In the diagram you can see that the house is pretty big. That might lead you to think that my aunt is doing pretty well for herself or something like that. When people drop me off, they drop me off in front of this house, and it is a huge house, so they think, well, maybe she dresses like a hobo, but she must be wealthy. I guess it’s okay for them to think that. My aunt and I live behind that house and behind the garden. The garage is converted and we live in it, as if it were a little house. It must have been a hassle for my aunt to take me in when they sent my mom up. I sleep in the one bed and my aunt sleeps either in a cot or in this big chair that is in the corner. She often falls asleep reading, so I think it is nice for her.
I mean, I said no way, at first, I will not take the one bed, but since she is actually asleep most times in the chair and there is no one in the bed, I do sleep in it.
One night I woke up in the middle of the night because of the full moon (bright) and thought for at least two hours about my aunt dying and how it would probably happen any day. Of course, the women of this family are long-lived and all that. She will live to be ninety-two in utter misery. That is likely.
I don’t think it would be so bad being old, but there are all kinds of things that old people like, they really like them a lot, that I don’t like. So, it seems like maybe it isn’t for me, at least not yet. I hate thinking about it. Getting older is—you think you are getting your way and you think you are getting your way and you think you are getting your way and then you are old and it turns out you didn’t get your way. Or—you did, like my aunt, but the consequences are deeply ironic.
I saw a documentary once about the pyramids and it said that the PB (pyramid builders) were aliens, and that they were essentially cicadas (but bipedal), and that their cycle was ten thousand years rather than ten or fifteen years, and so eventually they would wake up, and, at least the person who was narrating the documentary, he thought that they would be really angry. But, it seems to me that they would be used to things having been ruined while they were sleeping. I don’t think they would be angry—not that I believe the documentary. Most documentaries are worse than fiction.
6
Well, the next day was a disaster. I don’t even really want to write about it, but fair is fair, and if I am doing this at all, I might as well put everything down.
I showed up in the morning and they made me leave class to go and see the school psychologist. What’s worse, the teacher—who is a fool, I mean, he didn’t have to say out loud what it was—said in this awful theatrical baritone voice, Miss Stanton, Ms. Kapleau would like to see you during first period. And everyone knows what that means.
So, I had to meet with this Kapleau individual, who asked me about my mom and dad, and pencils, et cetera. And then, when it was over, she asked me if the work was okay or if I maybe should be in a lower grade, which was insulting. I said a dolphin could be valedictorian of this shithole in a heartbeat, and she smiled gently and told me to go back to class.
And that was the beginning of the bad time, because after that, people kept asking me why I had to go to the psychologist, and I had to say because I have a disorder, cataplexy, and that if I laugh, I fall asleep. Which is why I never laugh. Since I never laugh, some of them believed me, except one kid—Stephan—who is smart. He said pretty quietly that it was interesting I should say that, and also, cataplexy is rare, very rare. Luckily, no one listens to him.
The pencil thing hadn’t really caught on during my first day, which was good—but now with the psych visit, people were talking about it. I had to eat lunch in a buffer, which is fine. I don’t care if I have someone to talk to. But, having people space themselves out in a weird way when you’re in line doesn’t feel good. I really will stab you if you don’t stop, I thought about saying, but—obviously not a good thing to say.
Things took an upturn between fifth and sixth periods when I overheard two kids talking. They didn’t know I was there, and the short, dumb-looking one told the bigger one that it had been arranged and the Sonar Club was going to meet at the usual spot that afternoon. They were trying to be real cloak and dagger about it.
I’m sure that doesn’t mean anything to you. You’re wondering, why is she happy about some Sonar Club. That doesn’t sound even remotely fun. Well, I have a friend—I do—who told me about something he heard about from someone else—and what it is, is this:
Right now, there are clubs forming up all over the country. They call themselves sonar clubs, or even radio clubs—but what they are is clubs for people who want to set fires, for people who are fed up with wealth and property, and want to burn everything down.
S - O - N - A - R = A - R - S - O - N
He said you have to burn something down just to get in, and when he said that I thought—I haven’t heard something so exciting in a long time. If you don’t like fire, you are not a living person, in my opinion.
7
A really awful thing happened final period, though, in Social Studies. We were doing a mock trial and I was supposed to be a witness to a murder, so I was on the witness stand. One of the supposed lawyers, a girl named Lisette, was asking me questions. But, she did this mean thing, a slightly clever mean thing, where she asked me questions about my actual self. At first, she slipped them in a little along with the other questions. I wasn’t sure where she was going with it.
So, you just arrived here at the school. Did you know the defendant prior to your arrival here? Under what circumstances?
There was some chuckling. I said I was not in school and hadn’t been for years—I was supposed to be an old man. Did she not see my beard? (No one laughed.) I said I had seen the defendant before, of course. He was one of my tenants.
On the night in question, you were out walking the streets for what reason?
People laughed again.
I said I wasn’t in the street. I was looking out my window.
That was when she went for it:
I’m sorry, I know it’s not a part of the trial, but, how did you manage to get jeans from four years ago? Did you use a time machine?
So, Lisette Crowe. It seems that’s another person I have to get revenge on. She is rich but her speech is just television speech. She doesn’t speak like a person with a real mind. Her parents’ money wasn’t enough to protect her brain. I hate listening to the way most people talk. It is enough to turn you into a hermit. My mother had a beautiful way of speaking. I like to think about it sometimes.