Chapter 28 - 28-Art and Science II

Chapter 28 - Art and Science II

   I woke up slowly. It reminded me of a cat's tail grazing my face. Or an errant fly or other winged pest, practicing landing and takeoff procedures while using me as the tarmac. You grunt a few times, you toss or turn a little. It either quits, or you come awake given enough time. I came awake.

   It was glorious moment. She was propped up on an elbow. That little curl of a slight grin at the corner of her mouth. The radiant blue eyes, the mussed morning hair that somehow seemed better than all arranged perfect. The morning light breaking the window, framed the edges of her hair with that glowing halo effect. I just stared.

   She had woken me up, slowly. By teasing and grazing my face, with the frayed end of her favorite chunk of rope.

   "Seems someone is up."

   I nodded. I glanced down at the covers still over me. I can't help my wit.

   "More ways than one."

   "Mm. Morning wood. If only, I would, huh."

   She hit upon another touchstone with me. Puns and wordplay. I'm hooked good, now. I'm addicted to her, and everything she does for me, has done, and has yet to still do. I'm ashamed of being dependent upon an intramuscular or subcutaneous fat layer syringe shot to function. But I'm not ashamed of this, in any way whatsoever.

   I went to roll towards her, but she pushed me down flat again with her palm on my chest. A quiet and plaintive one, but an order none the less came out of her soft lips.

   "Stay."

   Like a doggy command. I grinned and made the noise.

   "Ruff!"

   "We had quite a talk last night. Didn't we."

   I nodded yes.

   "It was a big deal to me. I meant every word I said. I feel like I was flying, just for a little bit there. You know how long I've been waiting to feel that again?"

   I shook my head no. How could I.

   "Years."

   "I'm sorry it was like that. But, I'm more than happy, that..."

   "Thanks. You're in the same boat as me. Finally feeling something like that again. That you thought was gone for good. Hmm?"

   I nodded. Enthusiastically.

   "I told you. I never got this far. Part of me? Feels like a dog. Chasing cars. Finally got one, not sure what to do with it. Got a few ideas, though."

   I'm waiting with baited breath. The more she draws something out? The hotter it is. She clearly enjoys teasing me. Making me wait. Building anticipation. Turning me to putty.

   "Told you. To even think about it? I had to be in charge. To make it safe. Honestly, it was just the means to an end. Didn't think I would end up liking it. If the guy doesn't agree, that I get to tie him up for sex? Deal's off. But, I found out I do like it, after all. Why? Doesn't matter. Maybe... I just liked it, once I was exposed to it. Maybe? When I found out I could go through with it that way? Hey. Maybe I started to quickly associate it, with sex. But I don't care. It is what it is. Shit happens."

   "Okay."

   She grinned.

   "I know its okay. I just told you so. Or, did you mean... you're okay with it."

   I nodded. That got me a grin. As well as a friendly swat across the face, with the frayed end of her rope. And another sweet little order. Another little doggy command.

   "Speak."

   "Yes."

   Another frayed swat.

   "Yes what. Yes, its okay overall. Or yes, that you're okay with it."

   "Yes. Its okay, and I'm okay with it."

   Another friendly swat and more grinning.

   "I say what's okay. You? Can only speak for yourself."

   I nodded. Another frayed swat.

   "Try again."

   "Yes. I'm okay with it."

   She nodded.

   "I already knew it. Just making sure. Just, making it... official."

   "I---"

   Her hand clamped down over my mouth firm.

   "Right now? We're having a moment. That means? I'm in charge. So I ask the questions. And you? Just answer them."

   "Okay."

   "I know its okay. Try it again. Do it right. That's two strikes, and we're not a minute or two in. You know how to do it correctly. So? Do it right."

   "Yes. You're in charge. You ask me questions. I just answer them."

   Swatted.

   "Again. Same way, but you answer the questions... how?"

   "Yes you're in charge. You ask me questions. And I answer them. The right way."

   "Better. And that was strike three, by the way. But we'll go over that later. Now. We move on. Ask me what we're doing right now."

   "What are w---"

   Swat.

   "Be polite. Use the magic word. Please. Go again. Strike four, and counting."

   "Please tell me, what we're doing now."

