Free Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs Page B

street lamp. “Thanks,” I said.
    “And don’t ever worry,” he said firmly. “I will never take advantage of you.”
    “Okay,” I said, reaching in my pocket for a Marlboro Light.
    “You smoke?”
    “Yeah,” I admitted. It was a habit I’d picked up from Natalie. At first, I was worried that Agnes or the doctor would be furious and not allow it. But they didn’t mind as long as “you don’t burn down the house.”
    Neil pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit my cigarette.
    “Thanks,” I said. Smoking had become my favorite thing in the world to do. It was like having instant comfort, no matter where or when. No wonder my parents smoked, I thought. The part of me that used to polish my jewelry for hours and comb my hair until my scalp was deeply scratched was now lighting cigarettes every other minute and then carefully stomping them out. It turned out I had always been a smoker. I just hadn’t had any cigarettes.
    “It was great talking with you,” Bookman told me when we were back at the house.
    “Thanks for everything,” I said.
    “Thank you ,” he said and smiled warmly, eyes moist.
    He left, climbing into his wreck of a car and I sank into the TV-room sofa. I felt mildly intoxicated, like I’d just taken a big swallow of Vicks 44. Then I saw a stray Purina Dog Chow Agnes had dropped on the seat cushion. Without hesitation, I picked it up and popped it into my mouth. No longer would I be afraid of trying new things.
     
    “Hi, Augusten,” Hope said, when she came home an hour later.
    I was still sitting on the sofa in a daze. “Hi,” I said vaguely.
    “What are you doing?”
    I’d been staring at the radiator. “Nothing. Just got back from walking around with Bookman.”
    She looked around. “Oh yeah? Good. I need to ask him something. Where is he?”
    “Oh, he left,” I said.
    “Shoot. Do you think if I run down the street I can still catch him?”
    “No,” I said. “He left like an hour ago.”
    Hope took a seat on the sofa. “Shucks,” she said. “I wanted to ask him if he can fill in for me at the office this Friday. I wanted to visit my friend Vivian in Amherst.” Then Hope reached into her canvas rainbow bag and pulled out a small white bible.
    “Would you mind doing a bible-dip with me?”
    “Sure,” I said.
    All the Finches did bible-dips. It was like asking a Magic Eight Ball a question, only you were asking God. The way it worked was, one person held the bible while another person thought of a question to ask God, like, “Should I get my hair cut short?” Then the person holding the bible opened it at random, and the person asking the question dropped his or her finger on the page. Whatever word your finger landed on, this was your answer. The doctor was so enthusiastic about bible-dips as a direct form of communication with God that most of his patients performed them. Although nobody did as many dips as Hope.
    I held the bible and Hope closed her eyes. “Ready?” I said.
    She opened her eyes. “Okay.”
    I opened the bible.
    Her finger landed on the word “awakened.”
    “Oh my God,” Hope said. “That’s just incredible.”
    “What’d you ask?”
    “I asked if the fact that I missed Bookman means that I shouldn’t visit my friend Viv on Friday, if that was a sign.”
    “So?”
    “Well, so ,” Hope said. “I got awakened . And to me, that means that I would be disturbing Vivian if I visited her. She did have a cold last month and she’s seventy-four. So she probably needs her sleep. If I showed up on Friday, I might wake her up.”
    I nodded my head and Hope looked up at the ceiling. “Thanks, God,” she said.
    Hope and God were buddies. Theirs was not a formal relationship steeped in ritual and tradition. It was more of a close yet casual friendship.
    Last week, Hope and I were driving around the center of town looking for a parking space. When a red Vega pulled out of a handicap spot in front of Thome’s Market, Hope shrieked.