A Few Bicycles More, page 6
Dad showed Bicycle the communal chore wheel mounted on a bulletin board near the former principal’s office. The wheel was nearly as big as the one on the television game show Wheel of Fortune and listed twenty-five different chores, like BATHROOM CLEANING and GROCERY SHOPPING. Index cards with families’ last names and phone numbers were pushpinned to the bulletin board to show whose turn it was to do what. Again, this concept of sharing work was pretty familiar to Bicycle from the monastery. Some of the tasks weren’t familiar, though, like NURSERY SHIFT and PLAYTIME REFEREES. She saw the Kosroy family’s name next to something called QUAD DUTY.
A whiteboard outside the cafeteria this evening informed the diners that they’d be enjoying borscht and black bean flautas. Bicycle had had borscht before—it was a thick beet soup mixed with sour cream. The flautas turned out to be crispy flute-shaped bean burritos with melted cheese on top. Bicycle had hardly bitten into her first one—Yum, she thought, at least the weirdest day of my life has good food in it—when she was interrupted by a group coming over to welcome her to the commune. After that, news of her arrival spread like wildfire through the cafeteria. Getting introduced to so many people one after another made her head spin with that carried-away-by-the-current feeling again.
Once bedtime approached, Bicycle was ready to conk out. She borrowed pajamas from Daff and fought to keep her eyes open through toothbrushing in the shared bathroom down the hall and a thorough tucking-in from Mom and Dad. Once the lights were out, though, it became apparent that her sisters weren’t quite as ready for sleep as she was.
“Psst!” a sister said in the darkness above Bicycle’s head. “Who’s hungry still? I saved half of my Malty Melty in case.” This had to be Cookie. Cookie, Daff, and Bicycle shared the triple-decker beds, with Bicycle on the bottom. Apple and Bernice-Banana shared the double bunk beds with Apple on top.
“Give it to Yoof,” said someone else. “Sorry—I mean, give it to Bicycle. I promise we’ll work on remembering your name.”
Cookie’s shadowy figure climbed down the bunk bed ladder and bent over Bicycle, whispering, “Maybe we’ll call you Yoofcycle for a while.”
Bicycle heard a crinkle and felt half a candy bar being pressed against her arm.
“Thanks,” she said, putting it to the side of her pillow for tomorrow. Her bed shook gently as Cookie climbed back to the top.
“I bet you still have a ton of questions, like whether we have identical personalities.” That came from Apple’s direction. “We don’t. It’s kind of like we were all given an identical set of paints, but we each choose to paint different things with them.”
“Speaking of paint, I bet you want to know if we all have the same favorite color. We do—it used to be pink and now it’s orange.” That was definitely Daff, because her voice came from the middle bunk over Bicycle’s head.
“We don’t all have the same favorite food, though. I hate to admit it, but mine is bananas. They’re a terrific fruit, even if they’re a terrible name.” And that was Bernice-Banana. “What’s yours?”
Bicycle yawned hugely. “I pretty much like food as a general rule.”
Daff said in an undertone, “We lay in the darkness, catching up on lost years, when she told us she liked food as a general rule. Sorry—that sounded weird. When I want to remember something, sometimes I tell myself a story about it.”
Bernice-Banana went on. “Cookie’s favorite food is anything that she thinks smells good. Apple’s crazy about noodles. Daff’s our pizza gourmet.”
“Hush, guys.” That came from the same direction as Apple. “She’s really tired. Let’s let her sleep.”
Apple’s all-seeing eye, Bicycle thought. Right now, she appreciated it. She said, “Good night, everyone.”
She heard what sounded like a fourfold echo:
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Bicycle woke the next morning to a gray, rain-drenched light and got a view of the bottom of Daff’s bed. She hadn’t noticed last night that her family had tucked a little notecard into the wooden slats with a drawing of seven smiley faces and hearts and the words Welcome Home.
She thought she might wake up confused by her new surroundings, but she was instantly aware she was an official daughter and sister. She listened to the sounds of raindrops pattering outside and girls breathing softly from the other beds. It seemed she was the first one awake.
