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Nothing, really, has changed.
It’s all the same. The same homework. The same back and forth between her mama and papa. The same food – the same, the same, the same…
Except, well, louder.
Extremely louder. It reminds Anya of those lessons, where everything sounds the same, is the same, but, somehow, different. Like the writing that is cursive, or when someone (not her, okay; she has gotten better) asks for cla – hm – kla-ri-fi-kay-shun because they were not listening, just like how Anya does not want to listen right now. But it does not stop – not at all! And it’s frustrating because it’s the only thing she can hear, and sometimes she dreams of it, too.
She knows her papa cannot help it that it’s – what was it is? – a code or something that spies are like woven into (Anya thinks that does not make sense because he isn’t a basket, unless he had surgery because she has heard of that from Bondman). And she has told him multiple times, when it gets overbearing like when bears do when they are all over the place, that he thinks too much, and then he apologizes, and then thinks some more – and oh my God!
Just like right now when she has told him, unfortunately, that she has forgotten an assignment that is due for tomorrow, and remembered like a few minutes ago when mama said she was assigned something tonight. Anya does not really think it’s that big of a deal, really, just a mathematical thing she kind of understands better than her papa’s thoughts right now.
They are like Professor Henderson’s writing – sometimes looking cyclical, or maybe it’s her writing, and her attempt of trying to replicate it – either way, she doesn’t understand it, not really, because they do this where: Operation Strix is in jeopardy; we can’t afford another bolt; I’m a failure as a father; Anya I’m sorry if you’re hearing this please don’t blame yourself – Twilight get it together…
It's on and on and on, and it drags for hours like that one time when she had forgotten to run off the faucet from the bathroom, and Anya hopes there is a kill switch somewhere, because there always is – there should be. Anya groans, and reaches to grasp at her horns as she frowns at her papa, who thinks more, and more, and more…
“Anya thinks she can do her homework on her own, papa,” she says, finally, when it’s all that she can hear, all that she can think of, and she lets go of the pencil that she almost snaps in half.
She watches as her papa deflates, and then the thoughts spiral once more, never ceasing, and it’s different this time, how her papa now seems to say that he is not a good enough of a papa.
“It’s not like that,” she tells her papa, tries to soothe him, but it just would not stop, because suddenly he is looking at her like that where he is not hearing her, and thinking of how can he possibly fail as a spy and as a father, drowning her in his own thoughts. “Anya just thinks… Anya thinks papa thinks too much.”
“I’m sorry, Anya,” he replies, and it quiets for a while, and if she pretends, she can hear crickets, but he does this thing where he pretends he isn’t thinking, and then he is thinking about not thinking, and well…
This won’t do. Anya has to figure out how to unhear his thoughts without hurting his feelings because she can tell she had just done that when she pointed out, he is too loud.
The first impromptu plan for Ope-ray-shun: Hush is a failure, so onto plan B.
Plan B really is just putting tin foils underneath her cones, and it’s hard because first: she has to look for where they are keeping their tin foils, second: she is unsure if this works because she knows this is only applicable to aliens, and she is not an alien as a matter of fact, and third: she doesn’t know how not make it look ob-bi-yus.
But if anything, Anya is a go-getter, and she isn’t Starlight Anya with five stellas for no reason – so onwards, she tells herself, just like how Bondman would tell his handler, if he ever had one. She walks over to her mama with her hands filled with tins, and some foil, and well, would you look at that, perfect timing, so maybe she can trust her mama into letting her be a part of this mi-shun.
“Hi, sweetheart,” her mama smiles down at her, and Anya still thinks she is pretty, and what a rose looks like if ever roses have faces – anyway…
“Hi, mama,” she beams, and then curiously, she looks at what her mama has been doing, and notices the flour, and everything else she thinks is for some cookies her mama has now learned how to bake without burning the house or Bond down.
She still remembers how Bond’s fur was set into fire by an attempt to do a flambee (a flaming bee?), and then he was wet, and skinny, and then bald. Anya snorts, recalling how he looked so different, and sad, and it’s so funny, even when she was horrified and crying at first. The eight-year-old blinks up at her mama, and then sees her put the roll of foil back to the cabinet after careful thought – weighing if she really does need it, or she has misread instructions once again.
“Mama,” Anya pipes up before her mama can stow the foil away, and then foil her plans. Well, there’s always an option to try to reach for it, but that will be too difficult, and then she can get discovered, and then her papa’s heart will be broken, and then he will be thinking again, and…
“What is it, sweetie?” Her mama asks, and her brows are furrowed, in that way her mama does when she wants to peer in her mind or she is concerned. “Is everything alright?”
