Citizen Insane - By Karen Cantwell Page 0,1

know how to take the fun out of everything don’t you?”

“Why don’t you leave Howard’s manliness intact, and come with me to the PTA meeting instead?”

I moaned loud enough for Bangladesh to hear. I hated PTA meetings. Not my gig. Roz was PTA president and my best friend and we’d stayed best friends because she had never asked me to attend.

“PLEASE!” she begged. “I promise, I’ll never ask again, but I really need you there tonight. I need a friendly face in the crowd.”

“Crowd? Isn’t it only like, six people?”

“Eight, sometimes nine.”

“Let’s talk about it at the spa.”

“No, I want to enjoy myself there and this just gets me too upset.”

“What’s the deal?”

“Yearbook scandal.”

I laughed. “Yearbook scandal? What does that mean?”

“You’re stalling. Will you please come?”

“Fine.” I sighed. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you! You’re wonderful. And trust me, you won’t be disappointed. More than tempers are going to fly at this meeting. Are you ready to leave? You’re driving, right?”

“Yup. I’m just going to step outside to see if I need a jacket.”

“I’ll be right over.”

I put the phone back into the cradle and opened the door that led to the breezeway connecting our house to the garage. My mother’s intuition, and the fact that I could hear someone moaning, told me there was a problem in my yard. I quickly circled toward the front of my house, afraid Roz had been hurt.

I rounded the corner. “Roz?” I yelled.

No Roz. Just a strange lady whimpering and walking in circles on my front lawn. The operative word here is “strange.” Unfortunately, this woman was not a stranger. I knew her—Bunny Bergen. She lived one street over and her kids went to the same school as mine. Towering close to six feet tall, she had a Cindy Crawford body and talked all breathy as if she were trying to be sexy, but really it just sounded like she was always on the verge of an asthma attack. Then there was the way she looked at me, unblinking and intense like a crocodile on crack. I had always considered Bunny Bergen an odd duck, and that was before I found her turning circles in front of my house like Mel Gibson after the bars closed.

Why? I thought. Why me? Didn’t I have enough problems?

I watched her for another minute, trying to decide what her deal was. Maybe Bunny had rabies. She wasn’t foaming at the mouth, but everything else sort of pointed to the possibility. I considered calling animal control. Maybe they’d shoot her with a tranquilizing dart and put us both out of her misery.

“Bunny?” I was careful to take slow steps. She was still circling neurotically and her mumblings became more audible as I approached.

“Poor Bunny, poor Bunny, poor Bunny,” she wheezed.

That’s when I spotted Roz in her signature floral print dress and tan loafers. She swatted at a gnat that buzzed her blonde, Dorothy Hamill bob then moved tentatively toward me. We exchanged silent what’s-her-problem shrugs. Meanwhile, the demented woman seemed completely unaware that we were there. She kept turning and muttering. “Poor Bunny, poor Bunny, poor Bunny.” Every second rotation or so she would stop, look up at the sky for a beat, then repeat the drill.

Roz and I traded helpless glances. What exactly was the protocol for dealing with crazy Bunnies? Call the police? St. Elizabeth’s? Dr. Phil?

“What should we do?” whispered Roz.

I shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. We need to get going or we’ll miss our appointment.”

“We can’t leave her here like this!”

“Why not? She’ll find her way home. Eventually.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Barb . . .”

I looked at my watch. Ten after eleven. Our pedicure appointments were scheduled for noon. Damn! We weren’t rich, spoiled mothers who scheduled weekly manicures, pedicures, and chin-hair waxes. This was a special occasion, thanks to my three beautiful daughters who had each given me a gift certificate for Christmas. I had been saving them, and now—deep in the throes of marital misery—the time was right. No trippy twinkie was going to mess with my Sweet Tangerine Spice Ultra-Ultimate Pedicure at La Voila Day Spa. This Bunny was goin’ down.

“Hey! Bunny!” I shouted.

She stopped turning, but her gaze was still fixed on the ground.

“Barb!” Roz whispered. “Be careful. She might be in shock.”

I waved a dismissive hand. I knew what I was doing. Maybe.

Moving closer, I shouted again.

“Bunny!”

She looked at me and the tiny hairs on my neck sprung upright. It was the creepiest stare I’d ever seen. The proverbial lights were on