POTATO MOON, Part 76: “A Short Break” by Jeff Suess

An orange Ford Mustang GT skid to an abrupt stop before the building entrance, then impatiently revved its engine. To be clear, it wasn’t Stan, the kid in the driver’s seat, who was impatient, it was the car. Stan had his palms clutched against his ears but even the radio blaring ’N Sync could not drown out the incessant exposition emanating from the backseat.

“Then Edwood tried to get away from me,” Bela continued ceaselessly, “but I followed him across the country—”

“We’re here,” Stan interrupted with what Bela detected was a sharp tone.

“But I haven’t even gotten all the way through Book Two yet,” she said, pushing the front seat forward so she could squeeze out.

The radio sang, “I wanna see you out that door/Baby, bye, bye, bye.”

Bela was still a bit put out that the car—a robot only pretending to be a Mustang with stylish leather seats and a well-stocked MP3 player—had refused to budge one more inch until she moved to the backseat just because she unfavorable compared its driving to the amazing preternatural driving skills of her Edwood. Her heart skipped a beat when she thought of him. Perhaps she had a heart murmur.

“This is where you wanted to go?” Stan said. “The mall?”

Her eyes smiled freakishly at the sight of the enormous multi-level shopping complex.

“Women and shopping,” Stan mumbled. The Mustang peeled out without waiting for Bela to close the door.

“It’s not what you think,” she called out to him as the car drove away to its own story. “Edwood’s in there somewhere. I can feel it. He’s in trouble—and I have to find him!”

***

Something was wrong. Woeisme could feel it. Something was usually wrong when it concerned their father, Edwood.

“Dad did not turn those models into sparklepires,” Woeisme said in reference to the poster ads of gaunt teens with tousled hair and plump lips modeling khaki pants in the Gap. “That’s how Madison Avenue thinks teenagers look and dress.” Her Pixie Stick buzz had dissipated and she felt more like the jaded twenty-year-old that she now appeared as.

“And that stiff plastic mannequin,” Something scoffed. “Who are they kidding with that ridiculous emo hair and those vacant eyes?”

“That’s Dad,” Woeisme said. They stood just outside the retail security towers, afraid to cross the threshold into the Gap. Edwood disappeared among the stacks of jeans. “And he needs our help,” she said. Woeisme remembered a voice from when the Sullens had all traveled to London last year. “Mind the Gap,” it had said. And she had. Until now. Woeisme took a deep breath and stepped into the Gap.

Something followed her.

They braved an ordeal with some shelf-bra camis and nearly succumbed to a BOGO sale on Capri pants, but they found Jakob, in human form, sitting on the floor near the fitting room mirror, his skin glistening.

“Not you, too,” Something complained. “Everyone’s a vampire these days.”

“That’s just the fluorescent lights,” Woeisme said.

Jakob looked up to them with sullen eyes. “I dreamt I was a potato beetle, then I woke up and wasn’t sure if I were a man who dreamt he was a beetle, or a beetle who’s dreaming he’s a man.”

“You were a potato beetle,” Woeisme pointed out.

“And you’re not a man, you’re a half-werewolf, half-potato shapeshifter,” Something added.

Jakob groaned.

Something motioned with his eyebrows to get his sister to ask Jakob what was wrong, but she shook her head and said, “We have to find Dad,” between pursed lips.

Something did a little huffy head rattle. “What’s wrong?” he pointedly asked Jakob.

“I had to sit down,” Jakob sighed. “It’s exhausting being this intense all the time. I want Bela, I want Woeisme; nobody wants me. I yearn. I languish. I even caught fire! And I can’t do this all the time. I need a break.”

“That’s understandable.”

“You don’t mind taking a breather?” Jakob asked.

“Our parents do it all the time.”

“Really? So what does Edwood do when he’s not smoldering?” Jakob asked.

“He reads Emily Brontë.”

“And mom randomly sets us all up with brand new identities,” Woeisme contributed.

“Wow, I didn’t know that.” The tightness in Jakob’s chest lessened.

“And I shout out, ‘Santora!’” said a voice with a heavy Spanish accent. A rack of dress shirts parted to reveal a large potato shaking a fist.

“El Patata!”

Jakob scrambled to his feet. Woeisme and Something darted about the store, shouting for Edwood.

“Break’s over?” El Patata asked as they fled. “Santora!”