At the monastery, she was used to having her own room, tiny as it was. She’d start each day alone, and it was rare to share any conversation with anyone before joining Sister Wanda and the monks for a mostly silent breakfast. It felt unsettling that someone else might wake up and start talking to her at any moment.
She studied the notecard with the smiley faces. Her parents and sisters had signed their names, and she slipped into her anagram-searching habit. The names Mom and Dad were palindromes, which were neat, but combining them offered nothing more than MOD, MAD, and DAM. She then rearranged the letters in Apple, Banana, Cookie, and Daff, and found CAKE and BAKEOFF, then PEDAL and FLIP. She hummed in satisfaction when she found the fancy word PANACEA, which meant something that cured all problems. She decided to take that as a sign of good things to come.
She hoisted herself to her feet and was surprised to see her mother curled underneath a fleecy bathrobe on the floor. It looked like she’d gone to sleep on the rug next to Bicycle’s bed and was still snoozing away.
Bicycle carefully stepped over her and tried unsuccessfully to locate the opening to the room-dividing curtain. She ended up crawling underneath. Seeing the Wheels of Fortune parked amid the clutter made her smile. If she was going to be swept away by life’s currents on an unexpected journey, it was good to have a friend along for the ride. They exchanged quiet good mornings, and she crept out the door to the restroom down the hall.
She was splashing some water on her face and rubbing the crusties out of her eyes when the door to the restroom was flung wide. Her mother’s whole body looked frantic: wild hair, wild eyes, glasses askew, bathrobe sleeves half off her shoulders.
“There you are!” she gasped. She crushed Bicycle in the kind of hug a drowning person might give a raft. “I woke up and you were gone.”
“I needed to use the bathroom,” Bicycle mumbled into her mom’s arm. Her wet face left a spot on the fleecy bathrobe.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Mom said, letting go. She pushed her hair off her forehead. “Whoo! Silly of me, I know.” She took a big breath as the door opened again.
Bicycle saw her sisters’ faces peeking in.
Mom told them, “I found her! Sorry to get everyone in a tizzy.”
Banana said, “‘You’ plus ‘waking up too early’ equals a guaranteed tizzy.” She told Bicycle, “Mom and Dad usually sleep double-deep. They told us they’re still trying to catch up on lost rest from when we were babies. They say it’ll probably take decades.”
Mom laughed a strained laugh. “It’s true that I’m not at my best first thing in the morning.” She patted Bicycle’s arm. “I’m sorry, I won’t panic every time you use the bathroom. Come on now, who’s up for breakfast?”
The morning was filled with explanations and demonstrations about how the girls’ homeschool curriculum worked, and Bicycle was glad another thing about her life wasn’t changing too much. Teaching time was usually in the mornings so that their parents could work on their freelance textbook editing and crossword puzzle jobs in the afternoons, but sometimes things had to shift around because of chores they needed to do for the commune. For the homeschooling, Mom and Dad traded off on who taught what—Mom handled history, English, and science, while Dad took math, music, and art. They were both good teachers, patient and engaging.
Bicycle tried again to practice her heart-open listening, and made a point to ask Banana what she’d like to be called today. Banana replied, “I might just stick with Banana—so far, inspiration hasn’t struck me.”
Bicycle asked a few other questions, but didn’t feel like she was learning much about her family, even when they weren’t in the midst of lessons. The way they talked—interrupting and finishing one another’s sentences, going off on new topics and then coming back to the original topic later without warning—made it challenging to take things in.
Before they went to the cafeteria for lunch, Bicycle paused a moment to ask the Fortune for advice on how a person was supposed to get to know their own family.
No data on that particular query, the bike responded. Here is a list of ice-breaker questions that are frequently used at parties for strangers to get to know one another.
Bicycle memorized the first two. Once everyone had sat down with their food—grilled cheese, salad, and a tomato-and-coconut-milk soup, she dived right in and asked them, “If you woke up tomorrow as an animal, what animal would you choose to be and why?”