   "Hmm. Much better. We're setting boundaries. And by we? I of course mean... me. I'm setting those boundaries. Is this a problem?"

   "Not at all."

   She nodded. Studying me.

   "Good. There's an old timer's phrase. Start them, like you're going to finish them. This all started? With me in charge, for sex. It was no accident. But? You know that already. Doesn't seem to be any problems with it like that, either. Your dick, likes it just fine. You? Like me just fine. Am I wrong?"

   "No. You're, not wrong. At all. Not a problem. I mean, no I don't have a problem."

   "Mm, hmm. Being in charge, for sex? Means things. For one? I initiate sex. You, really don't. Unless you didn't notice? You can't initiate sex. I always say yes or no. Again, been fine all this time."

   I started to say something, and got another playful swat.

   "I don't remember asking a question. I made a statement. I've been initiating sex. I never got told no? Not once. Regardless of what you think, when you try to start something... I say yes or no. Once again. I'm obviously in charge. And, speaking without being asked a question? After you already know better. Strike five."

   I said nothing.

   "Much better. I raped you, for our first time. I had to make you. You know you needed that."

   I was about to say something, and opened my mouth? Then stopped.

   "Much, much, better. Told you. Pretend rape? One of the hottest things ever invented. Pretend rape, a little or a lot? It really is the gold standard, for hot sex. Wanna know a secret?"

   "Yes. I mean, yes, please tell me the secret."

   "Well. Aren't you picking up the game plan quick. Remember your story. About... the girl, the dorm room next door. The TV. Here's what went on. You were always trying with her. But, when you gave up? She was enjoying all the attention. You. Following her, always asking. She liked that game, and kept it up. But, when you quit suddenly? Game wasn't fun anymore. Then? Here, she, comes. All of a sudden? She made it easy."

   I said nothing. No questions were asked.

   "The TV on loud? That's standard etiquette. Covers some of the noise. She was expecting, to make some noise. You? Were going to make her, make that noise. Trying to go the extra mile? Backfired. You did the exact wrong thing. You left that TV on loud? Who knows. Could have been some of the best casual college sex you had. Or? Maybe she just lays there, and expects you to do all the work, and make the noise come. Who knows. But, that's what was going on. And, being honest? Once they make it easy like that... you can pretty much do anything you feel like doing. It was time, for a little bit of pretend rape."

   I waited.

   "And yeah. The idea that you should just keep kissing, to keep the girl from saying no? One of the best ideas you ever came up with. Another little secret. About ninety nine percent of the time? Once you get that strong of a signal, you pretty much could just put your hand over her mouth and go to town."

   Still waiting.

   "But back to us. I'll initiate sex. And, that means I'll be deciding if, and when, then what. You won't have a problem with it."

   More waiting.

   "You're not in the driver's seat. You're the passenger. If you could drive, so to speak? You wouldn't have been in the predicament you were in. I saved you from that. Don't you think it would be polite? To thank me."

   "Thank you. For saving me."

   "You're welcome. Sex might seem a little bit like a one way street? Its not, really. You initiate sex... I initiate sex. Who cares. As long as it happens. And yeah. You saved me, too. I never got this far, on this little program before. Not even close."

   I bit my lower lip a little.

   "You already know by now, but I'll say it for the record. When I use a certain tone of voice. A certain look. I grab you a certain way. You know what that means. In general? Yeah. You get tied up for sex. I do whatever I want. This was all, working already. I'm just clarifying things. Just one little thing to add. When I initiate sex? Its a yes. When you t-r-y to initiate sex? I say yes... or no. If you say nothing? I'll take that as a yes."

   Like I'm going to let a peep out.

   "I think its kind of obvious, but. For the record and all. When you're here, or hell. When we're alone at any time, anywhere. You'll be sexually available to me. And there's perks to this. You'll never have to wonder if you're pleasing me. If I really wanted what went on. You'll know, from start to finish? That you were pleasing me. It won't take any effort on your part, either. Just... sit back, and let the driver, drive."

   Like I have no tongue, I tell you.

   "And, in driving terms? Once I fire the engine up. Just sit down, shut up, hang on, and enjoy the ride. How much easier, could I even make this. Now. Other than sex. Pretty much a normal couple. You only have to listen to me? For sex. Couple little things. I take care of myself. Got my own place. Pay all my own bills. My own car. I don't need? Anyone or anything. I can grab a few things, toss it in my car? And drive right the hell off, to the next place I land."

