My Diary from the Edge of the World (14 page)

*  *  *

A note on giants from fifth-grade social studies: The first giant was confirmed to exist by a gold dynamiter in California in 1853, who captured it with one of the early cameras. (People had been spotting them for hundreds of years, but there'd never been any proof until then.) They live mostly in the west, and aren't particularly fond of regular-size people, though occasionally they come to
towns and cities looking for work (usually in construction, for obvious reasons). Several giants have gotten rich by owning the rights to some gold mines in California and Nevada, and the really rich ones live in gigantic and remote mansions they've built for themselves.

*  *  *

As you can imagine, we were surprised to see a giant running a circus in Arizona.

“Excuse me, sir?” Mom said. “Big Tex?”

The giant glared at us, frowning. Blond scraggly hair fell to either side of its ears, though it was bald on top. Its lips were like two big pink rafts. Its breath smelled like the rest of the circus.

“Or, um, I mean,” Mom fumbled, “miss? We have a . . . sasquatch . . . we'd like to sell.”

Suddenly there was a shuffling noise behind us, and loud, hearty laughter.

“I'm over here.”

A man emerged through a slit in the tent walls, smiling as he approached us. He had a brown beard and a red-and-white vest stained with dirt. “I'm Big Tex. This is just one of my exhibits. Did she scare you?”

We all nodded. We hadn't noticed until then that the giant was chained to a post in the ground.

“We have a sasquatch to sell. . . .” My mom faltered. “We saw you were closed but . . .”

Big Tex looked as if he were sizing us up, his big friendly smile not reaching his eyes. “We travel a fair amount. But this is our home base. We're just making some repairs at the moment.” He glanced over at his collection of sasquatches—still staring out of their cages at us. “Well, I'm pretty full up, but let's see him.”

We all walked outside into the sun and to the trailer. Big Tex peered in at Daisy, then pulled back and squinted at us, still wearing the same broad, fake smile.

“I don't really need another sasquatch, and I can't pay much. But it looks like he's in good condition. People like to be a little frightened, and so many of mine have lost their spark. I'll take him off your hands for, say . . . two hundred dollars.”

Millie let out a small whimper of delight. And I have to admit, the idea of two hundred dollars sounded like enough money to save us from having to sell our hair (since we're not allowed to touch Grandma's money), which excited me more than I would have thought. But it also made me feel a little sick, like someone had dropped pebbles down my throat. I was consciously avoiding glancing at Oliver, but suddenly he spoke and we all turned to look at him.

“It's a she,” he said. He was clutching his fists together and staring at his feet.

Big Tex shrugged carelessly. “Makes no difference to me. People will pay to see either.”

We all stood quietly in awkward silence.

“Make it two twenty-five,” my mom finally said. She was tugging at her ponytail, which she only does when she's agitated.

Big Tex made a slight bow, and he and Mom shook on it. “I'll be right back with cash.”

We watched his figure retreat into the tent. Behind us, as if she knew what was happening—even though that was impossible—Daisy began to whimper.

“She's a dangerous beast,” my dad said to no one in particular. “We can't keep her with us. And we need the money.” But his eyes, behind his glasses, were guilty.

Meanwhile Mom clasped and unclasped her hands, tugging at her turquoise earrings.

“
Big Tex
is the beast,” Oliver said.

“I couldn't have said it better myself,” Mom said.

We all stood looking at each other—or rather, barely looking at each other. The silence stretched around us and changed into something embarrassing.

“Let's go before he comes back,” Dad suddenly said.

“Yes!” Mom gasped in relief.

We must have all been thinking it, because without another word we were all hurrying toward the Trinidad as if our lives depended on it, and Mom threw open the side door for us to pile inside.

Big Tex was just emerging from the tent as Dad climbed into the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition. The Trinidad rattled to life. He slammed on the gas and we launched forward.