“A chameleon,” said Dad. “Can you imagine being able to change color?”
“A wolf, so I could howl under the full moon,” said Banana. “No, a tiger, so every other animal could be my dinner. No, a polar bear. No, a kiwi. No, a manatee. Come back to me.”
“A lioness,” said Mom. “I’d sleep in the sun surrounded by my pride.”
“A snowy owl, so I could see everything with my enormous eyes,” said Daff.
“Did you know some owls’ eyes are so big, they take up more space than their brains?” said Apple. “I’d want to be a border collie; they’re the smartest type of dog.”
“A dolphin because they know how to have fun, but I’d want all of you to be dolphins to have fun with me,” said Cookie.
“I’ve got it!” said Banana. “An otter. No, an octopus. Wait! A bobcat, since they’re both tough and cute.”
Bicycle wasn’t sure what she’d learned with that question, but it led her to another one. “What do you like to do for fun?” she asked.
The answers ranged from playing board games to making up songs on the piano to reading books out loud to eating to watching animated movies as a family and repeating the lines along with the characters. The family also sometimes played bingo with the commune on Friday nights. That reminded Dad that he’d volunteered to look at the turning mechanism on the bingo-ball turner, and he excused himself from the table.
Bicycle thought about their list of fun activities and noticed that all of them were indoor group activities. She asked, “What about outside?”
Mom and the girls looked at one another.
“We’ve taken a few homeschooling breaks to get morning snacks at that store in town,” Cookie offered. “How about you, what are your favorite fun things?”
“I like to read, and find anagrams, and ride my bike, obviously,” said Bicycle. “In fact, I was hoping to go for a ride this afternoon to see the neighborhood, if the rain lets up.”
“A ride?” asked Mom, her eyebrows drawing together. “No, honey, the roads around here aren’t safe for cycling. Especially not for a young person.”
“I was on them a couple of days ago, they seem fine,” Bicycle said. “I have lots of experience, I ride defensively, and I always follow correct road rules.”
“No.” Her mother shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m not comfortable with that. What if something happened to you?”
Bicycle was about to press her case further when she realized Mom was starting to tear up. Bicycle certainly hadn’t meant to hurt her mother’s feelings. This wasn’t like arguing with Sister Wanda, who might end a discussion by pulling out a book so she could stab authoritatively at facts. Her mother seemed to be taking this very personally.
Apple caught Bicycle’s eye with an intense glance that was undoubtedly full of all kinds of identical-sister information. Bicycle tried to beam back the fact she was getting none of it.
Apple finished the conversation for her. “That’s okay, Mom, she understands.”
Bicycle wished she did. Was she not going to be allowed to ride anywhere?
Ever again?
THE SEVENTH WHEEL
After Dad finished fixing the bingo-ball turner, the family left the cafeteria and returned to their room. Bicycle’s sisters decided to divvy up their clothes until Bicycle’s stuff came in the mail from the monastery, so they started organizing.
Keeping her voice soft, Bicycle asked Apple, “What did I say that upset Mom?” She didn’t want to make the same mistake again.
Apple whispered back, “It’s better not to ask to do stuff away from the commune.” She handed Bicycle a pair of pants to stick in a drawer.
Cookie quietly added, “I hate seeing Mom and Dad’s faces when they tell us no. It’s like they’re tearing off a big Band-Aid that’s gotten stuck to their hearts.”
“We tried to convince Mom to let us try public school a few years ago, but she freaked out,” Banana said, giving Bicycle a couple of T-shirts.
“But there’s lots of fun stuff to do here at Twintopia,” said Cookie, pressing a stack of socks into Bicycle’s free hand. “We don’t need to go anywhere.”
Bicycle said, “But not letting me ride my bike . . . that’s like asking me not to breathe.”
Daff gave her some more shirts.
“There’s got to be some way to convince Mom I’ll be okay doing it.” She didn’t think this was being selfish. This was simply being herself.
The four sisters gave her the same slow head shake.
Apple said again, “It’s better not to ask.”
