Leslie, of course, panicked on the spot. She had tried everything from healing crystals to aromatherapy, but Grant still insisted he was dying. When Ted started to get a headache, he decided it was time to go out for a walk. He decided to go pick up some more gum. If his father's illness lasted much longer, he wasn't sure his emergency supply would hold out. It would be wise to stock up.

He had only gone a few blocks when he met a middle-aged woman with honey-blond hair coming from the other direction. "Good evening," he greeted her politely.

"Hello," she replied with a blissful smile.

He didn't recognize her, and he'd met most of the neighbors during his family's various leaflet campaigns. The fact that she looked happy to see him meant that she didn't know his parents yet. "Are you new in town?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I've been away for...hmm...awhile," she replied. "A few weeks? Months? Who can keep track?"

"I've found calendars to be very helpful," he suggested. Then he held out a hand. "My name's Ted Dewitt-Clinton."

She took his hand in the weakest grip he'd ever felt. "Amanda Lane."

"Oh, are you related to Jane?" Ted asked.

Amanda nodded serenely. "She's my daughter." She paused to reflect. "Well, as much as any person can be mine, of course. I don't see my children so much as possessions as expressions of--"

"Wait, so you're Jane's mother? And you've been away from home for a long time?" Ted couldn't imagine either of his overprotective parents leaving him on his own for even a day, let alone an extended period. "What does her father think about that?"

"Hmmm?" Amanda tilted her head. "You know, I've never thought about it. Next time he's in town I'll ask him."

Ted's jaw dropped open. "He's gone, too? Who's taking care of Jane?"

Amanda's eyes twinkled. "The universe itself takes care of us all, and things will work out for the best no matter what happens."

"Um...okay." Ted decided that this woman was remarkably naive. "Enjoy your visit." He waved politely and continued on his way.

A few blocks later, he met another unfamiliar face. This time it was a young man with long blond hair, a square jaw, and tear-streaked cheeks. "Whyyyy?" he wailed, hugging a backpack to his chest like a teddy bear.

"Are you okay?" Ted asked, worried even as he said the words that he'd regret them.

"I'm the opposite of okay," the man sobbed, not even looking at him. "Without Katie, nothing will ever be okay again!"

"Ah," Ted replied, nodding. "And Katie is...?"

"She's my wife." The man's lips quivered. "She was my wife. Oh, Katie, I can change! I'll be less sensitive if that's what you want! I'll be the most insensitive man you ever met!"

Ted looked around, expecting to see an ex-wife standing nearby. There was no one around but him. "To whom are you speaking?"

The man sniffled loudly, then wiped his nose on his sleeve. Ted pretended not to notice. "Katie," he explained sadly.

Ted looked around again, just to be sure. "Is she hiding?"

Shaking his head, the man broke out into fresh tears. "Noooo! She's back at our houseboat. She wants nothing to do with me because she says I'm too sensitive! No one wants a sensitive guy, do they?" He looked at Ted, waiting for an answer. "Do they?"

"I don't know," Ted replied. "I can ask around if you'd like." Remembering his manners, he held out his hand. "My name is Ted, by the way. And you are...?"

The man nodded a greeting. "Wind."

"Whined?" Ted tilted his head. "I mean, you've been complaining a bit, but I wouldn't say--"

"No, that's my name," the man said, his tone indicating that he'd had similar conversations in the past. "Wind Lane."

"Oh! Lane?" Ted smiled. "What a funny coincidence. Do you know I just met someone else with that last name?"

"Was it Katie?" Wind grabbed Ted by the front of his shirt and screamed the words directly into his face. "Was she here? Did she come looking for me? Is she ready to forgive me for whatever it is I did wrong that I'm sure I'll figure it out eventually?"

"Um...no, not as far as I know, probably not, and I have no idea," Ted replied. "In that order."

"Oh." Wind released him and sighed.

Ted patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "But if I run into her, I'll put in a good word, okay?"

Wind smiled hopefully at him. "Thank you! You're a really good listener, you know that? Way nicer than any of my therapists." He reached into his backpack and pulled out a piece of paper and a stubby pencil. "Here," he said, scribbling something onto the paper and handing it to Ted. "It's my phone number. If you see Katie, please call me right away!"

