Born Weird. Andrew Kaufman
you see, that’s a problem,” the doctor said. He gave a small laugh and then he sat down beside her. “That’s not really what we do here. We help sick people get better and you, I guess unfortunately, aren’t exhibiting any symptoms.”
“What sort of things are you looking for?”
“Difficulty breathing? Dizziness? Sustained aches and pains. Loss of consciousness. You know, things like that. We work best with symptoms.”
“Bleeding nose?”
“That would be a start,” he said. He signed the bottom of the page. When he looked back up he saw thin but strengthening lines of blood running from both of Annie’s nostrils. As her eyes rolled back in her head the doctor rushed to catch her.
AT THE EXACT MOMENT THE WHEELS of Angie’s plane touched the runway, Lucy Weird, the second oldest, straddled a stranger on the second floor of the Millennium Library in Winnipeg. She was in the stacks, by the 813s. It was the library’s least frequented area. Lucy’s shirt was buttoned to the top. Her grey wool skirt fanned out in a circle. The library patron lay on the floor, on his back, wearing nothing.
Lucy slid down. She waited for the sound of his voice.
“Forty-nine,” he said. Lucy pushed up. She slid back down. “Forty-eight,” he said.
Lucy took a deep breath. She repeated the cycle. She closed her eyes. Her eyes remained closed as Beth, her least favourite co-worker, pushed a book cart towards the 800s. Beth looked up and took in the scene. Leaving the book cart behind, she scurried away.
Unaware, Lucy continued. “Twenty-six,” the man beneath her said. Lucy focused on keeping a steady, yet building, rhythm. It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps. The footsteps came closer. When the footsteps stopped, so did she. Lucy leaned backwards and put her hand over the young man’s mouth. She kept her eyes closed.
“Amanda?” Lucy asked.
“Yes. It’s me.”
“And who? There’s someone else. Is it Beth?”
“Hello.”
“At least I’ve made someone happy today.”
“Woo mmad meee haappi,” the man underneath Lucy said. She pushed her hand down harder.
“This is very bad, Lucy,” Amanda said.
“Fired bad?”
“Help your friend get dressed and then come to the office.”
“Okay,” Lucy said. She nodded her head. She kept her eyes closed. She listened to the footsteps walk away. When she couldn’t hear them anymore Lucy took her hand off the man’s mouth. She leaned forwards. “Start again,” Lucy whispered.
“What?”
“From the top!” Lucy said.
“Two hundred and eighty-seven,” he said. Lucy pushed up and then she slid back down. “Two hundred and eighty six,” he said.
“One!” the young man said.
Lucy breathed deeply in. For several blissful moments sensation overwhelmed her. She felt that everything was beyond her control. She felt free and limitless, almost lost. Then it all went away. Lucy stood up. She adjusted her clothes. She picked up his shirt and held it by the shoulders as he put his arms through the sleeves.
“I want to see you again,” he said.
“Close your eyes,” Lucy said. He closed his eyes. She bent down and picked up his boxer briefs. “Now open them.”
“Okay?”
“There! You’ve done it. You’ve seen me again!” Lucy said and she handed him his underwear.
Without looking back Lucy walked out of the stacks. She went to the bathroom. Then she went into Amanda’s office, which was small, windowless and cluttered. There was a stack of files on the corner of her desk. It leaned to the left. Lucy looked at the floor. She looked at the far wall. She clasped her hands behind her back. Then she grabbed the pile, turned all of it sideways and tapped it against the desk until every folder was perfectly aligned.
“You need help,” Amanda said.
“I don’t deny it,” Lucy said. She set the pile back on the corner of Amanda’s desk.
“And what’s with the hair?”
“I just got it cut,” Lucy said. She tucked the right side of her bangs behind her ear. There was nothing she could do about the three tufts that stuck up at the back.
“It’s just so clichéd, Lucy.”
“You mean the naughty librarian thing?”
“Don’t even say that. This is the first time that anything like this has ever happened here.”
“It’s the first time you’ve caught me.”
“You’re fired.”
“Usually I’m pretty safe up there in North American Literature.”
“Collect your things and go.”
Lucy extended her index finger and adjusted the files, slightly. She nodded her head. She left Amanda’s office. There was nothing she needed to collect from her desk and no coworkers she needed to say good-bye to. Lucy walked to the main doors and went through them.
On the sidewalk Lucy stood perfectly still. Having just been fired in a ridiculous and humiliating way, she wanted to feel shame, to be so overwhelmed by self-doubt that she no longer knew who she was. She wanted to feel lost. But all she felt was the dry dusty air. A bus stopped in front of her. She hadn’t realized that she had been standing at a bus stop, but when the doors opened Lucy decided to get on.
There were twelve people on the bus. Lucy counted each one as she walked by them. She took a seat at the very back. She closed her eyes. The bus rounded many corners. Her body shifted and swayed. When she was sure that she’d lost track of time, Lucy pulled the cord.
Lucy stepped off of the bus. She watched it drive away. Then she looked around. The houses were mainly sixties-era bungalows. The lawns were perfectly kept. The street signs told her that she stood at Druid and Forester. Lucy had never been here. She had never heard of either of these streets. She wasn’t even sure what part of town she was in. But Lucy knew, without doubt, that if she went six blocks north, and then four blocks west, and then south for another nine and a half blocks, she’d be in front of her house.
“Damn it!” Lucy said.
She walked into the middle of the road. She closed her eyes and she held out her arms and she turned in a slow clockwise circle. But no matter what direction Lucy faced, she knew the way home.
ANGIE SET THE TIMER ON HER PHONE and waited on the sidewalk across from her sister’s house. Forty-five minutes passed before a dented and dirty taxi arrived and Lucy stepped out of it. It had been nearly eight years since Angie had seen her sister and the first thing she noticed, and then couldn’t stop staring at, was her haircut. The bangs on the right side of Lucy’s head were at least three inches longer than the bangs on the left. The bottom was sliced in a zigzag, like the mouth of a jack-o’-lantern. Three tufts stuck up at the top. Lucy’s haircut didn’t look fashionable or avantgarde—it just looked crazy.
Angie walked across the street. Lucy turned and saw her coming. They stopped when they were three feet apart. Neither decreased the space between them. Angie tried not to stare at Lucy’s hair.
“It’s