Undercurrent by Paul Blackwell Page B

they feel very cozy.
    I pull up the covers around my neck and eventually fall asleep.
     
    The next morning I wake up to a knock. My mother pokes her head through the doorway.
    “Are you feeling up to eating something?” she asks.
    Actually I’m starving. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days, and my Harris nose smells bacon frying downstairs.
    “Yeah,” I say, salivating. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
    Feeling gross and overheated, I throw back the covers. It was a mistake not undressing last night before getting into bed. But at least I don’t have to bother putting on any clothes now.
    I get up. I feel a bit better, even in my strange bedroom. But then, the brain is an amazing organ. I remember hearing in class once how they did an experiment where people wore these special glasses that turned everything upside down. They walked around completely disoriented. Then, after a few days, their brains simply turned the world right side up again.
    The problem was, when the subjects removed the glasses, everything went back to being upside down. I remember at the time thinking that was funny, but now I can really relate to how scared they must have felt. Luckily for them, the effect wasn’t permanent.
    In my case I have no idea what’s going on.
    I head to the bathroom. There I find my toothbrush, which is the same color and always the most deformed one in the house, thanks to my hardcore brushing technique. I load up on the toothpaste and work at getting the terrible taste out of my mouth.
    While brushing, I notice there are another three toothbrushes instead of the usual two, which is odd.
    Finished in the bathroom, I head downstairs. Jess crosses my path at the bottom of the stairs. She stops and backs up to let me go by.
    “Good morning, girl,” I say cheerfully. “Come here. . . .”
    But the dog won’t budge. Her ears go back again. This is ridiculous. I want to try to make her come, maybe scratch her neck for a while. But the smell of breakfast pulls me away.
    Arriving in the kitchen, I get a surprise. Dad is still here. He’s sitting at the table reading the newspaper. Just like old times, only I haven’t seen this sight in two years now. And even more unexpected is the fact that he’s in pajamas.
    He must have slept here. . . .
    “Hey, Cal,” he says, putting down his coffee mug, a mutant-looking brown one I made him for Christmas when I was little. He’s insisted it’s his favorite ever since, and he even took it with him when he left. “Feeling better today?”
    I stare at him like he’s a visitor from another planet.
    “Cal?” he says, shaking me out of it.
    “Uh, yeah, sure. I had a decent sleep.”
    “Glad to hear it. Sit down and have something to eat.”
    As soon as I sit down, I chug my orange juice. I load up my plate with waffles and add four strips of bacon alongside them. Then I drench the whole lot in syrup and start wolfing it all down like someone who’s been lost in the woods for a week.
    “Well, your appetite is back, at least,” my mother tells me. “That’s a good sign.”
    I can’t even reply, I have so much food in my mouth. My father offers me some coffee, and I nod. I top it off with milk and dump in three heaping teaspoons of sugar.
    “So, about getting back to school,” Mom says. “There’s no hurry, the doctor says. He’ll give you a note for as long as you need.”
    Actually I’d forgotten all about school. It’s, what, Wednesday now? I think so. Considering how behind I was to start with, I’m pretty much screwed at this point. But at least I have a good excuse, for once.
    Still, I find myself wanting to get back, if only to see how everybody will act toward me. From my messages it seems as if I’m Mr. Popularity or something. All just because I went over the falls and survived? If so, it’s a social-climbing method I wouldn’t recommend to others.
    “I don’t know. I can go back anytime,” I tell my mother. “Today even,” I add.
    My parents