Ted stuffed the paper into his pocket. "I will." He gave Wind a small wave and continued in his quest for gum. "Good luck!"

This time Ted only made it a block and a half before meeting a stranger. This time it was a young woman with unnaturally red hair and a bad-tempered parrot in a carrier. "Good evening," he said, eying the bird nervously as it squawked in outrage. "Would I be right in guessing that you are a member of the Lane family?"

"Unfortunately," she snapped, shifting the carrier from one hand to the other. "How did you know that?"

"I met your mother and your brother earlier," Ted explained.

She shook her head sympathetically. "¡Qué pene!"

Ted gasped and looked down, then back at the woman. "Er...did you mean to say 'Qué pena'? 'What a shame'?"

"Si. What did I say instead?"

"Um, that's not important." Ted's cheeks were burning from embarrassment.

"So you speak Spanish, too, huh?" she asked.

"Better than some," Ted replied. He held out a hand to shake, then quickly withdrew it when the parrot began shrieking aggressively at him. "I'm Ted," he introduced himself, taking a quick step backward.

"Penny Lane. Don't start singing."

"Why would I start singing?" Ted asked. He wondered if she'd heard about his weather experiment gone wrong.

"The Beatles?" she prompted, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, the band! Yes, I've heard of them. I tried to listen to their music once, but my parents confiscated the tape before I could get through the first song. They said that pop music was a manufactured opiate designed to distract the general public from the corruption and soullessness of Corporate America."

"Ah." Penny smiled. "I think I'd get along well with your parents."

"Really? You'd be the first." Ted shrugged. "You're welcome to come by anytime. Our house is just down the road that way. The one with the corn. You can't miss it."

"Maybe later," Penny said. "Right now I have a crisis to work out. A volcano erupted in Costa Rica."

"How terrible!" Ted exclaimed. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Yes, about five hundred hand-crafted tin picture frames."

"I meant people, not merchandise," Ted said, feeling a little disconcerted by her flippant reply.

"Whatever."

Ted frowned slightly, wondering just how far removed Penny was--or thought she was--from Corporate America after all. "Er, good luck with your crisis, then."

"Thanks. Calm down, Chiquito!" She said the last part to the bird, which had just erupted into a fresh bout of angry squawks.

The furious bird seemed to be glaring directly at Ted, so he made a quick escape. He ran down the sidewalk, glancing back occasionally to make sure the bird wasn't chasing him with talons at the ready. While he was looking away, he crashed into someone and fell over backward.

"Ow!" Ted cried, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the sidewalk. He looked up to see a dark-haired man with a mustache staggering backward. "Oh! I'm so sorry!"

The man reached out a hand to help him up. "No harm done. Now, where did I put those keys?" He patted the many pockets on his vest before rummaging through his backpack.

"You wouldn't be related to the Lanes, by any chance, would you?" Ted asked.

"I am, actually!" The man smiled. "Vincent Lane." He returned his attention to his search. "Damn! I must have left them in Connemara."

"Connemara?" Ted echoed. "You've been in Ireland?"

Vincent nodded. "Been photographing Celtic rock formations. I'm on my way back home to develop the prints, but without my keys I don't know if I'll be able to get in the house. I sure hope someone's home!"

Ted looked in the direction that everyone had been heading. "I don't think that will be a problem." He turned back to Vincent. "You know, I'm interested in photography myself. Nothing as exciting as rock formations, of course."

"You don't say?" Vincent asked, giving up his search and settling the backpack onto his shoulders again.

"Oh, yes," Ted said eagerly. "I'm the photo editor for the school yearbook." He tilted his head. "What are your thoughts on Goya? I have a friend whose photographs--"

Vincent held up a hand and chuckled. "I'd love to chat, but I really have to move along. I need to get these photos developed as soon as possible!"

"Of course," Ted said. "Hope you find those keys!" He resumed his journey for gum, pleased by how many quirky new friends he'd made that evening. Though he kept a sharp lookout, he didn't manage to meet any second cousins of the Lane's neighbor's hairdresser on the way.

