Table of Contents

Section One - Lack

Section Two – The Borromean Knot

Section Three – Jouissance

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ISBN: 9781098312237

Section One

Lack

Tildey struggled to stay awake as the teacher droned on and on about the conquest of the West. This was the second week of school and the last class before lunchbreak, Utah History. Tildey was new, new to the school, new to western landscapes and new to the strange little town of Moab, having arrived with her parents a little over a month ago from Chicago. She had never been west of the Mississippi. Everything was eerie and unfamiliar in this huge land of strange red sandstone. But the place was very much to her liking. She had hated the city with a passion.

Tildey was a total recluse, always stayed in her room, had no friends, and had been in therapy for as long as she could remember. Her mother had failed to find a therapist in Moab up to her specifications so had arranged for Tildey to continue with her Chicago therapist by Skype. Tildey was a small, slender, very plain girl who did absolutely nothing to enhance her appearance. She dressed as inconspicuously as possible, andstudiously avoided everybody. She could answer any test question in her sleep and had to restrain herself from showing off in Calculus, something they let her take even though she was the only tenth grader in a math class full of seniors. Her parents were convinced she needed to socialize with those of her of own age group and thus would not allow her to skip grades. Not that Tildey cared one way or the other. She hated school and was planning on dropping out as soon as she could legally get away with it. Even her mother’s dream of establishing heron a full scholarship insomegraduate or even post-graduate level position in a highly prestigious institution of higher learning left her cold.

Not that Tildey needed a scholarship;her mother Alice made more money than she knew what to do with. Their luxury home in the gated community had been purchased with cash, on a whim, because there was a hospital administrator position that had just come open for her father,and becauseAlice wanted a home base for outdoor adventuring. When she was not flying hither and thither across the globe for her derivatives firm, she was skiing, climbing, canyoneering, mountain biking, base jumping or white water kayaking.

Tildey had no interest whatsoever in her mother’s adventures. She hated sports and all modes of outdoor recreation. She absolutely loathed television, motion pictures, social media and all music written after the 17^th century, except for that of Johann Sebastian Bach. She was obsessed with the motets of Josquin Des Prez and spent all of her spare time reading hagiographies of medieval female saints and the works of Michel Foucault and Jacques Lacan. And though she absolutely loathed her mother’s self-absorbed friends, and their stupid outdoor obsessions, she was drawn to the window of her room quite frequently. The gigantic strangely sculpted sandstone fins and towering peaks beyond moved her in ways she did not understand.

Tildey’sfather Robert was far too busy being a hospital administrator and working on his PhD in Finance to pay much attention to her. Also she had developed the art of being easy to ignore. Her parents did haveoccasional spasms of concern that she did not go out, had no friends, and didn’t seem to care. Her Mother in particular, often expressedher desire that Tildeybe somehow coaxed into at least a semblance of normalcy. But in reality they had both more or less given up, though they were hopeful that the highly touted new medication, Axiargazine, her Therapist had just prescribed for Tildey would do the trick. Tildey, however, had long ago learned how to fake taking psychiatric medications and was saving up all her uningested pills and capsules in an oblong wooden box intending to give them a decent burial someday.

The bell rang and there was a rush for the exits. Tildey remained seated. Before the class had begun, the teacher, Mr. Meeks, had asked her to stay behind. Nowhe motioned her into his office. He cleared his throat, looked at her sternly, and asked her to take a seat; Tildey remained standing. “I asked you to stay behind thismorning because I wanted to talk to you about your essay; ‘What the Pioneering Spirit Means to Me.’ I must say it is quite impressive; your thoughts are very well developed, your writing is refined, your sentence structure perfect and your facts entirely accurate, but I am much disturbed, very much disturbedindeed by the ferocious sarcasm of your style. It is downright hateful! It displays a decided, even angry disrespect for allthat we hold sacredhere in ourgreat state of Utah. What do you have to say for yourself, Miss…” he looked down at her essay, “Miss Mechtilde Starling?”

“Only this Mr. Meeks; I challenge you to produce another essay from that pathetic pile of misbegotten prose,” and she indicated the other essays, “that even hints at a style.” Mr. Meeks was speechless. Tildey said she had to run and was out the door. A faint “wait, wait,” pursued her down the hall.

After Calculus class, her father was waiting at the curbto take her home, even though they lived within easy walking distance of the school. Tildey had no objection. It would mean not being obliged to make small talk with the three or four girls from Calculus classwho always insisted ontrying to make conversation with her. Her father flashed his usual fake smile as she got into the car, and as they turned onto the main road, asked her the usual fake questions. She gave her usual fake answers. Then he announced that he must be departing that night for Chicago. “Your Great Aunt Maria passed away this morning, and I am her only remaining relative.”

“I am sorry to hear that Dad. I always liked Aunt Maria. She inspired me to teach myself Latin. I even liked her strange Old School Catholic devotional practices for some reason.”