   I got a glancing touch, through the covers. The little tent pole I had going on noticed it, trust me.

   "Need? No. But... want. Yes. Now, this has all been mainly about what I do. There's things I don't do. You don't have to move in and start paying the bills. I'm not going to show up, with a sob story... and move in and start leeching off you. No... dropping hints, what I want for the next present. In fact? If you haven't noticed, and I'm real sure you did notice it... I don't allow it."

   "If, you start paying all my bills? Or, I move in. I'm giving up my power. You buy and do, I get used to it? You gain leverage that way. I'm with you? For one reason and one reason only. I like you, and you like me. You make me feel good? And I try to make you feel good back. There is? Nothing else."

   She studied me.

   "Never met a guy before. Didn't either brag about what he did and how much he made doing it. Or, complain and assure me how it was all about to change. You didn't tell me what kind of vehicle you drove? They usually brag that up."

   "Goes without saying, but... don't ever put your hands on me. And you know what I mean by that. Don't even grab my wrist or arm, to make point. Don't ever think you're going to scream at me, poke me in the chest with your fingers. Push me, shove me. Push my stuff around, instead of me. Now. Its not a one way street. I will never do any of that? To you. And yeah. I'm a girl? I can say it. Some girls do ask for it. I think they like getting smacked once in a while. I don't."

   "Remember. I have a fail safe mechanism, built right into this whole deal. You want sex? Its pretty usual, for you to get tied up at first for sex. If you ever put your hands on me? Even once. You'll either be smart enough to just never show your face again, or... when you're vulnerable? And you will be, quite regularly... I'll work you over with my grandma's cast iron frying pan."

   "Cause here's the issue. Men do have power over women. And? Most women, more or less like it. Whether they know it or not, whether they admit or not. I used to be normal, in all ways, even like that. I can't any more. You know why. Most women do act like spoiled children. They either like getting bossed around, or need it, or just accept it. I don't pull a-n-y of their shit. So, there's no excuses for it. Not you, not anyone else? Will ever... manage my finances. Set my schedule. Tell me where I'm going, what I'm doing. Tell me where I won't be going, what I won't be doing."

   "And don't think you can just yeah, yeah, yeah me... and start taking a little here, and a little there. I'm not mean, I'm really not... controlling. Not really. All I am? Is I flipped everything over. Things you're not supposed to do, things you'd promise you would never do? All I do, is make it so its off the table."

   She studied me, like a bug on a pin. She seemed happy and satisfied, though.

   "I'm all done. For now. I need something else? I'll just tell you. No special words. Simple yes or no. Got any problems? With any of this."

   "None."

   She just nodded.

   "Anything, you might... is there anything you might want? Can't hurt to ask, at least not right now. We're setting boundaries. What are yours."

   I shook my head and shrugged.

   "Anything you want to negotiate? You want this, you need it. You... can't have that, you refuse. That's for sex, the relationship boundaries. Say something."

   I paused.

   "I couldn't drive. From point A, to point B. Just... keep your eyes on the road."

   "Just like that."

   "Yeah."

   "Wow. I can't believe I'm, you know... here. Hmm. Like I said? I'm like a dog chasing cars, and winging it what to do with the car I caught. Here. I'll share with you. Now, we talked about this. Handcuffs girl? Doing to her girlfriends, what was done to her. For fun. What was done to me, well... the first thing? Was, the first thing I did with you. I'll say it straight out. Yeah. I'm play acting out, doing a fun version of what was done to me."

   "I guess like a little kid, playing at being a super hero, all powerful. And why does the little kid pretend that. Super hero, or other powerful heroic figure. Simple. To be a little kid, is by definition? To be powerless. You're small, young, weak. You have no personal power. Your parents own you, they force you to do what they say. So of course, their fantasy? Is to be all powerful and they play at it."

