Free Lilac Mines by Cheryl Klein Page A

movie my mom made me watch when she did that mother-daughter slumber party thing?”
    Felix feels her face turn red. Her legs start to itch beneath the legwarmers that these little Lilac Mines teenyboppers are not advanced enough to understand. She looks around. No one here is. She is completely defenseless.
    â€œMaybe she’s a cheerleader—from Beedleborough or something.”
    â€œNo, their colors are red and silver. Besides, she’s, like, old.”
    â€œShh… she’ll hear you.”
    Felix might as well be naked. Her thighs feel like a map of ugly blue veins. In a shaky voice she orders a grande black coffee. She can’t drink coffee without a lot of accessories, but she’s not about to hang out by the cream and sugar bar, so she shuffles out of Kate’s, head down.
    In the safety of her car, she peels off her legwarmers and tries not to cry. I hope they remember me when legwarmers are all over the Gap a year from now, she thinks, but she knows they won’t. Is that even what she wants to be remembered for? She wipes her eyes with a wadded-up legwarmer. Fuck all of this. Fuck Lilac Mines and Anna Lisa. She wishes she could live in her car. She wishes she had the strength not to care what people thought. She takes a deep breath and turns the key in the ignition. Maybe she’ll just drive around.
    Fiddling with the radio dial, she finds three country stations and four Bible shows. “Well, ma’am, I’m glad you asked. As you know, God has a plan for each of us. As the Lord Jesus Christ said in….” Why do Bible-thumpers always refer to Jesus by his full name? Felix wonders. But there’s something appealing about the man’s voice. It is rich and comforting and self-assured. As if he knows exactly what God’s plan is. She envies the caller: just phone in and receive God’s prescription, then go to the nearest church and fill it. But if Felix called in, the man would quote from Leviticus (she’s pretty sure that’s the God-Hates-Fags part) and prescribe some sort of conversion program. She’s screwed in all worlds.
    Sighing, she turns off the radio and pulls into the nearest parking spot. Looking up, she sees she’s in front of the Lilac Mines Visitors’ Center, a log cabin sandwiched between an auto shop and a café that, of course, promises cappuccino. At least a government-funded educational facility is likely to be free of preachers and too-cool teenagers. She gets out of the car and pours her coffee on the ground, making a thin black river in the dust.
    Inside, Felix is greeted by an assortment of stuffed dead animals. Apparently posing them in “natural” positions and surrounding them with dried plants—instead of mounting their heads on wooden plaques—makes them scientific rather than artifacts of machismo.
    She must have quite a look on her face because the ranger behind the counter says kindly, “Most of ’em were roadkill.”
    â€œUh, I guess that’s good,” Felix offers.
    â€œDoing the Gold Rush country tour?” She has two yellow braids, a Midwestern accent, and a badge that says “Ranger LeVoy.” She leans forward enthusiastically, her plump arms folded on the counter.
    â€œNo.” Felix doesn’t feel like talking, but Ranger LeVoy waits for a more complete answer. “I’m visiting my aunt.”
    â€œOh? And what’s her name?”
    â€œAnna Lisa Hill.”
    â€œThat’s right, I should have known, you look just like her.” Ranger LeVoy nods energetically. “She works search and rescue, you know. Of course you know.”
    â€œShe’s a nurse. Maybe you’re thinking of a different Anna Lisa?”
    â€œThis town’s not that big,” Ranger LeVoy laughs. “She works for the volunteer squad. You didn’t know? She saved a couple of crazies who tried to hike the Sierras in the wintertime just a few months