My One Hundred Adventures by Polly Horvath Page B

poodles followed Gerald Ford around,” says Madame Crenshaw.
    â€œGerald Ford was a great president,” says Nellie, barely breathing now.
    â€œHe was swell,” says Madame Crenshaw.
    â€œHurry, have to hurry,” Nellie is muttering to herself, her eyes all glazed. She grabs me by the skirt and yanks me toward the door. “We gotta get to Lake Mattawan before it disappears.”
    â€œLake Mattawan? That’s way back toward town,” I say.
    â€œThat’s right, Lake Mattawong…,” says Madame Crenshaw, hurrying us along.
    â€œMattawan,” I correct.
    â€œWhatever,” says Madame Crenshaw. “Leave your purse and shoes with me. I’ll lend you some old tennis shoes so you don’t get your high heels mucky, and you don’t want to leave the purse in the car. Even if you lock it, they’re always breaking into cars there.”
    Madame Crenshaw looks down at Nellie’s shoes, which are the same black high heels I have seen her wear to church for years. Her feet flow over the edges like molten lava. Many Sundays I have sat in boredom staring at her legs driven into those shoes wondering if this week it will be Krakatoa. Nellie looks at her shoes and there is a funny expression on her face as if she should have known that this great portal moment was imminent. As if here it is, the moment she knew all her life was coming, the time when someone finally recognizes her greatness and is willing to show her her destiny—and wouldn’t you know it, she’s wearing the wrong shoes.
    Madame Crenshaw goes to a closet and throws Nellie a pair of old tennis shoes. They’re a little big but no one is wasting time worrying about that. We have to get to the portal.
    â€œWe’re imposing on you. Taking your shoes,” says Nellie awkwardly, slowing down at the doorway.
    â€œAre you kidding? It’s a PORTAL! A PORTAL!” says Madame Crenshaw, only it comes out “A POODLE! A POODLE!” with some smoke in a fit of coughing. She is lighting one cigarette off the next. You’d think the portal would have shown her emphysema or lung cancer and scared a little sense into her.
    â€œOh, but wait,” I say. “What about me and the absolution? The, you know, the
future
?” I say as obliquely as I can to Nellie. “If you can lend me twenty dollars, I promise to pay you back.”
    â€œGotta go, kids,” says Madame Crenshaw, trying to shove me out the door. She is in as great a hurry as Nellie.
    Nellie says, “Well, maybe just a quick reading, can you hand me my purse?”
    â€œNever mind the purse; it’ll be a freebie, okay?” says Madame Crenshaw, kicking Nellie’s purse into the closet and snatching up my hand and rattling this off: “You and your best friend are going to be parted soon.”
    â€œBecause I am going to
jail
?” I squawk.
    â€œNO.”
    â€œBecause I’m going to
hell
?” I squawk even louder.
    â€œQuit interrupting. No, it’s someplace empty with nothing much to see. That’s where you’re going and now you have to LEAVE or your friend here is going to miss the poodle, move it, move it, move it!” She slams the door behind us.
    â€œOkay. We’ll be back soon,” calls Nellie, and we scurry off to the car. Nellie has to shuffle to keep the shoes on.
    We drive like the dickens back to the lake, park in the lot and lock the doors. We don’t have to worry about Nellie’s purse but there are all those Bibles inside. I say we were going to give the Bibles away anyhow, why can’t people just take them, and Nellie says there’s a big difference between giving Bibles away and people stealing them, but I swear she just hasn’t thought this through.
    â€œNow where are them weeds?” asks Nellie as we walk along the side of the lake.
    â€œI think she said
reeds,
” I say mildly. I am getting my good shoes dirty but no one