   "I was raped violently, for hours. Beat almost to death, and left for dead. Then? I'm helpless all over again. My parents taking care of me. Like being a little kid again. My mom and dad? Stole any books, DVDs, anything they thought would trigger me. Threw any clothes away that didn't cover me up like a potato sack. They meant well, but... go figure, my fantasy became I was all powerful. Handcuffs girl? Accidentally showed me the way out. Yeah. I play pretend, I'm the powerful rapist. And I have a victim, and I can do anything, I, want."

   "The perks you get? Here's one. No guessing. I'll just tell you. Now. Maybe you noticed. Maybe you didn't. Remember playing doggy? And kitty. Yes no works fine."

   "Yes."

   "That, was... a huge treat. Know how many guys I've let have me like that? Since that night. Hands and knees. Grabbed up. Give it to me good. Not... a... one. I thought, maybe with you? It would go okay. And you know what? It did. I didn't start out like this. I wouldn't mind being able to do it, like I did before this happened. I got you all revved up? For doggy fun. So it would be super quick, just in case."

   "But it went okay. And that's why I played kitty with you. The second time. When it would take longer. I know it wouldn't seem like much, but... do you have any idea, how hard I was trying? To... give."

   "You don't have to."

   She got short and curt, quick.

   "I know I don't. I'm in charge. Just... don't ever lose your goddamn mind, and in the heat of the moment? Grab and do it like that. You ask, and you ask polite. Before. You plan it. If I say I don't think so? Don't ask twice, and don't you dare bug me and try to pester me into it."

   She softened a little.

   "It was... great though. And we both know it. Slosh, slosh, slosh. Sounded like you were plunging the sink, for Christ's sake. Okay, here's another example. How this will work. Ready?"

   I nodded.

   "How would you like to put it in my ass, huh. I did it before. Not since that night, though. Here. Girl at my last job. And I think this is somewhat typical. Her boyfriend started just... doing it. No, no, please don't. Aw, once a guy gets going, there's no stopping them. And you know what? We like it like that. She has to pretend, she never did it before, it hurts more than it does. Why? Hotter for him that way. Hotter for her, too. Pretend rape. Fun as anything."

   "After a while? She got her revenge on him. Couple bottles of champagne, New Years sex... she gets him drunk, tied him up... revenge. Now, come on. Once again? Pretend rape. Hottest thing ever. No guy will tell you, hardly. But us girls? We talk. So yeah. For revenge? She got him with a nice sized vibrator."

   I'm not used to a girl talking this frank and open about sex so explicitly.

   "Now. After it had gone both ways? It went on once in a while. Both directions. She'd suggest it was a good night, she was in the mood for it. He asked for his sometimes, too. Usually after a few drinks, but still. We? Could be... no... different."

   "Except for this. He went first, she went second. He, took first. So she took him? Second. That? Will n-o-t work like that, here. That said. Here's how it would. They both did it. We could both do it. Only difference? I, come, first. Now. We do? In the end..."

   She giggled.

   "Ha. Sorry. In the end? Pffft. But, we end up in the same place as they did. One goes first, then the other goes. Us too. What's the difference, really. Both ways, still happen. I just go first. Is that so bad?"

   "You're driving. Go where you want."

   "You mean that?"

   I nodded.

   "Well. Lets just see, huh. Everyone's talking about the finger in the ass blowjob. Girls? Everyone's doing it. Go figure, you guys don't hear about it from the guys. Now. You have five strikes. Ask me nice. You offer me that, you go to four strikes. And remember. I can just do it anyways, and leave you at five strikes. I'm being nice."

   I started asking.

   "I'm sorry. When I said ask nice? Guess I meant... beg."

   Beg I did.

   She reminded me, that she had said it. She, comes, first. That, was yet another play on words. And god bless her for that. I could get to three strikes, instead of just down to four? If I knelt in front of her on the couch, and serviced her with my tongue.

   Once again, reminding me the whole time. She got this anyways. How nice was she being, letting me get strikes off for things.

   Truly magnanimous of her, huh.

   Later on, I realized nothing had really changed. It had just been codified. She had said it. Left with a little leftover anxiety behind from the ordeal. Mild OCD went with the anxiety. She was micromanaging the sex act. Sure, she ended up sitting on my face, acting and talking quite rough with me about it. But that was nothing new for us now. And honestly, I've had a little bit of kinky fun before. Both ways. Real sure she could have talked me into all this, had she just been a regular girlfriend I picked up, and me and my ex and that history hadn't existed.

