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Show Motherlunge a novel 58 10. The Second Wig At the curb, our mother sat behind the glass in the passenger's side window, waiting. Joseph-tall, stooped, with a thin black ponytail discharging down his back-held up his palm at Pavia and I as he felt his way around the hood of the car toward the curb. "Two sisters!" he cried. "Hello!" Joseph was about my age, though his face was creased and the skin on his cheeks was thick and pitted with acne scars. He took a step toward us with his arms wide. Pavia stopped him by pointing her finger at the car's passenger door, behind which sat Dorothy, moon-faced and expectant, mouthing Love you! Joseph turned with a giggle and pulled open the door. Dorothy hoisted herself out. It was revealed that she and Joseph were wearing matching blue tracksuits, stained in places, white plastic zipper pulls shaped like lightning bolts. Together this time, they held out their arms to us. Pavia and I set about embracing our visitors; I took Dorothy first. Out of the comer of my eye, I saw my sister lift her chin high over Joseph's shoulder, straining to avoid the starchy, cooked-noodle smell he and Dorothy shared after five days of sleeping in the car. We switched and hugged again. "Wow," said Pavia adenoidally. "You made it." |