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“Now?”
“Here. With you.” She downs two Cheesy Puff Fingers.
“But what were you before you were an angel?” I press.
She takes a sip of my warm soda, makes a face. “Does it matter?”
“Yeah. I think it does.”
“Okay, then,” she says, taking another drink from the can. “I was somebody else.”
“What does that mean?” I say, getting pissed off. “Did you have parents? A dog? A parakeet? A Social Security number? Can you remember? How do you feel? Is there a God? What happens when we die? Will I be like you, spray-painting my wings with misspelled messages and guiding people on stupid, insane missions?”
“It’s not stupid, Cameron,” she says softly.
“I’m out here on the road looking for some renegade miracle man, totally sticking my neck out for you, and you can’t even answer one single f**king question!”
The guy across the aisle opens one eye for half a second, then turns over, and I lower my voice. “I think you owe me that.”
Dulcie wipes her mouth, but some of the Day-Glo cheese powder clings to her lip. “All right. I’ll answer one of your questions.”
“Thank you.”
“I feel like I swallowed a Magritte.”
“What?”
Dulcie reaches in for another Cheesy Puff Finger. “You asked me how I feel. And my answer is: I feel like I swallowed a Magritte. Like on the inside, I’m made of clouds and floating eyes, green apples, and slowly rising men in bowler hats.”
“You are officially the most annoying unreal creature ever.”
“Meet a lot of us, do you?”
“Lately it’s gotten very weird.”
“Cameron.” She puts her hand on my arm. “The point is, you’re alive right now. Look around.” She widens her arms to include the sleeping passengers. “Half the people I see aren’t really aware. They aren’t in the game at all. They never notice how fabulous stuff here is.”
“Like what?”
“Like …” She thinks for a few seconds. “Microwave popcorn.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Think about it. You put this flat bag of kernels in the hopper, wait four minutes …” She opens her mouth and taps her fingers against her taut cheeks, making a popping sound. “And voila! You’ve got a steaming bag of buttery goodness right there.”
“This is your miracle of human existence?”
“No. But it doesn’t suck. It’s a simple pleasure, okay? You got any of those?”
“Sure,” I say.
She folds her arms over her armored chest. “Such as?”
“Masturbation.”
“Yeah? What else?”
I think about it for a good, long minute. “Eubie’s.”