“Aunt Maria is to be buried with all the pomp and ceremony of a fullblown Catholic funeral. She had money. And she really liked you. Maybe she remembered you in her will. I have a meeting with her lawyers tomorrow at ten.” He rolled down the window and punched in thecode. They drove majestically through the pretentiouslyheroic gate into the exclusive neighborhood. “So, Tildey, you will be on your own here for a while. Mom will be joining me when she finishes in Frankfurt. They gave me leave from the hospital for at least a week; more if needed. I am sure you can take care of yourself. Do you think you will be able to walk to school OK?”

“Of course Dad,” The door of the huge garage began opening as they approached the house.

***

The next morning Tildey started early for school. She marveled at the sky,the pinkish golden blaze above the grey peaks,the towering west wall of the valley now flushedwith luminous orange. The main road was clogged with a rumbling line of hideous looking trail machines. She put in her ear buds and drowned out their loathsome sputteringwith Monteverdi. She finally scrambled down to her usual foot path that led away from the road andalongside Mill Creek, a crystal clear stream flowing out of the mountains. As she proceeded down the trail she took out her ear buds. The dismal noises dimmed behind her as she walked slowly along enjoying the occasional birdsong and the soft sweet purling of the stream.

As she was nearing the bridge close to the school she heard a faint, agonized weeping coming from a dense thicket of willows. She picked her way through it to a small clearing where a strikingly beautiful dark-skinned girl, with long jet-black hair, crouched on her knees. The girl was holding her stomach. Her body shuddered violently with uncontrolled sobs. Tildey guessed she was from one of the tribes. She had seen her before in the hallways and had marveled that someone so beautiful had absolutely no friends, never said a word to anyone and always tried to avoid her fellow classmates. Perhaps this girl was a kindred spirit. Tildey withdrew her huge pink bandanna and handed it to the girl whosebody continuedshuddering.The girl thanked her, painfullystood, and began clumsily wiping her tear smudgedface. Tildey could see that the girl had been vomiting.Without thinking Tildey wrapped her arms tightly around the girland held her close – for a very long time. “I’m Tildey Starling,” she finally murmured when the girl’s trembling had eased.

Now, relatively calm and dry eyed, the dark haired girl withdrew and looked closely at Tildey. “I’m Carmella Blacksnake.”

“What happened?”

“My Grandmother lives way down at the south end of the valley. She has an early shift and drops me off here a little before six. I pass out information about climate change while I wait for school. I’m an activist – a lonely one though. Anyway this big lout,I think he’s a wrestler or something, grabs all myleaflets and throws ‘em in the creek. Then he startsinsulting my people (I’m Navajo). Then he grabs my hand and drags me off the trailand starts kissing me and grabbing my boobs. I scream - but he puts his tongue my mouth andshoves his hard-on against my belly. Then a bunch of joggers comes alongand he pushes me into the creekand runs up to the road. His dad’s some kind of bigwig politician from San Juan County whohates my people.”

“Oh, that’s Lance Mercaptan. He’s in my Calculus class. He cheats all the time. I don’t’ know how he got in. He’s as dumb as a post. Did he hurt you?”

“Not really; but he made me sick to my stomach when he put his tongue in my mouth.”

“I’ll go with you to the principal’s office.”

“No thanks Tildey – waste of time. I hate bureaucrats.”

“This is a nice little hiding place.”

“I come here to smoke,” and she pulled out a half smoked joint, lit it, took a long drag then passed it to Tildey.

When they had thrashed through the thickets back to the path, Tildey asked if she could see one of the leaflets. Carmella pointed to a scattering of sodden white objects caught on snags in the stream. However, one had lodged in a clumpof rushes near thewater’s edge and hadn’t gotten wet. Tildey scrambled down.

As she sat in painful boredom in Calculus class, she noticed Lance Mercaptan, sitting directly in front of her, biting the eraser off his pencil as he stared grim-faced at the problems before him. She also noticed the brand new Smartphoneperched conspicuously on his desk. It was obviously the glitziest, shiniest, sleekest, perkiest, zestiest digital device known to man. And Lance was obviously very proud of it. Tildey possessed an old flip phone, which she kept in her dresser drawer and checked once a week for messages – which never came. She looked down at her long line of neat elegant solutions to the problems on the page, and yawned. She withdrew Carmella’s leaflet and looked it over. At the top was a photograph of a small slight girl with long braids sitting by herself, back against a cement wall, on a sidewalk, with a sign. The words on the sign were in Swedish, but they obviously read, “School Strike for Climate.” Tildey read the text. The girl in braids had started an internationalmovement for climate action and was calling for a worldwide general strike on the 20^th. “What an amazing girl,” thought Tildey.

The bell was about to ring, it was the last class of the day, and those who had completed the test looked longingly at the exits. “Time’s up,” declared the teacher and began walking down the aisles picking up the tests. Lance still had a number of problems yet to solve. However he was the teachers’ favorite and when Miss Moreland got to him, she whispered that they would work out his remaining problems on the blackboard, after class, and he would be given a passing grade. The bell rang. There was a noisy rush. Tildey lingered, took her time gathering up her school supplies. Lance and Miss Moreland had gone to the blackboard. As Tildey was about to slide the leaflet back into her notebook, she saw Lance’s phone, still sitting prominently on his desk. She snatched it up, replacing it with the leaflet then dashed out the door before she could have second thoughts.