It took Ted two hours to make his gum selection, as the store had introduced a new flavor and he agonized over whether he should take a walk on the wild side with strawberry or play it safe with his usual spearmint. In the end he decided to buy both and try the strawberry out in small doses until he felt sure he was acclimated to the exotic taste.

It was getting dark by the time Ted set off for home, but even in the fading light he recognized a classmate from school. "Jane!" he called out cheerfully. "What are you doing out here?" He noticed she was carrying an easel and a small suitcase. He gasped, thinking about the rest of her family. "Have you just returned from a long trip abroad, too?"

"No, but I'm thinking about taking one in the very near future," she replied without stopping.

"Oh." Ted watched her go. "Well, bon voyage!"

Ted returned home and was pleasantly surprised to find his father still alive. Ted was aerating the compost pile the next morning when he heard voices coming down the street. He turned to see Jane walking briskly alongside a middle-aged woman.

"Drugs?" the woman asked Jane.

Ted almost fell into the compost. A drug deal right in my very own neighborhood! Ted was torn between calling the police and getting his camera to document the exciting event.

Jane shook her head. "Nope, unless you count TV."

Ted nodded to himself. He'd heard enough of his parents' lectures on the topic to know that drugs and television were equally evil.

"Depressed?" the woman asked, and now Ted wondered if he was witnessing a very terse counseling session.

"No, just realistic," Jane replied.

"Sex?!"

At this point Jane and the woman had moved out of Ted's hearing, but he very nearly followed them to find out what Jane's answer to the woman's very blunt proposition would be. The only thing that kept him still was his father's anguished groans. "Coming, Dad," he called out. "Do you need me to brew you some more eucalyptus tea?"

"Ginseng," Grant demanded. "But mix in some lemongrass this time to cut the bitterness. And do we have any gluten-free crackers left?"

In spite of his increased appetite, Grant insisted that he was still at death's door, and so that evening Leslie sent Ted out for extra acupuncture needles.

He was on his way, trying to decide if he should try the drugstore or the fabric store first, when he noticed a tall young man who looked vaguely familiar. The man was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, lost in thought.

"Excuse me," Ted said politely.

The man started and looked at him in surprise. "Oh! Sorry. I was trying to think of a good rhyme for 'dysfunctional.'"

Ted thought about it. "Non-denominational? Representational? Overemotional?"

"Hmm." The man smiled slightly. "That last one would work for Wind."

"Wind Lane?" Ted asked, brightening. "I met him yesterday!"

"Yeah, me too." The man looked far less enthusiastic. "I'm actually looking for Janey right now."

"Jane?" Ted nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes, I saw her yesterday, too. In fact, I saw her just this morning!"

"You did? Where?" The man looked much more interested now.

"She was walking with...oh, dear." Ted lowered his voice. "I think you should know that she's fallen in with a bad crowd."

"Yeah," the man said with a small chuckle that ended in a cough. "That sounds like her."

"I mean it!" Ted insisted. "They were talking about drugs and sex and possibly even worse things like neoliberalism!"

"Uh huh." The man looked slightly unnerved, but mostly calm. "So where is she now?"

Ted thought about it. "Well, yesterday she was headed in that direction and talking about taking a long trip." He pointed.

"Hmmm." The man looked where Ted was pointing. "You think she might have gone to Daria's?"

"It's possible. Daria is very good at helping people, and Jane definitely seemed bothered about something. I don't know what, though."

"I have a pretty good idea." The man started walking in the direction Ted had indicated. "Listen, thanks for your help. And the rhyme."

"You're welcome!" Ted replied happily. "I hope you find her before she's led down a dark path of vice and capitalism!"

On his way back home, Ted saw two children taking apart a post office collection box. One of them, a blond girl, was using a crowbar to pry the box from its foundation. The other, a brown-haired boy, was systematically removing pieces from it with a screwdriver. "I'm pretty sure that's illegal," Ted pointed out.

"Cram it," the girl replied without looking up from her work.

"Why are you doing that?" he asked, unfazed by her rudeness.

"For fun," the boy said, darting a brief glare toward him. "Are you going to rat us out?"

"Oh, wait, I get it!" Ted exclaimed. "You're sticking it to The Man, right? I've heard about this!"

"I said cram it," the girl replied.