*  *  *

I don't know why it felt like such an escape—Big Tex didn't chase us; he just stood there waving a wad of bills in the air behind us. Maybe it was something inside ourselves we were escaping. All I know is that I felt giddy as we picked up speed on the craggy, bumpy road, the circus tent shrinking in the distance behind us. Everyone was beaming in relief, even Millie. And in the passenger seat, Dad let out a triumphant laugh.

“Did you see his face?” Mom said happily.

“Dad,” Millie said, punching Dad on the shoulder and making him wince, “I didn't know you had it in you.” She raised her eyebrows at me, as if to say some things could still surprise her. It was like, for a moment, we were all a team.

Oliver sat on the couch, looking out the window. I knew without a doubt he was thinking of all the animals we'd left behind.

“If I ever make it back this way, I'm setting them all free,” he said.

“But we'll never be here again, Oliver,” I replied. “We're going to the Extraordinary World, and we're never coming back.”

Oliver kept his gaze behind us.

As relieved as I was, I couldn't help thinking of what he'd said about Big Tex. I wondered about the word “beast.” I wondered if sometimes, the way everything looks—who's the beast and who isn't—depends on where you're standing.

*  *  *

Well, now I'm sitting on the fold-out table for a change of perspective, and we're not sure where we are. It seems that, apparently, when Dad pulled triumphantly out of the circus parking lot, he pulled triumphantly onto something that was not really the road.

The land is flat and dry, and tumbleweeds occasionally blow by us when there's a strong wind. Every once in a while it looks like
maybe
we're on the right track—but then the path seems to disappear, and we have to veer to
avoid missing a boulder or a shrub, or we drive right over a little gulch with a thud.

Night is falling, and Mom's insisting Dad will have to stop soon so we can look at the map and figure things out and try again in the morning.

I wonder what we'll do if we end up stranded out here in the desert. I have to disagree with my mom that the west might be better without the railroads. What I wouldn't give for a fast train headed in the right direction.

Daisy, at least, seems to be the only one who's happy. She's been humming “Hotel California” loudly from the trailer all afternoon.

Something happened last night that
was so strange I almost think I imagined it.

Late in the night, probably around two or three, I got up to go to the bathroom. Climbing down from my bunk, I noticed that the side door was slightly open, even though Mom and Dad are always very careful about locking up. I was just leaning forward to pull it shut when I saw a figure outside in the dark about fifty yards away. I could tell by her silhouette that it was Millie.

The moon was shining down on her, her dark hair was glinting in the dim light, and she was shivering in her thin white pajamas. But the thing that shocked me—and sent chills down to the soles of my feet—was that beside her, very close to the ground, was the Cloud.

She seemed to be whispering to it, her arms across her chest like she was nervous. A moment later the Cloud began to drift back up into the sky, slowly, like a feather falling in the wrong direction, and Millie turned back toward the Trinidad.

Something told me that I wasn't supposed to see what I'd just seen, so I quickly backed out of sight, climbed into my bunk, and pulled the sheet curtain closed just as I heard her silently slip in through the door and pull it shut with a soft click.

She stood still for a moment, as if listening for something, and then tiptoed to her own bunk and crawled inside.

For a few minutes I lay with my heart thudding against my ribs, listening to see if she stayed in bed. I was sure I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, but it seemed like the moment I closed my eyes I was out. The next time I opened them it was morning and I could smell that Mom was making coffee at the little kitchenette.

When I poked my head out, Millie was sitting at the table drinking orange juice and talking to Oliver about their favorite movies, as if nothing had happened at all.

I ducked back in here because I wanted to write it down right away, in case the further away I get from it, the more it starts to seem I really dreamed it after all.

It's strange—I've never felt
quiet in my life, but ever since Big Tex's Circus I've started to feel still inside. Mom once said, back in Cliffden, that I've got a “circus soul”—she says I'm full of elephants standing on their back feet, clowns doing flips, girls on high wires, and an extremely loud circus caller. But right now it feels like there's maybe only one pensive clown counting tickets by the front door.