When Tildey reached the bridge, she saw Carmella lingering at top of the steps leading down to the path. “Hi, Tildey; I thought you might like to have a puff before you go home. I have to wait here until Grandma Suzy finishes her second shift. I sit and read or just listen to the creek.” Tildey said she would be delighted and the two threaded their way through the willows.

When they emerged they stood for a long time looking at the afternoon amber sparkling on the purling ripples, then Carmella noticed one remaining leaflet caught on an underwater snag, itswhite tatters fluttered in the current. She burst into tears. “I feel sick.”

“Don’t cry Carmella. Look what I have!” and Tildey pulled Lance’s phone out of her pocket. “Lance’s prized possession! It claims to be waterproof. Do these things float?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, just to be sure,” And Tildey grabbed a discarded shopping bag caught in a clump of asters and put the phone inside. Then shewent down to the creek, gathered a number of the larger cobbles from the streambed and put them inside with the phone and tied off the top. She looked at Carmella with a grin then lobbed the bag into the deepest part of the creek.

“Why don’t you come home with me?” said Tildey as they stared smiling at the white plastic bag barely visible at the bottom of the deep green hole. “My parents will be gone for at least a week. Lance will probably blame you for stealing his phone. You’ll be safer at my house. You can sleep over and tomorrow we can walk together to school.”

“I’ll let Grandma Suzy know. I am sure she’ll be fine with it. She worries, leaving me so long to wait you know. You are so kind Tildey. Thank you so much.”

Carmella could not sleep. She tossed and turned and cried as she lay beneath silken sheets on the elegant, queen sized bed in the spare bedroom. Memories of Lance’s tongue thrusting itself wormlike into her mouth kept assaulting her just as she was about to drift off. Tildey couldn’t sleep either. She was quite hyper, and kept laughing out loud at the thought of Lance’s sleek new waterproof phone now flashing inane messages at aquatic invertebrates. After a time, she heard distant agonized sobs coming from the spare room. Carmella was a red eyed miserable wreck when Tildey turned on the light. She took Carmella gently by the hand and led her to her room,then tenderly tucked her in under her sheets and got in beside her. She reached out shyly, caressinglythengradually brought the trembling body close in her arms. Finally,Carmella relaxed and both girlsfell soundly asleep.

Just before first light Tildey wokeup screaming;she had had a horrific nightmare. She dreamed she was standing alone on the bridgelooking down at the creek. She couldn’t take her eyes off the white plastic bag plastered to the bottom. Then shenoticed a frantic movement inside. Something was trying to get out. It was Lance’s phone- and it was doggedly chewing its way through the stubbornly resistant plastic. Tildey tried to run, but her feet were glued to the sidewalk. The phone finally burst free, shot to the surface and swam clumsily to shore. It had long bat’s wings and a wide grinning mouth with chromium fangs. Tildey remained frozen as the phone sat on the bank slowly drying out its wings in the warm breeze. Then it flew up and headed straight for her face. Tildey broke from her paralysis and began running as fast as she could. When she looked back she saw the phone gaining on her.Awrinkled pink penis now dangled below its eager smile. The phone caught up with her, latched onto her hair with its hooks then sank its fangsinto her ear as its now erect penis thumped softly against her neck. Its anteater’sstickytongue then slithered into her ear, and began sandpapering awayat the sensitive part of her eardrum. She screamed. Carmella almost jumped out of bed. “Good grief Tildey, What is it?”

“Ugh, I had a terrible nightmare.” Tildey proceeded to relate the details.

Carmella was shocked - aghast. “We, I mean we Navajos, we take our dreams very seriously.”

“So does my therapist,” said Tildeyand laughed hysterically. “I wonder what he will make of this one.”

The two sat together on the broad veranda and looked out as the sky began to brighten over the La Sal mountains, it was one of the finest views in the valley, but Tildey had never savored it. She had pretty much stayed in her room since arriving. She had even taken her meals in her room.

Tildey’s father kept a humidor in his walk-in closet filled with the very finest, very strongest, small Cuban cigars money can buy. Tildey occasionally helped herself and now sat puffing contentedly as she sipped coffee with Carmella. Carmella had declined the offer of a cigar. The two sat listening in silence as the morning light began slowly growing rosy and the birdsong began. The first rays of the sun spilled goldover the mountains. Tildey finally spoke, “Carmella, I thought you might be a kindred spirit when I saw you in the hallways, always alone, always grave, always silent. I love silence Carmella. And I see you appreciate it too.”

Carmella smiled and rested a hand on Tildey’s shoulder. “I must confess Tildey I never noticed you. You were a complete wonder and surprise when you came crashing through those willows. Who would have thought?”

“Something just hit me Carmella. There was no hesitation. You needed a friend. But let’s move on. I really want to be an activist with you. You stand out - you inspire respect – like that Swedish girl. She is incandescent! The more I think about her the more I want to join her cause. Do you have any more of those leaflets?”