"Okay then," Ted told her cheerfully. "Good luck with your vandalism!"

"Aw, this is getting boring," the boy told the girl. "Let's go find Grandma Lane."

"Yeah," the girl said. "She's always got some really good breakable stuff." The kids gathered up their implements of destruction and scampered off.

More Lanes, Ted mused. I'm not sure this town is big enough for them all.

A few blocks away, he saw a blond woman looking around with a frown. She saw him. "Hey, have you seen a couple of kids--"

"That way," Ted told her, pointing.

"Huh. Thanks!" The woman began moving in that direction, although not in any great hurry.

Ted was a little disappointed that he didn't make any new friends the rest of the night but figured as he went to bed that tomorrow might bring even more surprises.

He didn't even have to wait that long. It was around three in the morning when Ted awoke to the sound of shouting. He got up and went to the window to see a battered blue car parked outside his house. Looking again, he realized that it wasn't so much parked as broken down.

"It's just like you!" a dark-haired woman was shouting. "It doesn't matter if it's your car or your career or your relationships--if it takes work, then you give up. I'm sick of it!"

The person she was yelling at was speaking in a much quieter voice, so Ted didn't catch what his reply was. Whatever he said seemed to make the woman even angrier, though.

"Seriously? You're just going to leave it here for someone else to deal with? You are unbelievable!" Her voice got even louder. "Where are you going? Get back here!"

Ted decided that he might be able to help them with whatever crisis they were dealing with, so he got dressed quickly and went out. By the time he got there, the woman was standing alone, glaring down the street in the direction of the now-absent person.

"Is everything all right?" Ted asked pleasantly, as if there was nothing particularly strange about a screaming match in the middle of the night.

The woman turned, startled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake anyone up." She shot another glare at the missing target of her anger. "It was all his fault, anyway. He's such an insensitive jerk."

Ted was struck by sudden inspiration. "Wait, you're looking for a romantic partner who's sensitive?"

She tilted her head, sizing him up. "You're a little young for me."

He laughed. "Oh, I don't mean me! Wait there for just one minute!"

The woman kicked at the useless car. "I've got nowhere to be right now."

Ted ran back into the house and found the piece of paper he was looking for, then ran back outside. "Here you go," he said. "This is the phone number of a man I met the other day. His name is Wind and he's very, very sensitive. He seems very motivated to fix relationships, too. You'd get along well with him!"

She accepted the phone number with a shrug. "I've gotten dates in worse ways," she said. "Maybe I'll give him a call."

"Great!" Ted said encouragingly. "What's the worst that could happen?" He held out a hand. "My name's Ted, by the way."

She smiled and shook it. "Monique."

The next morning found Ted groggy from missed sleep but still cheerfully helping his sick father. His mother had become very enthusiastic about the idea of snake massage, so Ted was hunting in the yard for snakes. So far he'd found half a dozen earthworms and a small lizard.

"...so the last thing I want to do is alienate her by asking too many questions." Ted looked up to see Jane walking past with the same woman as yesterday.

"Uh huh," Jane said without emotion. Ted noticed that she had headphones on.

"But on the other hand, I'm afraid that if I don't take an interest in her life then she'll think I don't care at all."

"Uh huh."

"Be honest: do you think I'm a bad mother?"

"Uh huh."

The woman gasped in horror. "Jane!"

Jane turned at the sound of her name, then pulled of the headphones. "What?"

The woman groaned. "Honestly, Jane...."

That was the last Ted could hear before they got too far away for eavesdropping. Ted shook his head and turned back to his search. This town has the strangest drug dealers.

At last Ted went back into the house with a mixed victory: a handful of caterpillars. Unfortunately, they failed to cure Grant of his deadly illness, and Leslie was almost out of ideas. If things didn't improve soon, she feared she'd have to resort to conventional medicine.

After a quick breakfast of wheat germ and soymilk Leslie sent Ted out for a professional voodoo practitioner. He wasn't sure where to find one but figured Degas Street would be a good starting point. This time he looked around as he walked, and sure enough caught sight of a Lane. This time it was Amanda, the middle-aged woman he'd met two days ago.