Anya nods before her mama can think her cyclical thoughts that sometimes sounds a lot like her papa’s with the way that she worries about her. But, most of the times, it’s all soft, and pink, and like cotton candy, and some plans of maybe taking her to a park, or something she wants to do with Anya.
Anya blinks before she gets sidetracked, and then she is smiling that smile where her mama knows she is up to something. “Yup,” she nods, and then, like a good spy would, and of course, an assassin, she looks left to right, right to left – no witnesses! “Anya has a mi-shun for mama.”
She gestures for her mama to crouch, and she does, curious, always playing along with what her papa calls as her shenanigans – but that’s what makes her the best mama, and the best informant!
“Okay,” her mama affirms, and there’s that sparkle in her mama’s eyes that her papa often calls mirth, whatever that means, that he also thinks makes her mama’s eyes bright like rubies – very pretty.
“Anya needs mama to give her the tin foil so I can make hats,” she says as she points out to the roll of tin in her mama’s hands.
Her mama furrows her brows some more, and then she is looking down to where Anya is pointing. “A science project? I think your father can help you with that.”
Anya shakes her head furiously, which makes the world spin momentarily, and then she is fixing her mama a look that she hopes looks like this is serious business, the way her grandpa Shopkeeper does when he is saying something Anya does not understand.
“No,” she tells her mama as she points at her horns. “Mama, I need to make tin foil hats because I need to block out papa’s thoughts – he thinks too much,” she says in a rush because there is no point in ciphers anyway since Bond won’t tell anyone, especially with that borf, and she knows her mama will always play along.
Her papa says her mama spoils her too much, but Anya thinks she’s just the best mama.
Her mama looks like she is trying to stop herself from laughing with the way she pouts her lips, and then swallows. Her mama straightens her back as she bites her lip, and then her mama looks at the foil, and then back at her, and Anya knows she is weighing her options, even how hard her mama blocks her thoughts by thinking of flower petals.
“Have you ever considered telling your papa that?” Her mama asks even when she is already handling her the tin foil.
Anya nods, and then she is pouting. “Yes, but Anya hurt papa’s feelings,” she says, and then her mama thinks about talking to Loid about it, but she doesn’t peer much as she darts away because it isn’t really her business, and adult affairs are boring.
The next time she emerges is when her papa comes home in time for dinner, and she is proud, really, how it kind of worked, and how it doesn’t look any obvious, although it seems to be fighting for its life. She should have asked her mama to clip it on, but it works, somehow, because she doesn’t hear anything, only white noise like when the government interrupts a broadcast or when the cables are cut because of the storm.
She smiles at her papa big because there is only silence, but then, Bond is an earthquake, and he throws all Anya’s plans as he collides into her. Her tin foil hats fall, and Anya hears everything – the gun shots, and how he had gotten into a fight with hard-no mama because she was trying to keep him around longer than he wanted, and he just wanted to be home, and he still has to worry about lots of stuff, and that he doesn’t like the fact that mama has work later, and he won’t be able to come, and help, and he doesn’t want to see her like he saw her the last time, and, and, and…
Anya groans, and then she frowns at Bond, who she thinks and brands as a traitor as she stomps her feet, and walks away, leaving her hats on the floor, and her papa with that face that looks like he is trying to understand her.
“What’s that all about?” She hears her papa ask, and then her mama is laughing, and then she is serious, telling him about how he thinks too much.
Plan B is a failure, all thanks to Bond, and she knows papa won’t listen to mama, even when he pretends he does, and even if he does, there’s no way to help shut it off, and then…
Anya deflates, and grabs a crayon, and a paper. Plan C then.
The next plan comes to her without research.
Sy-on Boy is doing that stupid thing during lunch where he puffs out his chest, and makes a comment about something that he is the bestest because he can finish a milkshake faster than a commoner. Anya looks at him with a frown across the table as Becky tells her to pay him no mind while thinking that she hopes he gets a brain freeze.
And that’s when the light bulb thing happens – like a light finally being plugged. If a brain is frozen, there won’t be any thoughts, and based on her understanding, it happens when someone drinks a milkshake quickly, so that had to work!
Pleased, and with a plan in place since her mama and papa will be picking her up today, she misses the way Sy-on Boy’s mind freezes but his thoughts don’t.
“You’re so very smart, Becky,” Anya tells Becky, and it’s all she can think of, as she thinks of ways to make her papa drink it, since sometimes he is smart, and he catches on what she is trying to do.