“No, Lance took them all. And I can’t afford to get more printed until Grandma Suzy gets her paycheck Friday.”

“You have it on a flash drive I assume. Well, at lunch break we’ll go to the Copy Center and get a hundred or so made on my dime.”

“You really do want to join. Wow, I’m so glad! I haven’t gotten anyone interested. I’m shy, I guess. I have a hard time speaking out.”

Tildey finished her coffee, stubbed out her cigar and put the remnant in her shirt pocket. Carmella withdrew a long, fat joint from her purse and lit it up. “I prefer green bud to brown leaf, except for ceremonial purposes,” andshe took a long pull on the white cylinder then exhaled a huge bluish cloud at the mountains and handed the joint to Tildey.

As they walked down the path beside the creek, Carmella explained that in addition to her Grandma Suzy, she lived with her Great Aunt Barbara and Great Grandmother Marian, or Granny, in a single-wide trailer, at the end of a long bumpy driveway. It was on sixteen acres with irrigation water so they had a huge garden and kept goats and sheep. Her Auntie Barbara took care of Granny and the garden. Grandma Suzy worked cleaning houses and brought in a paycheck.

Shortly after Carmella had turned ten her single mother vanished without a trace. Much later she had gone to live with her Father, until he and her Grandfather had gone up to Standing Rock to protest the Keystone XL Pipeline. There they had been arrested and thrown into Federal prison with no hope of release. She and her Grandmother had only last month moved in with Auntie Barbara, who had property in Spanish Valley and a small pension. So Carmella too was new to Moab and to the school.

Thetwo then began comparing class schedules. Tildey said she could probably transfer to Carmella’s classes more easily than the other way around. “You see, they say I am gifted. And they will honor my request if I bullshit them and tell them that changing my schedule will enhance my gift.”

“The only problem I can see,” said Carmella, “Is Calculus. My last class of the day is Theatre and Modern Dance. I don’t think you’d be interested in that, and I don’t see how you could make a case for transferring.”

“Oh Carmella, you underestimate me! I know I’ve never done anything remotely of the sort.Butit would mean expansiveness, coming out of myself! My Therapist would be thrilled, my parents too - maybe.”

And so it was that Tildey marched into the Administrator’s office and got her class schedule changed to match Carmella’s; all except for Calculus. “You’ll have to go talk to Miss Moreland. If she signs off on it, it’s OK with me.”

At lunchbreak Carmella and Tildey walked over to the Copy Center returning with a packet of fifty newly minted leafletseach. But they were late getting back to the school and had no time to pass them out.

Tildey arrived ten minutes early for Calculus. Miss Moreland was seated at her desk. Tildey made her request and Miss Moreland expressed shock and dismay. “You want to shift from College Prep Calculus to Theatre and Modern Dance? And I thought you showed such promise! You are the most impressive beginning math student I’ve ever seen. Getting an A in this class would almost certainly guarantee you a full scholarship. You are mad to leave justas you’ve gotten started.”

Tildey was about to reply when their conversation was interrupted by Lance, who was livid. “What’s the matter Lance?” Miss Moreland tenderly inquired.

“I went to Dr. Mendelssohn’s class to ask that redskin girlCarmella about my Smartphone. She hates me you know. But Dr. Mendelssohn said she stayed late, so it couldn’t have been her.” Just then he noticed the brochures sticking up out of Tildey’s notebook. “It was you!” he hissed. “You were sitting right behind me! You put one of these on my desk when you stole my Smartphone,” and he snatched a leafletfrom Tildey and triumphantly presented it to Miss Moreland.

Miss Moreland scowled at the picture of the Swedish girl. “One of these was indeed sitting on Lance’s desk where his Smartphone had been. What have you to say for yourself Miss Starling?”

“Only this, if Mr. Mercaptan had any aptitude for math he wouldn’t have needed your patient assistance for so long – just so you would feel justified in giving him a passing grade. I put the leaflet on his desk beside his phone but he was so long with you, any number of people - janitors, delivery men, other students, could have taken it.”

“So you didn’t take it Tildey?”

“I did not! I have absolutely no use for those stupid contraptions. Do you ever see me staring like a zombie into one? In fact -think about it Miss Moreland -I am the only person in yourclass who is not glued to a screen when they are not paying attention to you.”

“That is true Tildey. That is true indeed. Lance, please, you should not be so hasty with your accusations. Have you reported it to security?” Lance nodded as he sat down scowling at his desk.

“Now where were we Tildey? Oh yes, you want to transfer. I must confess I am very hesitant.”

“What would it take to convince you?”

Miss Moreland scratched her head and thought for a moment. She then brightened. “I have an idea. Really it is a challenge for you. Wait.” And Miss Moreland went into her office. Lance meanwhile glared at Tildey as the other students slowly began filing in. Tildey stuck her tongue out at Lance and wriggled it suggestively. His face turned crimson as Miss Moreland returned from her office with a folder. “This is a standardIvy League entrance exam for very advanced undergrads. It usually takes four to five hours. Let’s see how far you get on it. If you impress me, I’ll sign your slip!” And she laughed as she handed the fat, multi-sectioned test to Tildey.

