Mommy sits in Dr. Camelia Pop’s waiting room while Daddy gets his annual physical. She is wearing a long-sleeved, navy t-shirt, and a long, blue infinity scarf covered with stars and pink nebulae, over blue jeans and gray, Adidas sneakers. The scarf engulfs her neck and chest. Shasta is still in the furry purple robe she put on last month. A large, brown invisible slug about the size of a German Shepherd, she sports a black top hat with bejeweled lunettes attached under the brim and two black ostrich feathers on one side. The waiting room is hospital industrial, a dull, gray-green with unremarkable pictures of trees and rivers adorning the walls. Large, gray and orange carp are scuttling around in an aquarium infested with tall, orange and green fronds. The orange fronds look particularly plastic and silly.
Mommy: Those fish could use a castle to hide in. For that matter, so could we. There are too many sick people here and I suspect alien infiltrators as well.
Shasta: (Doubtfully) Umm… that aquarium is full. We could try hiding in the closet maybe.
Mommy: Yeah, aliens hide in closets though. After long journeys in cramped metal enclosures, they naturally crave small, cozy spaces. Closets are dark and quiet, with doors that mute sound. As long as a person doesn’t get down among the shoes, they smell good too, the delicious whiffs of detergent and fabric softener spread over fabrics.
Shasta: What about the scary mothball people?
Mommy: Mothballs are scary, dear, but they are not sentient. I’m sure most aliens avoid them, too. And doctor’s offices have weird smells, but nothing that antithetical to human life. Yeah, maybe we should go find ourselves a closet.
Shasta: You are not worried about the aliens?
Mommy: Low on my list. I am not too concerned about falling into Narnia, either. If it happens, it happens.
Shasta: Don’t you need a wardrobe to find Narnia?
Mommy: That wardrobe’s just a door. Doors can be anything. Doors can be anywhere.
Shasta: No, mommy. Lots of things can’t be doors. Like, doors can’t be spoons, kitchen chairs or TV remotes.
Mommy: It would be hard to fall through a spoon, but kitchen chairs seem doable. You sit and slip through. And Shasta, the television remote may be the most powerful door on this planet. I push a few buttons and, Shazaam!! There I sit, in Judge Judy’s courtroom, learning weird and useful life lessons.
Shasta: Like we should rent an apartment from a ne’er-do-well landlord? Then we sue to get our deposit back after he throws us out for no reason?
Mommy: I’m not sure that was the lesson from the landlord episode. We don’t want that landlord, Shasta. He’s a scumbag. We don’t want to lend money to any boyfriends either.
Shasta: Yeah, I bet daddy would be mad.
Mommy: True. Well, maybe we should work on a book.
Shasta: I guess. I’d rather be helping NCIS. I love Ducky and I have been reading up on autopsies. I think I’m ready.
Mommy: (Hugs the invisible slug.) You have to watch out for remotes. And YouTube. They may convince you that you are ready to do that autopsy, but there’s a reason you need a degree for that stuff.
Shasta: (Doubtfully) I guess.
Mommy: Remotes are curious things, really. Once you go through the door, you can’t always back out. That sleazy ex-boyfriend who refuses to return the TV sucks you in and your finger freezes. Suddenly, you can’t find the exit.
Shasta: The remote has super powers?
Mommy: There’s no other explanation for the amount of time Americans waste to find out if the landlord refunded the deposit. Or if the girlfriend’s home perm really did cause her hair to fall out. Or for the number of people who somehow think medical examiner sounds like a good job.
