Crush by Carrie Mac Page A

for example.
    Apparently he’s forgotten about his latest spectacle, which involved $14,000 worth of solar panels dominoing off the roof and smashing to bits on the patio below. Of course, everyone was mad at him; it took forever to save up the money for the panels. But instead of bad vibes from everybody, he got sympathy because he slipped off the roof along with the solar panels and busted his leg in three places.
    My mother unravels her orange sarong practically down to her underwear (thank the Universe, she’s actually wearing some for once) and rearranges it. She’s paired the sarong with a bright blue tank top that advertises her belly rolls like they’re the aisle four special. Her skin is dark and leathery from years of sunshine working in the market garden, and she’s wearing her usual assortment of wacky bangles and necklaces. My parents. I love them. But they look like lost, aging Dead Heads.
    They’re whispering to each other, holding hands, leaning in close, bodies touching. To look at them, you’d think they were falling in love before your very eyes. They kiss, and then my dad kisses his fingertip and touches it to her lips. He always does that, and it always makes me smile.
    “Sweetheart?” Dad takes my hand. I feel a Circle coming on. “We love you so very, very much.” He closes his eyes. “Let’s do Circle.” My mom closes her eyes too and lets out the same melodic sigh she does before every Circle.
    We’re not a religious family, per se, but we very much believe in the Universe, with a capital U. When I was little, Circle was one of my favorite things, and I didn’t care where we did it—in the parking lot of the grocery store or in a theater lobby, what did I care? But now, the public ones are getting a little unbearable. I don’t close my eyes. Instead, as my dad launches into his blessing, I soak in the gawks and stares here in International Departures. “Universe, we thank you for our precious Hope and ask that you keep her safe and healthy and happy during our time apart,” Dad says. He lets out a little mumbly sound, which he always does, kind of like “Amen” for hippies.
    “And take care of her while we’re so far away,” my mom says, taking her turn. “Because being apart will bruise all of our hearts.”
    Despite the audience, I get a little choked up when she says that. It suddenly occurs to me that we’ve never been separated for more than a week before. No sane teenager should be sad to get rid of her parents for acouple of months, but I am. Suddenly, this is the saddest event in modern times. “And, please, let Joy and Bruce find peace with each other and themselves.” She always ends with that, no matter what the Circle is about.
    Daisy barks and barks. It’s my turn to say something, but if I open my mouth to speak, I’ll just start crying. I close my eyes. Really, who cares who gawks? These are my parents—my best friends, really—who I love more than anyone else, and they’re about to go to Thailand for two months all by themselves without me. What if there’s another killer tsunami? What if they die from some tropical flesh-eating infection? What if they’re mugged or drugged or imprisoned? What if Dad gets drunk and does something stupid and ends up stuck in some third world jail for the rest of his life? Or what if they just disappear without a trace? What if this is the last time I ever see them?
    “Sweetheart?” Dad squeezes my hand again.
    “Give me a sec?” The tears well instantly.“Um. I thank the Universe...uh, for my amazing, wonderful, loving—” I start bawling.
    And Daisy barks and barks.
    My parents squeeze my hands but don’t break Circle to comfort me. We’ve been through this before. If we’re in Circle—it doesn’t matter if it’s just us or any of the others who do Circle (yes, there’s a whole whack of us cool people)—we just let the person be with their emotions. That’s the whole point, after all...to just be with