Mitochondrial Curiosities of Marcels 1 to 19 Read Free Page B

Ghandi statue outside the downtown library. Clue 1 could say: Rhymes with
candy
.

    2. At the Ghandi statue, you’ll hide Clue 2. And so on.
    3. If you know how many people are playing, you can leave little prizes. Good places in Edmonton are pamphlet racks at city hall, plants in MacLab theatre and the sculpture in front of the Winspear.

Two
    In September I had an epiphany. Others called it a breakdown because I was fourteen and had recently cut my own hair. Everybody had an opinion. I got caught in a bad energy field (Rita); I was lazy (Joan); predictably nihilistic (Paige); anemic (Grandma Giles); possibly lesbian (Santini, school counsellor); underchallenged (Ms. Riddell, biology teacher); bloody brilliant (Leonard). I knew it was an epiphany because I knew what epiphanies were. The week before, I had happened to be in English 10 when Trenchey talked about epiphanies and he was quasi-interesting for the first and only time. That kind of coincidence has to mean something.
    On epiphany day, things started as per usual. I was walking through Churchill Square, empty concrete heart of Edmonton. I had passed the sign that says ‘Wheeled sporting activities are not allowed.’ Wheeled sports are the only thing the square is good for, but that’s Edmonton for you, and I’m used to it.
    Who knows why that day was so radically unspecial, but I was totally tabula rasa. Possibly Churchill Square oozed brain-damaging toxins and all my get-thee-to-school neurons had been eaten away so I could ephiphanize. Or, forget the carcinogens – maybe ugliness is enough for brain damage. Wouldn’t that explain practically everything?
    I watched people walk by and so many of them looked like they wanted to sit down and stop everything. You could see them make the decision to keep moving. After a while I told myself, whatever, Dree, you’re just PM sing. I watched the guys looking for butts outside the doors of Edmonton Centre. Oh, go home, drink more coffee, I told myself. Then I saw the security guardswatching the guys looking for butts. I went OMG , it’s Edmonton on Wednesday morning, get a grip. Then a man older than Grandma Giles yelled, ‘Learn to drive, you moron,’ from his truck, the woman he yelled at gave him the finger, he leaned on the horn and so did a bunch of other people.
    We are so so done.
    I thought of Joan in her cubicle and the hundreds – thousands? – of other people trapped in cubi-farms all around me. I felt the pull to jump back in, magnetic and strong. I didn’t move. I couldn’t not see what I saw. We’re talking full-on, factual data – like waiting for the bus when it’s thirty below and knowing it’s cold. I knew humans were finished.
    It wasn’t about school being all traumatic. It’s just that when nothing matters, ninety-minute blocks of obsolete information are ridiculous. Like getting measles when you’re dying of cancer. A secondary disease.
    I ate a lot of chocolate that evening, which led to regret, invention and decision. Feeling bad for the tired masses, I invented the band of hope, a hair band containing messages of hope to give to those in need of encouragement. I tried to blog it for my weekly craft, but because of a tragic home situation – dial-up – I gave up after an hour and concentrated on a life plan. Clearly, I could no longer not notice that my city is not only the epicentre of capitalist car-freaking-death culture but death itself, so, except for killing myself in spirit or body, there was one thing and one thing only to do: thrust myself into the heart of this evil. The Mall. I had to work in West Edmonton Mall.
    The next day, I almost scored at Second Cup, thinking unlimited free coffee, yes. But Manager Rachel said I had to buy a Second Cup T-shirt for $27 and couldn’t use the espresso machine until I proved myself because the espresso machine was a privilege,not a right. When Roberta at