“You won’t mind if I put in my ear-buds Miss Moreland; your lecture would be distracting.”

“Not at all; Just out of curiosity, what do you listen to when you take a test like this,” and she tapped the wad of sheets.

“The Art of Fugue “saidTildey as she inserted her ear-buds and opened to the first page of the test.

“The Art of Fugue,” mused Miss Moreland. “I’ve never heard of them.” And she called the class to order.

After class was dismissed, Tildey found Carmella waiting for her by the bridge at the top of the steps. “What did your Grandma say?” asked Tildey excitedly as she gave Carmella a hug.

“She saysI’m fine staying as long as your parents are gone. She says it’d be better – especially now that I’vegot a friend. I’ll probably get more studying done. Ialways help out with the chores - even though Grandma Suzy says I don’t need to. She says I’d be better off concentrating on my homework.”

“Can they take care of themselves OK?” They pushed their way through the willows to the clearing.

“Yes, but they are so slow - especially Granny. But she insists on milking her goats every evening.They’re her friends you know.

“This is especially fine cannabis Carmella,” commented Tildey as she sucked in a huge lungful from Carmella’s fat joint.

“Granny grows it in a little greenhouse out in back of the barn. She fertilizes it with goat dung. That’s what makes it so potent, she claims.How did it go in Calculus by the way?”

“Well, calculus class, hmmm,” said Tildey as she exhaled a huge cloud of smoke and burst out laughing.

“Calm down Tildey,” said Carmella, a bit paranoid.

“Well, first Lance accused me of stealing his phone,” and she laughed again. “I denied it of course. Then Miss Moreland said if I could impress her by taking some sort of entrance exam she would sign my transfer slip.”

“Did you impress her?”

Tildey sucked in another huge lungful as she handed Carmella the signed transfer slip.

“Yippee, we get to be in Theatre and Modern Dance together! I think you’ll like Dr. Mendelssohn, he encourages free expression. It’ll give you scope!You need it you know. You are such a strong spirit! How did you do on the test?”

“Miss Moreland will probably think I cheated, but I finished it - before the bell rang - just as the final, four-part fugue was beginning.”Carmella looked puzzled. “Bach, Johann Sebastian Bach - my secret weapon Carmella.” And Tildey burst into hysterical laughter again.

As they were returning to the path, Tildey said that she must celebrategetting into Theatre and Modern Dance by smoking the rest of her cigar. She lit it and began blowing great clouds of extremely strong smelling smokeout onto the path. The students who were walking by broke into a jog. Then someone came up on a bicycle. “Hey, you damned redskin bitch!” It was Lance, on a mountain bike. He zipped up ahead,wheeled around,and blocked their path. Tildey’s presence unnerved him. Tildey glared at him, drilling into his eyes, which he averted. “I know it was you Tildey, you slimy lying bitch! The company couldn’t locate the phone. You destroyed it.”

“Here, take a leaflet Lance,” said Tildey reaching into her notebook. He spat at her feet. She took a long drag on her cigar then blew the smoke into his face with all her might. He sneezed and coughed and gagged then began wiping his eyes with his shirtsleeve.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Carmella and she pulled Tildey off the path, down the bank and across the stream in a flash, hopping from rock to rock.

“I’m gonna get you bitches,” Lance screamed. His shouts diminished as Tildey and Carmella threaded their way through backyards and alleyways to the main road.

That evening the two quickly completed their homework, or rather Carmella, with Tildey’s expert assistance and information, completed all her assignments except for the readings. Tildey then provided a synopsis of the bullshit readingsand Carmella took notes. When it came to American Literature though, Tildey insisted that Carmella carefully read the assigned essay by Emerson.

While Carmella was reading, Tildey checked in with her father. Aunt Maria’s affairs were much more complicated than expected. Lawyers and paperwork were closing in on all sides. And he still had his PhD coursework to keep up with. Mom was delayed in Frankfurt and would be arriving in Chicago two days later than anticipated. Fortunately, there was no one clamoring for timelyfuneral arrangements so events on that front could take their course. He was satisfied with Tildey’s terse assurance that all was well at home. He reminded her that the cleaning staff would be there the following afternoon. “And don’t forget your session with Dr. Hornbloom in the morning,” his image vanished from the screen.

Carmella was enraptured by Tildey’s music, which she played loudly throughout the house on a state of the art sound system which boasted speakers in every room. She said the gorgeous vocal polyphony of Josquin Des Prez reminded her in some way of her own people’s traditional music. She then shared with Tildey all the materials she had on Greta and her Fridays for Our Future Movement. Tildey had already done considerable on-line research on Greta Thunberg. After looking over Carmella’s material, Tildey excitedly spoke to her about parallels she had noted between Greta and certain teenaged female mystics of the middle ages who had begun transforming those around them at a very early age.

