12

I’M TRYING
TO BE REASONABLE HERE.

“I’m hallucinating. You don’t exist!” I was so excited. “There was something in the pop! Or …or…or I overdosed on sugar! No, no, no! Of course!” I punched the air like one of those yahoo football players. “Kathleen’s face cream! I ate Kathleen’s face cream!”

It all made perfect sense—even if you didn’t know Kathleen. Just think about it. The brain is all wrinkly. It dawned on me that those wrinkles probably had something to do with logic or sanity or something and if you did something to make them disappear—like eat anti-wrinkle cream, for instance—your mind went haywire. All of a sudden it just seemed so obvious.

You wouldn’t believe how relieved I was. I just slumped against the wall and started laughing. Laughing, you know, the way you do when you think you lost your mother’s watch and tear the whole house to shreds looking for it and then suddenly remember you put it back in her jewelry box before you went out and it was never lost at all.

All that panic for nothing. Even Bitsie’s so-called proof of his existence didn’t hold up once I thought about it logically.

“You’re a hallucination—but the finger up my nose was real. That’s why I could feel it!”

I figured that was the end of that.

Wrong.

Bitsie wasn’t laughing. His eyes had gone blank, like buttons or something. His eyelids were half shut and he’d pulled his lips into this tight little “o.” It was all very dramatic. I couldn’t help thinking what amazing things they can do with puppets these days—or hallucinations for that matter. With that look I knew right away Bitsie was majorly p.o.ed.

People often act mad when they’re really hurt. That much I remembered from our little family counseling sessions. And I could understand why Bitsie would be mad at me. I always hated it when Bess acted like I didn’t exist. There aren’t many things more insulting than that. Call me stupid, ugly or smelly and it hurts—but at least it’s a pretty good sign that you noticed me. Even sniffing in disgust is better than having someone look right through you. (Maybe not—but you get my point. There’s stuff you can spray on—or wash off—to smell better. What can you do to exist better?)

Anyway, I felt for Bitsie. I wasn’t trying to be mean. I was just trying to figure out what the heck was going on. I was all ready to apologize to him—real or not—when he did the most irritating thing. Classic Bitsie.

Out of nowhere, he just threw one foot onto my shoulder, yanked himself up by my nostrils and sat on my head. My grunting and squealing didn’t seem to bother him a bit. He just sat there bouncing his puffy blue feet off my shoulders.

I was ripped. Sure, I might have hurt him—unintentionally—but I didn’t use his nostrils for monkey rings. I would have biffed him right off except I remembered how much

Zola said he cost to make. What with bus repairs and legal bills, my parents didn’t need another expense right then.

So I took a long slow breath in through my poor bleeding nose. (Another little family counseling trick. Helps you stay calm.) I had no other choice. I told myself he was a person too, with feelings just like mine. (Okay, he wasn’t a person, but I decided to leave figuring out what he was for another time.)

I let the breath out through my mouth.

“Fine,” I said. “You have proved you exist. I just don’t know how.”

I guess that was good enough for him. He grabbed me by the ears and did a back flip off my head. I was supposed to be impressed, but there was no way! It’s not like he had bones or muscles or anything that could actually get hurt. Any puppet who really wanted to could have done it just as well.

“Why are you hung up about ‘how’?” he said, using the sharp end of Jimmy’s pencil to unstick his left eyeball.

“What can’t they make these days? They’ve got cars that tell you which direction to go. T-shirts that know if you’re getting enough vitamins.”

“Yeah. But there’s a reason someone would make those things! They actually help people!”

I shouldn’t have said that. It just slipped out. It was like I was telling Bitsie he existed but didn’t count. I thought he was going to give me that look again, but he surprised me.

He laughed.

“Yeah. I’ve got the same problem with that theory.

There’s not really much point to being me—at least as far as I can see.”

“I know the feeling.”

We both sort of smiled and looked away. We weren’t mad at each other anymore, but neither of us was about to admit it.

“So got any other theories?” I said, figuring his mood had improved.

“Whaddya mean? About ‘how the Incredible Bitsie came to be’? I don’t know! How did you come to be?”

I wasn’t sure if he was ready for this. But hey, I wasn’t ready for a talking puppet. He’d just have to brace himself.

“Well, basically, the female body produces eggs and the male body produces…”

I didn’t have time to finish.

“Stop! Stop! Please! I’ve seen the Health Channel!” He made a “don’t-make-me-gag” face. “You people look at puppets like we’re the weirdos! At least we’re not oozing fluids all over the place.”

“Hey, you asked!”

“That’s not what I meant. I was talking about the bigger picture. Not where did you come from. But where did the first egg and…whatever…come from.”

I hate thinking about things like that. Mum and Dad fell in love, had Bess and then had me. That I can understand—though the part about having another kid after Bess always throws me a bit.

But trying to figure out how the whole thing started, how the first person started—that’s too big. It’s like swimming in the middle of the ocean. You could paddle around forever and ever and never reach the place you’re trying to get to.

“Well?” he said, all smart-alecky again.

“I don’t know. Some higher being made them I guess.

God or something.”

“And so why couldn’t He…”

“Let’s say She…” I can be obnoxious too.

“Okay, why couldn’t She have made a talking puppet?

It’s not the strangest thing She came up with. She made platypuses. She made those hairless cats, not to mention people who actually find them cute. Hey…She made your Aunt Kathleen!”

We both laughed.

“Good point,” I said. “So is that really what you think happened? Some god made you?”

Bitsie sighed. “Who cares?!? We can sit around here figuring out the meaning of life—or we can go out and actually try to live one.”

On one hand, that sounded pretty good—in an Oprah Winfrey kind of way. (I could tell Bitsie was really proud of it too. Like he was Mr. Inspirational or something.) On the other hand, it sounded a lot like the type of thing Bess does.

By which I mean scary and/or illegal.

There was a long pause (by Bitsie standards, anyway). I figured he’d said everything he was going to say.

Oh, right. Like that would ever happen.

“Anyway, in answer to your question, I do have three theories about how I came to be. One: I’m a freak of nature. Sort of the five-legged frog of the puppet world.

Don’t look so shocked! I’m perfectly fine with that. If that’s who I am, that’s who I am. Theory two: I’m a figment of your imagination.”

Oh boy, that made me mad. I practically attacked him.

“What?! You just spent all this time bullying me into believing you’re real, and now you’re telling me I just made you up!”

Bitsie rolled his eyes at me, which, frankly, no figment of my imagination would ever have the nerve to do. My imagination was the one thing I had any control over. Or at least I used to.

“Hey, it’s just a theory. I thought you’d be pleased. If you ask me, as figments go, I’m way more interesting than your little under-the-bed world. Think of me as a sign you’re improving!”

That was just mean and there was no way I was going to ask the little know-it-all creep what his third theory was.

As if I’d have to.

“Theory three: You’re a figment of my imagination. That’s the theory I like best because it means I don’t have to waste anymore time talking about this crap.” He gave me a phony smile and turned away.

Fine.

Jerk.

Neither of us said anything for a long time. Bitsie sat flicking his mecs. I cracked my knuckles. After a while it made me laugh. I couldn’t help it. It was so obvious we were both just trying to bug each other.

Bitsie snorted too. I knew he was thinking exactly the same thing. He gave his eye mec a major yank and his eyeballs started bouncing around in his head like bingo markers. It was hilarious.

He may not be real. And he’s definitely irritating.

But right then I knew he was my friend.