really call you Miss Entropia?”
“Pia is fine,” she said. “Ms. Entropia is a formal name. I let some people call me Pia.”
“So I should be flattered?”
“Yeah. But don’t be a bonehead about it.”
“What does your family call you?”
“Francine.”
“You don’t look like a Francine.”
“Thanks. I don’t answer to it.”
“My name is Adam Webb.” I used a confidential tone of voice, as if afraid to be overheard. It was all for show because everyone knows my name is Adam. But since Pia and I were exchanging confidences, I wanted her to believe she was getting privileged info.
“Most people,” I added, “call me something else. Like my older brother, Ted, calls me Jerk-off. Iris, a kind of cousin, calls me Shorty. Mother and Father call me Problem Child.” It’s about then that I noticed that with her black look, from lip gloss and mascara to spiky black hair, Pia was as close to a living manifestation of the Goddess Kali as I had ever encountered. After all those nights praying to the deity, with her multiple arms, her earrings made of skulls, her belt of severed hands, here we were actually chatting.
Even as I pictured the goddess sowing chaos, a look of sadness clouded Pia’s features. The goddess was showing her vulnerable side. Nobody could be a full-time deity and still function in the world.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I can’t believe my parents would send me to a facility for nutcases.”
“That’s parents for you.”
“Honestly, I didn’t think I was ready to be institutionalized. If that’s the word.”
“It is,” I said. “The very word.” Still, I wanted to reassure her that things at the ’Tute wouldn’t be as bad as she feared. “Some of us get treated better than at home. The food is varied, the company is interesting, the schooling is good. You learn useful skills like how to shake hands without breaking someone’s bones, how to keep from screaming when that’s what you hear inside your head, how to talk without spitting, chew without smacking, sneeze without spraying.”
“I really, really don’t want to go.”
I started to tell her again that things would be better than she expected, that she might even grow to like the place, as some of us do, when I was startled by insistent pounding on the passengerside door.
“Are you just going to ignore him?” asked Pia as Harley’s pummeling shook the van.
“I don’t think it’s for us.”
“Ha!” She had a way of succinctly reacting to apparent absurdity. “Of course it’s for us. Or rather for you … Adam.” The sound of my name sent a shiver to the back of my neck.
Harley walked to the front of the van and held up a plaid coat for Pia to see.
“He brought your coat out,” I said. “That was thoughtful.”
“I hate that coat. My parents know that.”
He turned his back to us, but I could see that he was talking on a cell phone. I imagined he was calling the ’Tute for a second set of keys. That gave us at least an hour of fun inside the van. Good luck, Happy, I thought. Try to explain that the inmates have taken over the asylum’s wheels. “So,” I said, as if continuing a conversation that had been interrupted, “are you into entropy or misanthropy?”
She seemed amused for the first time. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”
“How about both? Chaos and hatred simultaneously.”
“Not so simple,” she said. “The Pia part of Entropia connotes devotion, piety. So go figure, Geniusboy.”
“My name’s Adam.” I did not need another moniker.
Pia grabbed the microphone from the CB radio, “Calling Adam, calling Adam.”
“Roger and out.” I clicked off.
“Are you old enough to drive?” she asked.
“I know how to drive,” I said. “Where do you want to go?”
This struck Pia as being unbearably funny. “Oh, my! Hardy-hardy-har.” Even if she was mocking me, I enjoyed the attention.
“How about California?” she added. “We’d better do something before the driver calls the cops.”
“I don’t think the Institute would like the publicity,” I said. “We’d be on Channel 11 in minutes. But it will take them an hour to send someone with an extra key.”
Happy sounded tired as he shouted toward the windshield, “Hey, Mr. Problem.” He added another name to my collection. “Unlock the door or I’m calling the cops.”
“Great. I’ll call the media.” I waved the CB mike for him to see through the windshield. There was not even a wave as he shuffled off. “Later, alligator!” I sang.
This time Pia cracked up. “After a while …” Her laugh, a clear peal of delight, emboldened me. I sat up and clutched the wheel with both hands, assuming control of our hijacked vehicle.
“You don’t look like you know what to do,” she said as mockery edged back into her voice.
“Watch.” I turned the key, and the van came to life with a pleasing rumble. I pulled the seat closer to the steering wheel until I could reach the pedals with the tip of my foot. I stretched as high as I could to get a better view out the windshield, shifted to D, and we were off, rolling slowly on the gravel driveway.
Chapter Four
At this point I hadn’t yet decided we were going anywhere. It was enough to be moving around the circular driveway, steering the van as big as a truck, while Pia hooted with delight. When we passed the front door, Happy Harley and the Haggards were standing in our way waving for us to stop. Obediently I stretched for the brake pedal but pushed the accelerator instead, lurching forward and causing the three to scramble to safety. I jerked my foot back, and the van slowed down. Just as we were about to hit a tree, I stomped on the brake pedal and the van slid to a stop. When I saw Happy Harley in the rearview mirror, running toward us, I nudged the van forward, waited for him to come closer, then hit the gas, and so on. It had started to snow big, fat flakes. After three cycles of this routine, Harley retreated to the front door. Not funny, he mouthed as we passed by one more time. Sorry, I mouthed back with an abashed shrug, as if to communicate that this thing was sliding and twisting on the slippery pavement beyond my control. Big fun.
“Watch out for the circle jerk!” cried Pia.
I gained confidence and sped up. By the tenth circle I was swerving and fishtailing on the loose gravel. I loved peeling out and then slamming on the brakes and skidding to a stop. There was a smell of burning rubber and gasoline. I turned on the headlights,