Carmella said she had been attracted to the Fridays for our Future movement because Greta was saying boldly to those in power what her own people had been saying all along. And somehow, Greta was being listened to. Carmella explained how her own people regarded what was going on with the earth and climate change. She had been raised a traditional Navajo. Her mother had been very strict thanks to Granny’s invincible authority. Carmella spoke the language fluently, and had lived in a Hogan without running water or electricity until her mother had vanished, and her father, acouple years later, had come and taken her away to live with him in Gallup.

As Carmella was about to go to the spare room for the night Tildeystopped her, put her arm around her shoulder and guided her gently to her own room. “Dear, dear Carmella,”said Tildey as she turned out the lights, “I want to think of our friendship and hold you in my arms as we sleep. I’ve never had a friend before. And it feels so wonderful I could almost cry.”

“My mother used to hold me on summer nights, the windows of the Hogan would be wide openand she would tell me to listen carefully to the prayers of the crickets, that crickets are our little brothers, our friends.”Carmella snuggled closely into Tildey’s caressing arms. Soon both were asleep.

***

The next morning again found Tildey and Carmella with coffee mugs in hand, waiting in silence for the sky to brighten. As a skiff of thin cloud over the mountains began blazing into pink Carmella withdrew a fat joint from her purse. Tildey indicated she would prefer it to a cigar. “Grandma Marian says it is the best thing there is for keeping alert to the white man’s lies and forwarding off his evil spirits.” The girls smoked the entire joint then waited in silence for the sun to rise. At length the eastern sky brightened to orange and the morning birdsong began. Early September gold spilled over the mountainsinto the valley and blazed on sliding glass doors.

“Well, my dear Carmella,” said Tildey at last, “The first evil spirit we must ward off is PE class. I got out of it for mental health reasons. I have a session with my therapist Dr. Hornbloom this morning. I’ll get him to fax me a signed copy of an official school medical exemption form, excusing you. I have here,” and she picked up a fat leather bound volume from the table: “The DSM - Six! The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders,sixth edition, updated to include I don’t know how many new disorders – it’s the Koran and Holy Bible rolled intoone for Americantherapists. I have the pages marked that describe the disorders you will be claiming. Look them over. Then I will put you on Skype. You are in Theatre and Modern Dance. Do a song and dance for Dr. Hornbloombriefly demonstrating the required symptoms.”Carmella giggled softly as she fondled the leather binding then gingerly opened the weighty tome.

Dr. Hornbloom’s immaculately trimmedbeard appeared on the screen. He was handsome, extremely neat and expensively attired.Hiswire rim glasses twinkled as his jolly face beamed. “Howdy! How’s Wild Miss Tildey of the desert! Have you been healthily adjusting while your parents are away?” Tildey pierced his gaze -he looked nervously aside. She frowned, then went on to relate to him honestly, and in great detail, exactly what had happened since their last session. She wanted to floor him. He took off his glasses and furiously cleaned them as she related her dream. She concluded by explaining what she needed. Her narrative had indeed floored him. He could not gather his wits. “What was that Calculus entrance exam?” She told him providing the acronym. His face went pale as the test’s description cameup on an adjoining screen. He began spewing outa puddle of incoherent sentences in which fragmentary platitudes bobbed here and there. Tildey brought him up short. “Esteemed Dr. Hornbloom; I have found a friend. I have found a cause. And I have found what I think will be the best way for me to assist that cause: Theatre and Modern Dance! We have a Climate Action General Strike to agitate for and Carmella and I desperately need the time that would otherwise be devoted to the worship of round rubber fetishes, for more important things! We need it totry to make a difference for our planet! Now if that’s not the rosy bloom of mental health I don’t know what is!” And she began laughing hysterically, gradually, theatrically, morphing into an uncontrolled cackle of wild dementedness.

“Alright Tildey – alright, alright – please!!! Just simmer down.”

“I just sent you the form with Carmella’s information all filled out. I even listed the most persuasive suite of disorders. Carmella has no insurance of course. You can charge me a bit more if you like, Mom will never notice. But pro-bono work on behalf of the tribes would burnish your moral sheen.”

“I will do it Tildey, I will do it! Free of charge! You are getting to be downright terrifying. But let me see this girl. How do I know she is not some figment of your firestorm imagination?”

Tildey motioned for Carmella to come over and sit in front of the screen. Dr. Hornbloom looked at her in wonder. Fresh from the shower, she did look rather breathtakingly beautiful. She was radiant in fact. But she tried to look disordered. She had made up some lines after reading the indicated pages in the DSM. It was like improv, she realized. Her performance, under Dr. Hornbloom’s questioning, was a bit over the top, but persuasive. “My God Tildey, where did you find this girl?”

“I told you Dr. Hornbloom. Thank you so much for signing the form. The main worry I had is that Carmella would be in PE class without me. Lance and his team practice their wrestling movesright beside the track where she and her classmates do their laps.”