   Fun pretty girl wants to rape me. Oh no, please don't. Oh, the horror.

   When she was done with it all. Getting me down to three strikes, then did what she had wanted afterwards. She seemed to have fun, cooing and soothing me. Assuring me how I had liked it, how it was okay. Wasn't my fault, after all. She made me.

   Why is date rape illegal again?

   I'd say its more fun than sex.

   It was early yet, that evening. We'd both been fed, so to speak, a couple times. She eyed me up on the couch, next to her.

   "I know this doesn't sound like much of a treat, but."

   "Anything. What."

   "You're always... I know you'd like to, take me out. I won't let you buy me a piece of pocket lint."

   "No, I'd... I'm, what. Honored. I feel like, you're... offering me your cherry or something. What would you like. What do you want."

   "Mm. My stomach's doing goddamn flip flops, just thinking about it. How about... I come first. Meaning, I take you out. I'll buy you something to eat. Then? Maybe next time, we can try you buying me, a... some picket lint."

   "Okay."

   She grinned.

   "I know its okay. I just said it. Yes or no."

   "Hmm. Can I get another strike off, if I let you buy me something to eat, taking me out? Hell yes."

   She just eyed me. I thought it was at first, one of her many faux outrages she puts through her, then laughs.

   I was wrong.

   "You're sitting here. Still tied up. We both, still have our clothes off. The hell are you even thinking. We're not bargaining. There's no negotiations. I thought I told you. In fact? I'm real sure I told you. I'm in charge. I felt like giving you strikes? So I did. I kept giving them to you, because that's what I felt like doing. I also explained it real clear, too. I didn't have to take a strike off, because you agreed to something. I'll say do it? And we'll do it. There is no negotiation. At all. I was just introducing you to what's going to go on? The fun and easy way. I was being nice. And this is how you take that out for a spin? Thinking you can weasel and bargain your way out of things. Well, the answer there is pretty simple. Hell no. Watch what happens now. Remember you got two strikes off? Three more on. Just like that."

   I ended up blindfolded. I heard something in short order, that I couldn't guess what it was. It resembled, what. The noise of cereal going into the box, not out and into a bowl. But deeper and throatier of a sound. She shoved my blind face down.

   "Feel that? Well, feel where that is. Got it? Kneel in there. Now."

   As soon as I did, her legs went over my shoulders. The soft cups of behind her knees, fit neatly over my shoulders. She could arch her back and stretch out gently, and it lifted her and put some of the weight on my shoulders. Which added to kneeling on what my face feeling it had said was hard corn. Now I remembered, I had many times went out behind her mobile home with her and we fed the local deer herd that now liked her back yard for it in her feeder back there for them.

   She giggled, showing me how she could arch out, and make it worse, Or not, and it went back to normal. I felt her fingers lace behind my head, and I got pulled down to service her.

   "Yeah. That's right. Try to weasel me again. This is how I negotiate. Which is not at all. Now slow up. But push harder. That's it."

   Its no punishment at all, to lick her. And far from it, I like pleasing her. Hearing her like it. But while kneeling on corn sounds pretty tame, and really it is at first. It doesn't stay very benign. It grows into uncomfortable and into something much worse, fairly quick. The more uncomfortable I got, the more she giggled. Then chuckled, and finally laughed. When she came, maybe I was done? No. She got meaner and rougher and was more insistent and demanding.

   "What you needed, was the taste smacked right out of your mouth for even trying it. But I promised. Just because I can't crack you across the mouth, don't ever think I can't do things to you. Whatever I want. Whenever I want. As long as I feel like it. Anywhere I want it."

   Pinching and tickling, was her substitute for hitting me.

   "Shut up and quit whining. You asked for this."

   "We both know you like it. You keep coming back."

   "You think I live out here on accident? No one can hear you. Make all the noise you want. Now? Lighter and faster. More. More!"

   After a while, she went through an extended period of verbal teasing. When she was finally done, she as suddenly as it had come on reversed it. Sweet after care. Cooing, shushing. Assuring me that because She had worked me with her hand successfully, I had to have liked it. Then? She was even sweeter and nicer than when originally we were about to go out, and she bought me a bite to eat.

