"So, tell me exactly what happened." Mush and I are sitting at the kitchen table, me brewing a strong pot of tea to settle my nerves, and Mush looking around nervously at the microwave and espresso machine. After having revealed his name, he and I stood staring at each other dumbfounded for several seconds before I realized that I was wearing nothing but a thin, see-through camisole and lightweight cotton pajama bottoms, and I ran upstairs to change. When I returned, Mush had been staring in wide-eyed fascination at the overhead track lights in the family room, turning the lights on and off repeatedly until he had fully grasped the concept of the light switch. I finally introduced myself to my guest, and we got down to the business at hand.
"Well," he begins carefully, "I went ta' sleep last night in my bunk like always, and woke up on yer hill. I didn't know where I was or nothin', an' it was dark, so I climbed down here inta' yer yard and fell asleep on that chair out back." He indicates the sideyard and I realize he must mean the lawn chair. "When I woke up agin', I came aroun' heah to see if I could get inside, and there you was."
"So that 'coyote' Peg was barking at last night must have been you," I mutter under my breath. Mush looks at me intently. Ever since I had appeared at the door wearing my pajamas, he seems to be having trouble keeping his eyes any higher than chest level, and I have a feeling he must find the rest of my clothes odd as well.
"So what is this, you some kinda witch o' somethin'?" he asks suddenly, catching me by surprise. He looks tense, but brave, and I can hardly suppress a giggle.
"What makes you think I'm a witch?"
"All this stuff youse got heah! Lights that toin on and off like magic, a pot that boils wata' in minutes, and yer clothes ain't exactly normal or nothin'." He is trying to look as stoic as possible, although I notice he unconsciously grips the table as I take a step nearer.
"Mush, I promise you that I'm not a witch." He shoulders relax, although he doesn't look any more relieved. "I, well, this may sound strange, but, what year was it yesterday when you went to sleep?"
"1899," he responds instantly, paling slightly. "Why, why you askin' me that? What yeah is it, er, today?"
"Er, well," I automatically look up at the calender on the wall by the phone, another object that Mush has been eying suspiciously ever since I threatened him with it outside. He follows my gaze and walks slowly to the calender, looking almost afraid to see what he might find. I see his eyes study the page, which reads July, 2001. His lips form the words, and I can almost envision the wheels turning in his brain.
"2001?" he says weakly. "But that's...that's impossible!"
"I know," I whisper, and we share an incredulous look. But, I think to myself, stealing a glance at an empty pink video box lying by the television set, Mush only knows the half of it...
********************
At 10:20, I suddenly notice the time and realize with a start that my piano lesson is starting in ten minutes. After Mush had realized that he had somehow managed to travel over 100 years into the future, it took another strong cup of tea to overcome his shock and another couple of minutes to get him talking again. For the next two hours, we sat talking about the sheer impossibility of the situation in which we found ourselves, and ended up pinching each other to make sure we weren't dreaming until our arms were sore. I am fairly certain that Mush now no longer believes that I am a witch. But now I'm running out the door with my piano music (after quietly grabbing the Newsies video and box and stashing it under the couch where Mush won't find it), telling Mush to sit tight while I'm gone, and hoping that he won't get into too much trouble. Surprisingly, I'm handling the situation quite well, although I don't really know how else one would act in my shoes. Run around screaming until someone locks me in a mental institution? Call the tabloids? Go back to bed and hope that when I wake up everything's back to normal?
It's going to be an awfully weird day. Yesterday, I had been sitting watching Newsies with a dreamy expression on my face, wishing that Mush were real. Now here I am, with a real live 'Mush' waiting for me in my house, probably playing with the lightswitches so much that the wires will short circuit.
I should be happy. No, I should be ecstatic! All my life I've wished for something exciting like this to happen. And now that it has, all I can think about is how crazy the whole situation is. How did Mush, a character in a nine-year-old Disney movie, magically appear in my backyard? How can he be real if a now 25-year-old actor named Aaron Lohr played him in the movie? How can he be sitting in my kitchen if last night he was dancing on my television screen?
