ARE YOU STILL THERE?
I’m making sure we’re alone. It said: “Congratulations, Lane Idle. You have a great mind, and an adventurous heart. Meet me at Elitch Gardens, Friday at 5. Come alone. The future depends on it.”
YOU HAVEN’T SAID ANYTHING IN A MINUTE. ARE YOU STILL THERE?
You’re not reacting. You’re not… you’re not amazed by this? I guess you wouldn’t be. You’re a… please stop with the butterflies and the orchestra sounds. They’re very distracting.
Chapter 38
TRANSCRIPT FROM THE HUMAN MEMORY CRUSADE.
JULY 17, 2010
ARE YOU A RETURNING PARTICIPANT?
This is strange.
The machine is very smart, Betty. Please, just talk to it. Don’t be afraid of the butterflies.
I’m speaking for Lane Eliza Idle.
I’VE FOUND YOUR FILE. WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONTINUE TELLING YOUR STORY, OR WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO A DIFFERENT ACTIVITY, LIKE PLAY A GAME? I SEE THAT YOU HAVE BEEN PLAYING MANY FUN GAMES FOR MANY HOURS IN THE LAST FEW WEEKS. YOU HAVE HAD A HIGH SCORE. I AM PROUD OF YOU.
What do you want to do, Lane? Do you want me to read this?
I’M HAVING TROUBLE UNDERSTANDING YOU. WOULD YOU LIKE TO TAKE A FUN TRIVIA TEST TO REMEMBER WHAT WE TALKED ABOUT BEFORE?
Laney, do you want to take a quiz?
I suppose so.
WHEN WE TALKED BEFORE, YOU TOLD ME THAT YOU FIRST HEARD ABOUT PEARL HARBOR LISTENING TO A RADIO. ON THE SCREEN ARE THREE PICTURES OF RADIOS, WHICH ONE DID IT MOST LOOK LIKE?
Lane?
I don’t remember, I think it was a black radio, like the one in the middle.
DID YOU SAY THE ONE IN THE MIDDLE?
Yes.
I THINK I UNDERSTOOD YOU TO SAY THAT YOUR FATHER OWNED A BLUE CADILLAC. YOU HAVE AN EXCELLENT MEMORY.
I want to tell my story.
She’d like to continue with her story.
DID YOU SAY YOU’D LIKE TO CONTINUE WITH YOUR STORY?
Yes.
Yes.
WOULD YOU LIKE A REMINDER OF WHERE YOU LEFT OFF THE LAST TIME WE TALKED?
Do you want me to read this aloud?
Tell the box, please.
The box?
Lane?
What do you want me to do, Lane?
I’m tired.
Okay, okay. I’ll try this. My name is Betty Lou, and I’m going to read something written by Lane Idle. I’m reading now:
I didn’t know whether to tell anyone about what I found. What if something terrible was happening at Elitch Gardens, like a crime, or, I don’t know, maybe espionage. It was wartime, and we all knew that something bad was happening. And we were already having trouble trusting. I thought about telling my brother what I’d found. But he was one of the people I was having trouble trusting — for a different reason: he was hanging out with those bad kids, and he needed money and he wasn’t acting like my brother anymore. He was taking… he had a different way of dealing with his idle mind. Should I keep going?
Betty Lou, you have a beautiful voice when you read.
Elitch Gardens was a gathering place, I guess you’d say. There were some restaurants, and a public flower garden, dance pavilion, and walking paths. It eventually became an amusement park, but this was before that. My point is that I didn’t think much bad could happen there; this was also before people got into shooting matches, and I couldn’t imagine it was anything like that. So, to make a long story short (my hand gets tired when I write too long), I decided I’d go down to Elitch Gardens myself. Of course, I decided that! Who am I kidding? I wouldn’t have it any other way!
It’s nice to see you smile, Lane. This is a strange story. Is it made up? Lane?
I don’t think so.
Oh okay. I’m just going to keep reading for you then:
It was a busy day for me already. Before I went to Elitch Gardens to uncover the mystery, I was supposed to have my first driving lesson with Irving. I’m not sure if it was a driving lesson or a date. It went badly. He was so nice to me — too nice. Not dramatic, but nice and sturdy. I didn’t think I should tell him about the envelope. But I was so nervous during the whole lesson. And guess what? I crashed his car! I drove it into a fence. The front part of Irving’s car — his fender, or bumper or whatever — was broken, or bent. He drove me in silence back to the bakery. He was quiet; I was apologetic. I thought he was so mad at me. But when we got there — to the bakery — he reached into the glove compartment. He pulled out an apple. A very shiny one, red. He said: “I forgot. I was going to give this to you.”
That’s so romantic, Lane.
Irving was my husband.
Are you crying, Lane?
Irving was my husband. Irving was my husband. Irving drove a blue Chevrolet. I heard about Pearl Harbor on the black radio. My mother used a butter churn and our neighbors slaughtered their own chickens in a barn.
Lane, why don’t we stop for the day.
You can play games, you know that?
Chapter 39
TRANSCRIPT FROM THE HUMAN MEMORY CRUSADE.
JULY 23, 2010
I AM BETTY LOU, I AM WITH LANE IDLE, AND I AM READING FROM LANEY’S NOTEBOOK. I AM READING NOW:
After the accident in Irving’s car, I went into the back of the bakery, and I cleaned up, and this next part is funny, or certainly telling about my personality. I put on my brother’s black overcoat. I’d brought it to the bakery that morning. I had this idea that I would somehow be camouflaged in it — like maybe the shape of my body would be drowned out, or that I might look like a young man (I was hyper aware as a young woman that I had nice bosoms and that this attribute separated me from men). I also wore a cap that belonged to my brother. I was walking out of the bakery through the alley door when my father happened to walk into the back to throw something into the trash. He hardly noticed me at first, and then he saw how I was dressed. I thought he’d be curious or furious, but he said: “It’s smart for a girl to dress warmly and keep herself covered up.” I’d have had a big laugh as I was leaving if I wasn’t so nervous and excited about where I was going. I’m this 17-year-old girl, almost 18, and I’m feeling like a spy, dressed like a boy, and my imagination is galloping. I hired a taxi to get to the meeting. Even so, I was nearly late. I guess I hadn’t accounted for traffic. I gave the driver a quarter, which was a pretty big tip. He asked if I was sure that I wanted to be dropped off there; it was getting a little bit dark. But I told