“Tildey, I fully understand! Carmella, you are a saint if I ever saw one. For Tildey’ sake,you’re an angel from heaven.” He looked down as he scribbled something. “Your exclusion will be showing up on Tildey’s FAX machine momentarily. You probably feel sorry for me now Tildey. Think of all the paperwork your narrative will generate. But console yourself; it may someday become a best seller.” And he laughed.

Tildey proposed that she and Carmella undertake a school strike the next day - it was Friday. They would spend the entire day sitting outside the auditorium with signs and leaflets. Carmella thought it a bold move. “I wouldn’t have done it on my own, but you give me self-confidence.”

And so they set about making signs. “Should we wear costumes?” asked Tildey.

“I will have to think about that,” said Carmella a bit doubtfully.

When they arrived at school, Tildey accompanied Carmella to the administrator’s office. There Carmella presented the paperwork permanently exempting her from PE Class. It all went very smoothly. Carmella received the exemption. Then the Calculus teacher, Miss Moreland, suddenly showed up demanding to know why Tildey and Carmella were there. “It is a matter which falls under the Medical Privacy Act Miss Moreland,” said Tildey and the two departed.

They arrived at Theatre and Modern Dance fifteen minutes early. Carmella introduced Tildey to Dr. Mendelssohn. “Ah, Tildey Starling; Miss Moreland was just in here a few minutes ago. She said she was confused. She could not understand why such a brilliantly gifted Calculus student would want to study Theatre and Modern Dance. But at the same time, she confessed that there was nothing the school could possibly teach you. She said you had Aced, an advanced Ivy League placement exam yesterday in less than an hour. Not even her professors, she said, could have done that. She suspects you of cheating, but can’t figure out how you could have. The test was an example for Harvard Grad School; her fiancé had obtained it to look over. She just happened to have it in her office so she could scan it. She gave it to you to humble you and keep you in her class.” And Dr. Mendelssohn gave vent to a huge belly laugh. He was a gigantic bear of a man with a shaggy mane of wavy black hair and a long curly, beard. Though it was against the dress code, he insisted he needed the beard for theatrical effect. He finallysimmered down and went on, “Then, Miss Moreland confided that you had suspiciously put in your ear buds and were listening to some band called, The Art of Fugue.” He began belly laughing again, this time so hard he had to take off his glasses and wipe his eyes. “Tildey, I happen to be a devout worshipper of the great Johann Sebastian,” and he bowed elaborately. Tildey squealed with delight, something Carmella had never heard her do.

“Dr. Mendelssohn,” Tildey exclaimed.“I am more than delighted you emulate your namesake. But sir, I am so very, very bored in Calculus. I need a challenge -something to take me out of myself - being a recluse and all, and well … I thought something like this might be more challenging eventhan bloody Harvard,” she put on her best cockney accent.

“But, Tildey, do you really have an interest in Theatre and Modern Dance;apart from the challenge?”

“I do Dr. Mendelssohn. Thanks to the first friend I’ve ever had in my entire life – Miss Carmella Blacksnake here,” and Tildey bowed elaborately to Carmella and giggled, “I was introduced to Greta Thunberg and her activism. And it struck me immediately, when Carmella told me about your class, that it might be the best place for both of us to find voice and scope for our own activism.”

Dr. Mendelssohn had to sit down. He was not used to encountering young people who genuinely cared. He beckoned Tildey and Carmella over to his desk. “Tildey, you take my breath away,” and he signed the form granting her admittance to his class. Students were starting to enter the classroom. “Tildey, Carmella,” he whispered. “I am a Greta supported too. Well, I guess I should say” and he pointed to a leaflet which lay on his desk. “I just became one. Miss Moreland brought this in and said I should keep an eye on you Carmella; that you are a known troublemaker and have been passing out these subversive leaflets with impunity. She found this one in her classroom, sitting brazenly on a student’s desk. Well, now that I know more, thanks to Miss Moreland,” and he picked up the leaflet and gazed for a long time at the picture of Greta. “I shall act accordingly. On Wednesday, the eighteenth of September, in the school auditorium, performances will take place designed by those who wish to tentatively stick their toes in the water – it can be a skit, a sketch, or something choreographed.” He then called the class to order. Tildey and Carmella took their seats. He then announced to the class the project he had in mind. “I know this is early, but perhaps one or two of you have an eager direction you’d like to try. The class will then know how to nurture it along. So, volunteers only! Work in pairs, or in groups. And the sky’s the limit!”

When they returned to Tildey’s house, the usual cleaning ladies were there along with Carmella’s Grandmother. Carmella introduced Tildey. “This is Grandma Suzy.” Carmella’s Grandmother was tall, slender even wiry. Her very long, jet black hair was tied up in a bun. She wore the uniform of the cleaning company. “I got my work site changed to this neighborhood so I can take you home when I’m done. I’m cleaning the house up the hill. You’ll need to come home Carmella. Riley Cameron’s hogs got out again and broke through the fence. Grandma Marian was out sleeping in the garden, like she always does, and drove them away. But the goats got out, so did a couple of the lambs. I’ve got to work tomorrow,and finding the goats and fixing the fence is waytoo much work for your Aunt Barbara what with her arthritis and all.”