I can't stop thinking about Millie and the Cloud. For one thing, I can't figure out what she was doing, and for another, I'm shocked by her courage in getting so close. I've always been braver than her. For instance, one time we found some poison ivy in the yard and got into an argument about who was the least allergic to it. To prove
that I was barely allergic at all, I rubbed some all over my hands—but Millie looked horrified and stayed as far away from me as possible for the rest of the day. I did end up in misery when the rash spread all over my palms and between my fingers (apparently I
am
just as allergic as anyone else) but the point is that I was brave and Millie wasn't, and it's like that with everything.

At school when she was younger, boys liked to chase Millie with frogs, and she would always scream and run away (as if there's anything scary about frogs). She flushes toilets with her foot. She's always worried that something she owns is out of style, and keeps an eye on other girls in her class to make sure she's got her clothes and her hair just right. Mom says I was “born with an inner compass” while Millie will have to “work a little harder to find hers.” She says instead of tormenting Millie, I should try to be compassionate. As if Millie's ever been compassionate toward
me
.

Anyway, I guess that's all just a long way of saying that I can't understand
how
Millie was brave enough to talk to the Cloud, much less why. I'd guess that maybe she was offering to trade her own life for Sam's, but first of all, that wouldn't be very Millie-like, and second, I know that's not how Clouds work. Just like
Grandma said, they pick
one
person, and that's it.

The way I see it, there are three possibilities:

1. She was offering the Cloud her beautiful hair in return for Sam's life, as inspired by
Little Women
.

2. She was trying to use all her charm to talk it into leaving us alone. (I doubt her skills are effective against death, but Millie's just conceited enough to think it could work.)

3. She was trying to trick it and set it off course somehow. Millie can be very wily when she wants to be. She's not half as much of a bubble head as she likes to pretend.

Oliver just interrupted my thoughts. He knocked on the frame of my bunk, and when I opened the curtain, he was smiling at me and looking a little mischievous (which makes me wonder how mischievous he was before I met him and before he got sad).

“I did something I shouldn't have,” he admitted. “Back at the circus.”

“What?”

He slid something into my hand, and I studied it. It was a small bone.

“It's from Big Tex's.
It's a tiny bone from a pterodactyl's left wing. I thought it could be for your good luck wall.”

“You just . . .
took
it?” I asked. He flushed bright red, but held my gaze and nodded.

“I wouldn't have if Big Tex wasn't so horrible.”

I nodded. “I know.” Still, I worry I've been a bad influence on him. Oliver is so good and I . . . well . . . I try to be good. “Thanks, Oliver. I love it.”

I took the bone and taped it to my wall, and now I'm sitting here admiring it and trying to imagine dinosaurs being real. Sixty-five million years ago feels so far away that it seems almost impossible for that time to have existed at all. I've been trying to make the number squeeze into my brain like an accordion, but so far I haven't been able to do it.

Mom has been reading to us from a history book called
Trivia of the Twentieth Century
(which she found on a paperback rack at a gas station miles and miles back), about how there was almost a World War in 1914, but thanks to poltergeists in the factories (like the Mitsubishi factory, for example) nobody could make enough ships. I think she's trying to keep us distracted, because Sam still isn't feeling well and it's got us all a little down today. He's been tucked away in Mom
and Dad's room all day, and Mom has been giving him more of his pills, but when I ask what they are, she changes the subject or says something like, “Just something to help him feel better.”

Sam's like our sunshine—when he's down, the rest of us wilt. It's always been that way, but now with the Cloud always somewhere in sight behind us (today it's drifting low, as if it's tired or thirsty or bored), it's much worse. It doesn't help that we're still lost and that the Trinidad is only barely limping along. All morning we've been picking our way west
ish
, along what might or might not be a road, and there's been no one to ask for directions.