Free Dora: A Headcase by Lidia Yuknavitch Page B

he’s on HIGH VOLUME no matter where he goes or what he does. Ave Maria is doped to the nines most of the time so I have no idea who she is, but at least she’s unforgettable. You can hear her high notes in your ears long after she’s gone. Marlene, well Marlene can be a man and then turn woman
like day turns to night. Shabazz. Obsidian is so Obsidian it feels like she could kill you if you even breathed like you didn’t care. Black hair. Black eyes. Black shard of fuck you dangling from her neck.
    Me? I’m Ida. Angry messed up Ida with the dumb-sounding voice. I’m Dora the Explorer. I’m the girl who has to go to therapy. The most me thing about me is my technological … gear. Who the fuck am I even?
    Almost like she’s in my head with me, Marlene goes, “This,” standing behind me in the mirror reflection with her hands in my new hair, “is the you that will make a film. Daughter of Eve!”
    I don’t know why but standing there like that under the breath of her sentence makes me feel like I’m real. I wonder if that’s what love is.
    Marlene takes in a great breath of air and claps her hands above our heads and says, “ Bacon! To celebrate!”
    When I wheel around to follow, I can feel the hair swing. Like it’s part of me. Big. Heavy. WINGS.
    Back in the kitchen, Marlene scoops up the wig heads off of the table and throws them onto a nearby chair. They look like roadkill.
    Whoever we are right then, I suddenly wish it wouldn’t end.
    I grin so big I feel air all through my teeth. I shake the hair back. In my head there’s a lame ass little bird, chirping its fucking head off, happy.

11 .
    IN THE HALLWAY IN FRONT OF THE SIG’S OFFICE I STUDY the wood of his door. It looks like skin. I put my hand on it without making a sound. On the other side of the door, is he waiting? I make my hand into a fist and pound the fuck out of the door.
    Frankly, when he opens it? He looks agitated. And what is up with that hair? New wave bird’s nest.
    “Siggy!” I yelp, blowing by him into the office. I have a present for him under my arm – all wrapped up like for birthdays. I jam it into his chest. Oh for christ’s sake. I think he’s blushing. “Oh Sig,” I say, “don’t go getting all soft on me. It’s not anything weird. G’head, open it.”
    He struggles with the paper exactly like the old man bofus he is. This gives me exactly enough time to loiter over by his trench coat hanging by the door. I slip my hand into my Dora purse and then slip a GoTEK7 GPS into the pocket of his flasher coat.
    The GoTEK7 is a very small, personal and powerful live tracking GPS device allowing you to track assets, vehicles or people. It is lightweight and water-resistant. It is also fitted with a discreet panic alarm; once pressed for four seconds the device will inform you of its location via your mobile phone or a PC, giving you peace of mind with loved ones.
    I scan the room. Half-smoked stogie in the ashtray on his desk. Busted fucking cuckoo clock doing its nothing.
    He finally has the wrapping off.
    “It’s a clock,” he says.

    Braniac.
    “Yep. Cuz of your busted cuckoo.” I grab the clock out of his hands and take it to the big man desk and position it. “You like?”
    Really, it’s not handsome. It’s this weird painted crap gold color and kind of the shape of a boil. I mean it sorta rises up in the middle and slopes down on the sides with these bizzaro ornate carvings of lions. I got it at a vintage shop … who knows if the fucker will even work beyond today. Inside is a covert camera with built in video recorder that can use any USB storage device – an iPod, a Sony PlayStation, Memory cards, PCs, external hard drives, you name it. You’d be amazed how all the tricky old school cold war spy crap has been transformed into modern-day techno gadgetry available online for $49.99.
    Sig makes some incredibly awkward attempt to thank me from across the room. I make my way over toward the credenza with all the