360 Degrees Longitude by John Higham Page B

of paper she’d found posted there. “This was the only thing I could read,” she explained, handing me the flyer. “Hostel Skippy offers free pickup from the train station.”
    â€œI like the name. Sounds like a winner.” After our ice cream issue was resolved, September pulled out the cell phone that had been faithfully serving us since London and dialed the number printed on the flyer.
    â€œIt reminds me of the Burrow,” Jordan commented as we approached the hostel.
    I was having the same thought. Hostel Skippy was on the banks of the Vltava River and appeared to be held together by paranormal means; one good exorcism and the entire structure would dissolve. Of course you knew that the Burrow is Ron Weasley’s house. If you didn’t, ask a kid to explain.
    Skippy, the Rastafarian half-Cuban, half-Czech matron of the hostel, greeted us at the door. She was a walking, talking TMI telling anyone waaaay more about herself than polite conversation would dictate. We stepped into the entry when suddenly, with no provocation, she proceeded to tell us her life story and how she came to be matron of the hostel that bears her name.
    â€œI bought this place for 800 U.S. dollars ten years ago when it was in shambles,” she explained. “I did all the repairs myself.”
    I glanced at the rope holding up the front door frame and made a mental note that building inspectors are underappreciated.
    In the microcosm of our nuclear family, Katrina and Jordan are … well “nuclear” is a good adjective. But to the casual observer they are reserved, perhaps even shy children. Katrina began to attract adults who wanted to hear how her leg came to be encased in plaster, and she had to confront her injury without pretending it away. For Katrina, this was more difficult than the broken leg. In a matter of just a few weeks this matured her from a little girl who avoided eye contact into a young lady who could look adults in the eye when speaking to them. Skippy was simply the first person to help Katrina through that transition.
    â€œWhat happened to you!?” Skippy asked when she saw me carrying Katrina.
    Katrina pretended to be invisible.
    â€œShe was rock climbing and the rope snapped,” I said after an awkward silence. “Not only did she break her leg, but her wrist is sprained.”
    â€œYou are lucky you just broke your leg!” Skippy exclaimed. “Did you bite your tongue, too? I bit my tongue once. Fell off a ladder and needed stitches, then couldn’t talk for a week. Do you want to see the scar?” Skippy stuck her tongue out and simultaneously tried to give more details about her injury.
    Katrina started giggling. I couldn’t imagine Skippy not being able to talk. I needed to change the subject before she started showing us any more scars. “I was hoping,” I interjected, “that you could help us find a wheelchair we could use while we’re here.”
    â€œA wheelchair will not be of much use in Cesky Krumlov,” Skippy explained. “The town is a maze of cobblestone streets built on hills with long flights of stone steps.”
    We discovered there was a lot more to Skippy than her scar and that she essentially built her hostel herself, albeit with the help she received from the spirits that lived with her right there in the hostel. She was a capable and resourceful woman, but I still went to bed each night praying I wouldn’t wake up in the Vltava River.
    â€¢ • •
    Just as it had taken time to develop a routine when we were cycling, it was going to take time to adjust our routine to Katrina’s limited mobility. This meant a hundred little things and one big thing: I started participating more when school was in session.
    I had big hopes for school results over the year. In public school, both Katrina and Jordan had approached mathematics with the same enthusiasm they would have for cleaning hair out