J A M E S A N D L E E  23 “What?” Lee said in defense of the visual onslaught. “I’m sim- ply saying that the existence of Mole People might be possible. There have been numerous sightings over the years, James.” An uncontrollable twitching took over the left side of my face. “M-m-mole P-p-people?” I said, not believing that such words would ever emerge from my lips. “Please, Lee, educate me. What exactly are these M-m-mole P-p-people?” “Well, James, they’re people… who live underground.” “People? who live underground?” I repeated. “Well, Lee, by that definition, you and I are Mole People. “Don’t be difficult, there’s more to it than that.” “Really? “Yes. Mole People are also blind.” “Blind?” I asked in astonishment. “You mean all of them?” “That’s the rumor,” Lee confirmed. “So, Lee, you actually believe that there exists an entire soci- ety of visually-impaired, subterranean people who mean to do us harm?” “Who can really say what they mean to do, James? There is no report of anyone having ever conversed with one. But yes, I think they might exist.” “Well, that settles it then,” I admitted. “So, you believe too?” “In Mole People? No. In you being adopted? Yes.” “No I wasn’t,” Lee rebutted. “And shouldn’t we be going? Mrs. Washington is waiting for us.” “Yes, you were,” I countered, “and yes we should. That might even be the smartest thing you’ve said all morning.” “Yes, well, brains do run in the family.” Having no way of arguing without insulting my own intelli- gence, I gave a sideways nod in agreement and said, “Touché, my brother, and just for the record, I hate Mondays too.”