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Sylia and Mitzi are carefully putting the Homecoming dress in a box.  Mitzi treats the dress like someone from the Smithsonia might treat an artistic treasure of great national signifigance.

"I'm glad you got to go to the dance with Donnie."  she says as she smooths the wrinkles out of the garment before putting the lid on the box.

"Me, too," Sylvia says, looking at the dress like it's a Christmas ornament, no longer hers but to be preserved, in perpetuity, for generations.  "You ever know anyone who's a great person in bad circumstances?"

"Sure honey, everyone has rough spots.  Why do you ask?"

"I was just saying, that's what Donnie's like.  Nice when nothing's got him wound up.  Unfortunately he's wound up a lot."

"Well, these are stressful times.  Having special powers can only be making it harder.  Just try to remember that the people you are now are changing and they will be entirely different people in a few years."  She stopped herself and looked over at Sylvia.  "That sounded bad, didn't it?"  She furrows her brow for a minute, "How about, enjoy the time you have now and let tomorrow be tomorrow."  She smiles, trying to push away any potential unhappy ideas she might have created with her earlier comment.

Sylvia finds it hard to see past the end of this One True Love she's been lucky enough to find for herself at the precocious age of fourteen.  She and Donnie will be together forever, she's sure, and so she dismisses her mother's comment as the warning of someone who doesn't know.  "Mom, how do you find a date for somebody?"

"That's dangerous work honey.  You have to know the people, and have a reasonably goo sense of how they'll be together.  When people are together, it changes them.  They're different, and sometimes not always for the better.  Why, are you thinking of playing matchmaker to a friend at school?"

"No.  All my friends at school have girlfriends, pretty much."  Except for Rob, who's now a man of God, or at least some god, and Dave, who has his Red Right Hand.  "I was thinking of someone else, a grown-up I know."  She bites her lip.  "Do you do that kind of thing?  Do you know how to find love for somebody in a magic way?  I mean, it doesn't have to be love, exactly.  It just has to be someone nice."

Mitzi smiles.  "Using magic to find love can be dangerous.  It's never what you think it is, and from what I've seen and heard it can be more horrible then just going out and meeting someone."  Mitzi slides the box up onto the top of the closet shelf.  "There are a few single mothers in the PTA, and I know some ladies from the knitting train.  Maybe we could have a big pot luck and let him meet some people.  We could invite Jack, and Kel's dad,  they're both single.  This could be fun."  Sylvia has seen this type of thing before.  Excitement brewing in the back of Mitzi's fertile crafting mind.

Sylvia imagines Smith in his pajamas and bathrobe, surrounded by chatty knitters, organic gardeners, and pottery painters.  "What if this guy isn't really social?  What if he's been sort of out-of-touch for a while, out of circulation?"

"It's okay if he hasn't dated.  It wont be like that, it'll be very low key."

Sylvia can hear the murmur of Mitzi's thoughts.  They're like a subtle background noise that she's realized is there.  People, names, favorits dishes for pot luck.  Convincing Carolyn it'll be fun and not a headache.

The icy chill that runs up Sylvia's spine makes her draw a long, slow breath.  Is that you?  Don't snoop.  And if you've snooped, don't panic.

"We're not talking shy guy.  We're talking shut-in."  She clears her throat, uncomfortable.  "And whoever he was meeting would have to be really . . . understanding.  And smart.  And honest.  Really honest.  So not just anybody."

"Oh."  Mitzi says, shifting her thoughts.  "Has he been in the hospital?  That's okay, we can just let him sit in the room, you know and soak up the social experience some."

Sylvia doesn't feel Smith, just the warm tingle of thoughts drifting through her head.  Thoughts that aren't hers.  If she doesn't focus on them, they become quiet enough to ignore.

"He hasn't been in prison or anything, when you say shut up you meant he's someone that's leaving the hospital where you volunteer."  There are a blur of thoughts with that, Sylvia's sister getting questioned about where Sylvia goes on Sunday's, and her sister telling a finely crafted lie about volunteering at the mental hospital.  The parents had some worry, but Carolyn was the one to squash it.  She didn't tell us because she doesn't want us to worry.  It's perfectly safe, and she knows that.  We have to let her find her own way, she's not going to be your little girl forever Mitz.  Mitzi accepted that, and there has been no other talk of it.

That's a little like telling herself not to think about a spot on the back of her hand that itches.


Sylvia feels dirty, listening in on her mother's thoughts.  "He's never been in prison."  I think.  And now she has to come clean because she feels like she might if she had sneaked cash out of Mitzi's purse--anxious and remorseful.  "He's a patient, but he's not sick.  He just lives there.  He's been helping me, training me the way Jack's been training me."

Mitzi's expression changes.  "I don't understand.  How can he be a patient and not sick, or, is he just saying he's not sick.  That's a very slippery slope Slyvia."

"He committed himself.  I guess he likes the food, or the privacy, or something.  He seems sane.  He's not on any medication."  As worried as she was about telling Mitzi and Carolyn, having shared the fact that she's been visiting Smith makes Sylvia feel curiously liberated.  "I guess he'd be a monk if he were religious."

"Oh.  Well, all kinds of people commit themselves.  Is he ready to get back into the world then, is that what this is all about."

"I dunno.  He knows how to take care of himself."  She leans her head against Mitzi's shoulder.  "It's just, he made this decision to shut himself away, but then, when I was upset, he reached out to me.  It means . . . I mean, do you think it means he's lonely?  He shouldn't be lonely.  He's a good guy.  Just kind of special-needs, you know?"

"Well, if he reached out to you then maybe that mans he's trying to make his way out of his bubble.  You think the pot-luck would be a bad idea?'

"I'll ask him," Sylvia says, wincing a little in anticipation of the highly articulate, well-reasoned, telepathic whining.