“C’mon,” their Dad called from the other room. “We need to get over to the Lakshmis’ place for quad duty in five minutes! Every second we’re late deprives Mr. and Mrs. Lakshmi of more sleep!”
Bicycle joined the girls in their rush out the door. Banana explained on the way that “quad duty” meant taking care of infant quadruplet boys. “They’re sooo cute, but at least one of them is awake at any given moment. Their parents only sleep when someone comes to give them a break, and it’s our turn to help. Not to brag, but we’re completely amazing babysitters.”
Dad knocked gently on a door decorated with two big bats and four little ones, pushing it open without waiting for a response. Bicycle followed him inside and said, “Holy spokes.” Two adults and four bouncy chairs sat on the floor in the middle of a jumble of discarded towels, cartons of formula, towers of diaper boxes, and baby clothes in various states of freshness. The woman had on an inside-out striped pajama top and polka-dot pajama bottoms. The man looked like he’d wrapped a bedsheet around himself as a toga and knotted a couple of burp cloths across the middle as a belt. They were each rocking two bouncy chairs apiece. Both had circles under their eyes so dark they looked like zombies. If Bicycle hadn’t known better, she would have guessed they’d dressed up early for Halloween.
“We’ve got this, Kulsoom and Rahi,” Dad said, kneeling down and scooping a fussing baby from one bouncy chair. “You go lie down.” Bicycle watched her mom and sisters efficiently gather up the other noisy babies and fill bags with baby paraphernalia. She stayed back, not wanting to do something wrong. She’d never been around a baby before.
“Thank you so much,” mumbled the mother. She sank sideways until she was lying flat, resting her head on a Winnie-the-Pooh blanket. She began snoring immediately.
The father started digging in a pile of stuff. “What am I looking for?” he asked hopelessly.
Mom handed him a bottle of water, and Cookie pulled a package of peanut butter crackers from a pocket.
He hugged both to his chest and said, “Bless you.”
The Kosroys took the babies down to the communal playroom. Parents and kids were singing songs, patty-caking, and playing dress-up. Bicycle watched how her family rocked and tickled and danced with the quadruplet boys. They traded them back and forth like a well-oiled machine.
Apple asked her, “Want to hold Naveen?” The tiny boy was making warthog-like sounds.
“No,” Bicycle said, folding her arms to ward off any attempt to hand her a baby. “I’m afraid I’d break him.” Which she was. But she would have said no even if she’d been professionally trained in how to hold infants. She needed to keep a little space to herself. There was only so much closeness and togetherness a person could take. She watched Apple hold up Naveen to the baby in Mom’s arms, and the two of them started to sway and bounce in unison. If only Bicycle knew where she fit in to this dance.
Sister Wanda called later that afternoon. “I wanted to see how you are settling in,” she said.
“Fine,” Bicycle answered. She sat with the family’s phone on one of the couches. It was an old-fashioned phone that plugged into the wall with a curlicue cord connecting the handset to the base; her parents said it had come with the classroom. She was hyper-aware that every word she said was easily heard by the six people in the room with her. She didn’t want them to listen to her complain about her mother’s dismissal of cycling as dangerous, or hear her describe her astonishment at the sounds and substances that came out of quadruplet boys. “It’s raining.”
“It’s raining here, too. Is everyone being kind to you?”
“Yes.”
“And I know you’re doing your best to be kind to everyone as well.”
“Yes.”
The rest of the conversation continued the same stilted way. When she and Sister Wanda talked in person, it had always been so easy for Bicycle to say what was on her mind. Or to not say anything at all. Bicycle wished there was a better way to communicate with Sister Wanda while she was here.
That night, when everyone was getting changed for bed, Bicycle decided to wheel the Fortune out into the hall to get a little privacy to chat. Did you ask your family any ice-breaker questions? If so, do you feel any ice has broken?
“I found out which animals they would like to be,” Bicycle said.
You have never asked me that question.
“Well, what animal would you like to be?”
Being an animal would not be better than being a bike. Wheels are better than paws, claws, or flippers. However, having a pet could be enjoyable. I would choose a monkey.
