh birthday. The grown up camera was amazing, but it was awkward and heavy for her small hands. She emptied her bank account to buy a light but flexible tripod because she couldn't wait until her eighth birthday. From then on her allowance always went on film and developing. She couldn't get enough.

The folks wouldn't allow her to set up a darkroom at home because they worried the chemicals would be too dangerous to have in the house with the boys. They said. Liz thinks the real reason is Mom wanted her to take dance lessons, be more of a girlie girl. But in high school she started a camera club and it didn't take much to get a darkroom up and running. Enlargers, developer trays, timers and other darkroom gear was cheap because so many people were going digital. Suddenly the popular girls wanted to be friends — because they wanted her to photograph them for the paper or school yearbook.