Oh yes, it's going to be a weird day.
********************
I manage to leave my lesson in record time today, resisting the urge to stay and chat with my teacher like I always do. But, I tell her as I run out the door, I have business to take care off. Three minutes later I'm pulling into the driveway and running into the house, imagining possible horror scenes that might greet me. But the house is surprisingly quiet, and when I reach the kitchen, Mush is still there, sloppily making himself a peanut butter sandwich. He has trouble getting the top of the peanut butter jar back on, so I help him and then put the dirty utensils in the dishwasher. Earlier that morning I had explained to him what many of the contraptions in the room were, but Mush seemed to find the dishwasher particularly sketchy, and he still keeps a healthy distance away from it.
"So whadda we gonna do?" he asks as we sit down once again at the table. "I mean I can't jus' stay heah."
"I know, but how am I supposed to get you back to your own time? I don't even know how you got here!" I guilty feeling arises in my chest. I still haven't told Mush, who seems to believe that he is as real as I am, that he is a character in my favorite movie. What would he think if he found out that his life isn't real? Because it isn't, is it?
"Well," I continue, "there really isn't anything we can do at the present, so we'll just have to wait and see what happens. In the meantime, you can stay here. My parents are gone for the next two weeks, so no one will give you any problems about being here."
"Well, okay," Mush says uncertainly, and we shake on it (without, I add, spitting into our palms). "But how am I, you know, gonna fit in heah? I don't know nothin' about California or the yeah 2001."
"That's where I come in," I say, smiling. I glance down at Mush's outfit: a dirty white long sleeved undershirt, brown pants cut off below the knees, and worn brown boots tied with unraveling (and unmatching) laces. I try to ignore the fact that he has incredibly nice legs. "First of all, if you're going to fit in, we'll have to get you some new clothes. No one will believe that you're from around here if you go out dressed like that."
"What's wrong wid my clothes?" he cries, sounding offended.
"There's nothing wrong with them!" I insist. "They're just...not what guys wear these days. You're probably...how old are you?"
"Sixteen," he replies. Dammit, I think, too young. Oh well.
"I think I know the place to go," I say with a smile. Mush looks completely petrified. It's surprisingly cute.
********************
It occurs to me as we leave the house and enter the garage that if the electric water boiler made Mush nervous, a car ride downtown could frighten him to death. I'm sure he has never travelled at any significant speed before, and if we take the freeway, he could very well have a stroke. I silently tell myself to stick to city streets and not speed. Mush has seen few automobiles before, seeing as the very first "horseless carriages" appeared around 1897. But he has never ridden in one before, and he has trouble believing that the sleek silver Ford Escort into which he staunchly refuses to go can even be related to the Oldsmobile he once saw the Mayor of New York City drive down the street. Finally I persuade him that my car is perfectly safe (okay, slight exaggeration) and prepare to pull slowly and gently out of the garage, when Mush discovers a small, silver object on the floor by his feet.
"What's this?" he asks curiously.
"Oh, that's a discman," I say absently. "It plays CD's."
"Seedies?" he says incredulously. "What's a 'seedy'?"
"CD's, compact discs," I explain. "They play music." Mush eyes the discman doubtfully, shakes it, and holds it up to his ear. When nothing happens, he shrugs his shoulders and tosses it back on the floor. Again I stifle a giggle. He is awfully cute, in a clueless sort of way.
When the car has been turned on, something that I had overlooked occurs, and Mush lets out a piercing shriek as loud music suddenly fills the car. He looks around wildly, trying to figure out where the raucous noise is coming from.
"What's that?"
"It's Duran Duran," I say nonchalantly, lowering the volume and starting to sing along to "Hungry Like the Wolf." As we make our way out of the driveway and up my street, Mush holding onto his seat for dear life, I think to myself, I can definitely get used to having this boy around.