   I got kissed and mauled in her car before we set off, then again in the parking lot. I had to ask and beg for my food. Tell her what I wanted. Then like it all had never happened? She was all sweetness and we went in to a truck stop other than hers, so we could be alone. I had picked battered smelt and french fries, so she got the big basket as well. She popped fries and little breaded fish into my mouth for me, smiling like we were teenagers in puppy love.

   Which other than our ages? We essentially were.

   Back out in her car, I realized we had parked in a corner and off from the parking herd. I got kissed and mauled some more, and teased like never before. Well. Never before, is just a phrase. Its happened before. But you know what I mean. Not content stopping at roaming hands, she pushed into groping. Then, the diving hands. A constant attack. Warm hands, attempting to dive and slide into my clothing. Trying to work buttons and zippers and snaps. When I say I can't stop her, again you know what I mean. I obviously can. But I don't. Why in the hell would I.

   I ended up more or less dragged and mauled into her backseat of her car. She's smiling, laughing. A constant attack of hands, lips, tongue, mouth. This, is her game.

   Its her game, because its the game she's playing right now. Its her game, because its the game she's gotten good at. Its her game, because it puts her in the driver's seat. Both literally and metaphorically, this game allows her to drive. This game? Puts her in charge.

   I get it now.

   She was born an otherwise normal girl. Into an otherwise normal family. Her father had a normal job, and made a normal amount of money compared to the other men around him. Her mother was normal. She had a normal dog and cat, and grew up in a normal town, in a normal house, with a completely normal life. Sure, normal feels like boring. But normal? Can feel really good, too. She went to grade school? She was one of the girls there. She wasn't that one spectacularly gorgeous girl, that everyone stands back and marvels at. She certainly wasn't that one ugly girl, either. The quintessential girl next door.

   Not skinny, but not heavy. Not really tall like my ex had been, but not one of those tiny five foot tall girls, either. I never got her height, but as a guy that did various sports and especially fighting for a sport? I can size a person's height and weight and strength up at a glance. What, five eight or something. I give her a buck thirty in weight, not quite a buck forty. I pick up and do things with free weights, and the bar weighs 45 pounds, standard Olympic free weights. When the gym guys say a "plate", they mean the large ones that we nicknamed manhole covers. Its 135 pounds, to toss a large plate on wither end of a bar, for a warm up weight before I get going. If I pick her up and carry her around, its the weight I feel.

   She grew up... girl, standard issue. I'd bet her dad was no giant, either going by height or weight, or size. Not by income or importance level, either. Just... normal. I'd lay money on mom those ways, too.

   Yeah. Normal can feel boring, but... it can feel pretty damn good, too. You have allies. Natural allies. The ugly people that congregate together in their little group. That's not you when you're normal. You're part of that much bigger group. We all these days talk about segregation, and how horrible it is.

   Its not. We've been taught that segregation is demonic, because they tied the word segregation to race. But segregation itself? Totally normal. Keep a jar of coins, a large one. Its great to see that hugs jar of change growing. One fine day, its full. As a kid introduced to the concept of a piggy bank? I loved it. I collect things, and even too much. That's my mild OCD. It goes along with my trauma, its trauma's byproduct.

   You find in the end, when you finally enjoy small jars and piggy banks enough that you go for that big one then finally fill it up. You sit and marvel at it. Wow. All that change? Its mine. Soon? I'm going to buy myself something with all that money, too. Something... really cool. I don't have to save half and spend half, like my parents taught me. This, is going to be the coolest thing ever.

   But its not. That huge pickle jar? Almost too heavy to pick up. You can't even spend it. No store will let you pay in all mixed change. No, without something else yet to be done... all you created was a giant paperweight. Its great for holding a screen door open. But for the purposes of what it was intended for? No better than a solid block of cement.

   What transforms that gigantic pickle jar of loose change into something wonderful. An expensive model dinosaur. Something that will take time to put together. Decorate and paint. Now something to mount and display and marvel at. Let company marvel at it.

   Segregation, of course. You have to dump the gigantic pile of loose change out someplace like the bed or the floor. Separate it all into piles of quarters, dimes, nickles, pennies. Then, you have to separate those big piles of like coins, into carefully counted piles. You have to wrap them. Like building one of my dinosaur models? This was another labor of love. Now, you're large useless thing? Is useful. And only careful segregation, can give you this result.