The rest of the afternoon is spent on crafting her plan step by step with those boxes her papa likes to call flow charts, even when they are not flowing or floating or flying, and they are just boxes with lines and words. Anyway –
She first thought of asking him to swallow an ice cream whole, but that would risk her papa choking, and those methods, she thinks, are unproven, so she remains quiet until they spot the neon lights. She would have opted for somewhere else, but then she’s heard, in her papa’s thoughts, that this is another base for WISE, and well, she wants to see her papa’s co-workers, especially her aunt Sylvie. And in case her plan fails, maybe her papa’s boss can tell her a thing or two, because if she can train him to think a whole lot, maybe she knows how to turn it off.
“Anya wants a milkshake,” she says, and then her papa has a lecture recited in his brain about dinner, and losing appetites, and that just won’t do, will it? So Anya tuts, and then shakes her head. “For papa.”
He fixes her that look, and she mirrors it just the same – a standoff is what Bondman calls it, or like those yeehaws in that one book about cowboys. And he won’t just let up easily, even when she spots her papa’s boss by the counter, or her mama tries to coax her papa to just give in. His thoughts aren’t quiet either, calling this as a mind game, and for a moment, Anya thinks she has been discovered, and well, that just would not do. This is for Anya’s peace so they can achieve world peace.
So, in an attempt to quiet her papa’s thoughts, Anya challenges her papa to finish the milkshake faster than an imagined time to be the “bestest papa in the whole wide universe” otherwise, he is not a cool papa, and he is just lame.
And it works – how easily her papa falls into what they call ma-nee-pyu-lay-shun by the way his face scrunches up the way it did before when they were at a cruise, and she convinced him to try those lame outfits, or do that skippy thing. Sometimes her papa can be so easy, and she often wonders how he can be the best spy if he’s like this, or maybe Anya is just the bestest.
Her papa flags down a waitress who looks like her papa’s boss, and makes the order, all the while giving her that look with his thoughts trying to understand what she is trying to do. The milkshakes come quickly, and Anya hears her papa’s boss think that this is quite funny to see him being manhandled by an eight-year-old. Her mama has that look on her where she is curious, and trying to hold back laughter as her papa scrunches up his face, and then actually takes the bait like that fish that they caught like two months ago when they hooked a worm, and then it made a face like the face her papa is making right now.
He finishes the milkshake quickly – in five seconds, which, Anya thinks is impressive, and then it happens. He makes another face that looks like he is in pain, and his face is pinched in all the wrong places with his eyes really, really wide, and a vein popping on the side of his head. Anya watches as his hand twitches, and she thinks this is it, his brain is frozen, but then, his thoughts come.
Is she trying to kill me? Wait, Anya, you can hear that, I didn’t mean it, sweetie. Ah, I can’t feel my face. This feels like I am being poisoned. I’m trying to press my tongue of the roof of my mouth, but it’s not doing anything. Ah, it’s now on my chest, and why didn’t I think this is what she is trying to do? What is her objective? Did you learn this at school? Is this a homework experiment, what’s going on?
Anya frowns, and she wants to apologize, really, but it’s also funny, how he won’t stop making that face even his thoughts are a little noisy. Her mama finds it funny, too, how she is trying to hold back her laughter, her lips twitching, as she is holding onto her papa. Her papa’s boss laugh somewhere – snorting, actually, which just makes Anya laugh harder, and harder, and harder, until her insides hurt.
“Anya is sorry,” she says once her laughter dies down, when her papa seems calmer, and not making that face anymore where one side is smaller than the other – his left eye closed, and his right eye wide.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” her papa tells her, even when his thoughts are still the same.
“Anya was just trying to quiet your mind,” she says, and the sincerity is erased by a snicker as she pictures her papa’s face once again, and she should have brought that polaroid camera thing that Scruffyhead had given her for her birthday last year.
Something funny happens once again on her papa’s face, and then he just smiles as he shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I seem to forget from time to time you can read minds,” he says, and there’s no lecture, even when she thinks that usually there is, especially in his head. “I’ll be better.”
And it gets better for a while, quiet, until it happens again, but then, Anya makes another discovery as they walk back to the apartment. Her mama leans against her papa, and kisses him on the cheek, on the mouth to interrupt him about something, about a joint mission, and then the world stills, and Anya hears the birds singing, and other people talking because for once, her papa’s mind is actually quiet where it’s actually silent, and pink, and her mama’s eyes.
And so she thinks, once they get home, she is going to convince her mama to kiss her papa every time he thinks too much.