Carmella was forlorn. She looked over at Tildey.A tear trickled down her cheek. “Well, Tildey, I guess it’s just you tomorrow with our signs and leaflets. Just like Greta.”

“Grandma Suzy - if I may,” said Tildey and she curtsied, “Might I offer my assistance? I am sure what Carmella has to do is a tough business;all by herself and everything.”

“That would be wonderful Miss Starling. You are so kind. Of course it means you’ll have to stay over. I can’t bring you back ‘til Monday. Our old car’s on its last legs and the gas mileage is terrible.”

“That would be wonderful, delightful, Grandma Suzy. Wow, Carmella – a sleepover at your place. I’ll pack my bags.”

“It’s not what you think it is -it’s not what you’re used to Tildey. We’re poor you know.”

“That’s exactly why I’m going to love it! “

Tildey skipped off to the computer. As luck would have it, her Dad was on. He was engaged in some sort of legal research. His worried visage appeared on the screen. “What is it Tildey; You never Skype at odd hours.”

“Dad, I just wanted to let you know I will be out of communication until Monday. I will be participating in a Wilderness Therapy Program - in the mountains. Dr. Hornbloom recommended it.”

“That’s fine Tildey. I hope it helps. That’s funny; Dr. Hornbloom gave me a very positive report on you this morning. He says you are making phenomenal progress. But he didn’t mention Wilderness Therapy.”

“A slot opened up at the last minute.”

“All right Tildey, I’ll talk to you on Monday. Your mother should be here then too.”

******

Grandma Suzy’s car was an old battered Chevy pickup, early seventies model. Eight bales of hay and two bags of oats lay neatly stacked in the back along with a variety of ropes, chains, odds and ends of tools and various shovels. Tildey’s, neat little Gladstone bag rested between her feet. The windows were open and Carmella’s hair kept whipping into Tildey’s face. “You didn’t bring much,” said Carmella as she brushed her hair back once again.

“Only a few books a clean shirt and an extra pair of socks. I’m wearing my hiking boots. See.I thought I would need them if we are going to chase goats across the desert.”

Carmella looked at the fabulously expensive, very stylish looking lightweight hiking boots. “Wow, those sure are fancy pants shoes,” she giggled.

“My Mom got them for me hopingshe could induce me to join her on one of her stupid outdoor adventures. This is the first time I’ve ever worn them. They feel comfortable enough. But I can’t wait to get goat shit on ‘em.” And she laughed hysterically, leaned her head out the window and breathed deeply of the desert air.

Great Aunt Barbara’s decrepit old trailer sat on cider blocks under a grove of gigantic cottonwoods. Though dilapidated on the outside, it was cozy and homey inside. Tildey was introduced to Auntie Barbara,a tall and statuesque woman like Grandma Suzy, but ten years older with a facequite weathered from a lifetimeof living outdoors. “Granny’s out in the tomato beds pulling hornworms, or I’d introduce her.”

Carmella took Tildey to her tiny bedroom. A huge poster of Greta, sitting by herself in front of the Swedish Parliament with her ‘School Strike for Climate’ sign, dominated one wall. A bouquet of peacock feathers, their eyed tops almost touching the low ceiling, was the only other decoration. A single bed filled over half the room’s space. “We will certainly be cozy here,” said Tildey as she unpacked her bag. She set her books on the table by the bed.

Carmella picked them up and thumbed through the pages. Two wereSeminars by Jacques Lacan. One was a book of poetry. “This is in French. Wow, you speak French!”

“I have little opportunity to speak it, but I read it. French literature is best savored in the original. Most critics would not consider Lacan literature - but I do. And on the lighter side there is Baudelaire. Les Fleurs de Mal – The Flowers of Evil.” Tildey giggled. “By the way Carmella, does that window open? I want to hear the crickets.”

“It does Tildey, but I thought if you’d be willing to try it, we might sleep outside tonight, under the stars. I have an extra bedroll and an old pack frame of my Grandpa’s you can use.” Tildey was beyond delighted and jumped up and down bumping her head on the low ceiling. “Are you sure, Tildey? I don’t imagine you’ve ever done anything like it in your entire life.”

“No I haven’t Carmella. But I want to so bad. Because it’s real;everything about Chicago was fake, fake, fake! Pointlessly fake. Disgustingly fake. Boringly Fake;” Tildey laughed again, hysterically; “Finally something real; this beautiful desert in your backyard; you!” Tildey laughed and threw her arms around her friend.

The old swamp cooler chugged away,its thin gift of moist air greatly enhanced by a small fan blowing across the kitchen table where Tildey and Carmella sat drinking instant coffee with Grandma Suzy and Auntie Barbara. “Oh girls,” said Auntie Barbara. “You need to go out and talk to Granny. She’supset about the goats. She keeps calling their names. And she won’t come in.”

“We’ll go talk to her Auntie. She’ll be happy I brought a helper.”

“Tildey, do you know anything about goats?” askedAuntie Barbara.