   The, after drilling into all of our little heads from kindergarten onward that segregation is evil and wrong? What do they do. What does the system, do. It segregates you! First grade. All the kids in your first grade class? Are in... first grade. You have a range of ages, sure. But not a very big one. You're segregated! The first grade teacher, that teaches you all day. She's segregated, too. She, teaches first grade. Not second grade. The teachers, teaching how horrible segregation is? Are they themselves segregated.

   The first grade teacher, is inordinately more concerned with teaching me that segregation is wrong and horrible. Then? She lines up the girls and boys, segregated by male and female. We march to the bathroom and return. Boys room, girls room. Once again? More segregation. Not sure what exactly the fascination grade school has with the stupid plays and performances, but whatever. And a Catholic grade school, like I attended first through fourth grade? You can bet your ass we had to learn and sing all these religious songs.

   Micheal, row the boat ashore. Hallelujah. And Ezekiel saw the wheel. There's no end to it.

   And how do they organize us on that little stage, in the gymnasium, slash lunch room, slash staged auditorium? Boys on this side, girls on that side. Not content? Tallest to shortest. So we're arranged like, I don't know. Decorations up there, I guess. If segregation and organization was so horrible of a concept? We'd be a big group of boys and girls, with no care for our heights.

   If you're tall, you get pushed into basketball or volleyball. If you're heavyset? Football. Great eye hand coordination? Baseball. If you can run fast naturally? Track. Gee. Segregation. In junior high, you hit this magical grade, and all of a sudden you have to choose. General ed. College prep. Science and Engineering. You've already gone from a classroom full of your grade, to marching around to specialized teachers for the classes. A science teacher, an English teacher. Gym teacher, art teacher. But now? Things are even more highly specialized.

   Segregation, is organization. And if you have a slight OCD, a healthy amount of it that can come across as dedication, perseverance, persistence. You know, all the things that the adults tell you are wonderful attributes, by the way. Its a find and dandy concept.

   I go to college. Most colleges and universities? Have specialties. My state university I went to, for instance. It started out as a normal school. Not, normal as in ordinary. Back in the day, a normal school was what the old timers called a school that produced teachers. So? If you want to be a teacher, its a great place to go after high school. They were also known for their computer science program, so go figure I got my college degrees in Mathematics and Computer Science, there.

   And yeah. Most of the professors? Preach like holy rollers. What "social responsibility" even is, fine. Doesn't bother me, but... what the hell does it have to do with Calculus 4. Linear Algebra. Formal Logic. Compiler Design. These are all advanced courses I had to study and pass, in order to get my degrees. The college itself, is super duper highly segregated. Honestly. There's a Dean, of Mathematics and Science. Its not enough I get accepted by this college, and begin to attend. I then have to apply to... get this... the college of mathematics and computer science, and get accepted and approved. To be allowed to even pick my degree I want. So I'm now allowed to take the courses I need to pass, to accumulate the credits that count towards my degrees.

   I go to work in my field after graduating from my university twice with both degrees, and where do I go to work. To some factory to operate the big overhead crane moving 10,000 pound coils of steel around, like my dad did for a while in his steel mill he worked at his whole life? Certainly not. I've been... segregated... and pushed into this my whole young life. And the companies? Are segregated! I worked for a company that does computer programming projects. The owners could try to win contracts to build bridges, but highly unlikely they would ever win one. And for good reasons, too. That bridge? Either wouldn't ever get built, and if it did? It wouldn't stand. And if it stood, temporarily? I ain't walking on it, and certainly never driving over it. That son of a bitch is going down, soon.

   I'm not the only person, like this. There's gobs of us milling around in your society. We stand back, and we scratch our heads. The hell is wrong with people these days. Our grandfathers didn't have to deal with retarded shit like this. If you told our grandfathers, that one day it would be like this? They would have pointed and laughed at you, and so hard they couldn't stand up until the hysterical laughing fit passed.

   Christ almighty, just as well grandpa's dead and buried. He'd have taken one look around, and laughed. When he figured out it was no April Fool's joke, you're actually serious? I know what he'd do. First off, he'd crack open a beer and chomp on one of his cheap cigars. And I know what words you'd hear.