"Hello again!" he greeted her, trotting over. As he got closer, he saw that she looked much less serene than before. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, no, I'm fine," she said, not sounding particularly fine. "It's just very...busy...at home right now."

"Is it?" Ted asked, feeling like he was missing something.

"Yes, very much. The, um, butterflies are just getting a bit crowded."

"The butterflies. I see." Ted started to back up, looking around for an authority figure of some kind that he could turn the situation over to.

Amanda seemed to notice his discomfort. "It's a metaphor," she explained.

"Oh!" Ted felt he was on much safer ground now. "A figure of speech in which a word or phrase is applied to something in a way that is not literally true!"

"Right," Amanda said with a nod. "You see, if you try to hold a butterfly tightly in your hand, it will die."

"No, it won't."

Amanda looked startled by the interruption. "What?"

"It's a myth that handling butterflies will harm the wings. Holding onto one wouldn't kill it unless you squish it to death, which would kill anything, not just a butterfly."

"Oh." Amanda shook off the comment. "Anyway, you have to let it go, and if it comes back, it is truly yours, but if doesn't, it never really was."

"Why would a butterfly come back?" Ted asked, eyes wide with curiosity. "I've never known them to be domesticated or otherwise trainable, so I imagine it would have no reason to return to you. And why would you want to own a butterfly, now that I think of it? Do they provide a valuable service of some kind? Do you raise butterflies? That would be fascinating, and I'd love to hear more about your butterfly farm if you have the time."

Amanda looked at him, slightly bemused. "Um, maybe another time." She hurried on her way, glancing back briefly as she left him behind.

Ted shrugged and continued on his search. Unfortunately, he was unable to locate a voodoo practitioner, a witch doctor, or even a Reiki expert anywhere in Lawndale. One person offered to perform a brief exorcism for ten dollars, but Ted looked at the man's tinfoil hat and bunny slippers and politely declined.

Exhausted and discouraged, Ted trudged toward home that evening. Before he reached his house, though, he was hit with a sudden but powerful burst of curiosity and decide to take a detour toward the area where all of the Lanes had been heading over the past few days. Part of him knew he was just putting off admitting his failure, but he didn't really care. My parents have waited this long, he figured. They can wait a few extra minutes. Assuming Dad is still alive, of course.

He wandered through the neighborhood, unsure of where to look because he didn't actually know the Lane's address. When he reached Howard Lane, though, he knew he'd come to the right place. A door banged open at a nearby house and people began streaming out of it like clowns from a VW Beetle. (Hey, a simile! Ted thought.) They were all shouting, some at each other and some at no one in particular.

"The next time you little brats run away, could you at least run somewhere good?"

"It's not that I think their skin would make good purses, exactly, it's just that I really hate geckos."

"Katie, when I get back to the houseboat I'll be a whole new man! Unless you decide you like the old one better, in which case I'll be even more like me than ever before!"

Ted watched them all disperse, including Amanda. She noticed him and waved. "If you see anyone else stop by for a visit, tell them I'll be...um...somewhere." With a vague smile, she trotted away and left an empty house behind her. Ted dutifully shut the door to keep out any drafts.

Ted trudged onward, deciding that it was time to go home. Just a block away from his house, he saw Jane and the young man who'd needed a rhyme for ''dysfunctional." They were walking toward the Lane house, carrying assorted luggage.

"It'll be nice having the house to ourselves again," Jane was saying to the man, who Ted realized was probably her brother.

"You think we should have asked Mom where the checkbook is before she left?" the man asked.

"Like she'd have any clue," Jane replied.

The man chuckled. "Yeah, good point. Hey, when we get back I should give Monique a call. We had a pretty nasty fight last night. Oh, and I want to find out where she had my car towed."

They continued on, leaving Ted standing still. Monique? Where have I heard that name recently?

He quickly shrugged off the nagging thought and went home. He was starting to feel better about his own family, if only because it was so much smaller than the Lanes'. It's nice to know that mine isn't the oddest family out there. Then he walked into the house and found his father up and moving, as energetic and healthy as ever.

"Hi, Ted!" Grant greeted his son. "I'm feeling much better. Turns out it was just indigestion from some overcooked tempeh!"

On second thought....

RelaTed

by Kristen Bealer