   Might as well turn the country back over to the goddamn Indians. They had a better system.

   In college, I just had to pass classes and get my sheepskins. I'm one of those people, that read fast and accurate. I don't have to spend 4 hours every night doing what most people did in high school and more so in college now. Studying. Studying, in the generic sense. I'm happier by myself, and I learned growing up to treasure my hobbies. I would read and study and practice Electronics. Reading about things that interested me.

   The thing with me is, and I figured that out in college. People, are the loose change in that big pickle jar. We're only useful in any way, when segregated and then organized further into useful groups. So, everyday take your pocket change, toss it in that big pickle jar. Go on. When you've filled it up? Make that pile. Organize then count and wrap it all up, into neatly rolled coin.

   I'm not in there. I'm a 50 cent piece, perhaps a one dollar coin.

   There's not enough of "me" around, they make rolls for me to fit into. There's no point. I'm more useful in many ways. Try to carry around a hundred pennies. You need both hands cupped, and you're still spilling pennies everywhere. I guess while still in college, I was at least one of the coins in that big pickle jar. But, once graduated and out and about? I'm off to the side. The hell am I even for.

   My last boss I had, he knew what I was. I was one single coin. No one wanted me. He could pick me up, and I was easily carried. No room full of a hundred people studying the so called impossible problem. Eighteen months studying the problem. Producing a wonderful gigantic report, on how the problem, while technically possible? Entirely not feasible.

   That job, the one I had until I left after Rain was slaughtered in her bathtub like a spring lamb. Family owned software company. Not some corporation. The dad? One of the old school computer programmers. I was the only young programmer, he could zen with. We would sit down and look at the huge software system we had to create. I got this, you got that? Cool. We bang on our keyboards and quickly produce this giant software system. We do it quicker. Me and the dad, the president. We're the special forces in the computer programmer army. We do quicker and better, what a hundred grunts either can't do, or would simply take too long.

   The son though. The vice president. Not a programmer, and indeed just a generic business degree. A used car salesman of a guy. Yeah, yeah. I'll whip something up, I'll have something for them to sign. Tomorrow? Yeah, I'll type it up tonight, on my laptop at the bar. This isn't some... memo. Its a contract, for a gigantic piece of software. Its supposed to be crafted carefully, after the engineers have studied and produced their reports. Consultations with others, making sure you're sure.

   Not there. Between big assignments, I do other things. Programs I make that help me make other programs. Like some artist, you have to make your own tools. Then the days I treasure. Hey, come in here. I go in, coffee cup in hand. They lay out all the possible contracts we can bid on. There's a little cover page. And? A big engineering report under it. What all the problems are. How impossible or improbable the solutions are.

   Me and his dad? We drink coffee, and paw through them. Hey, this one. The hell's wrong with people. Impossible? This is easy. Are we sure? Me and the dad laugh. Busy work. How long? The dad usually did this at first. After a short time, a few contracts in the bag that this is now a routine day at the office and nothing more. The old man smiles when I do it.

   "Ah. Couple days? I'll show you proof of concept."

   The son calculates, hunches on it. He knows better by now, not to call us on it. He'll lose that bet every time. He's tried. If me and his dad say yeah? Its a yeah.

   Proof of concept, is what it sounds like. You take a given, a thoroughly representative generic example. Show it. Then? You run it through your software, and you show the result. They compare their example that went in, to your answer that came back out. It works? Proof of concept, in the bag.

   You get a big prize, just for demonstrating proof of concept. And most contracts? Are for simply that. Then, me or the dad, have to travel and go on site. We spend time, well, wasting it to be perfectly accurate about it. Doing what? What I came to call "reverse preaching to the choir". The so called team leaders and lead engineers. Instead of listening, and taking our examples? They all fight and bicker with us, like little children. Explaining the "problem". Explaining why its impossible.

   Then, you whip your example out. Look. Its not impossible, it works fine. And? here's how. Listen, and try it. You don't get anywhere, for the most part. The dad taught me. Search the place. Find him. That guy. The one that's not retarded. I've heard more than once, after locating him.

   "Agree? I said pretty much the same thing! I'm surrounded by goddamn morons."

   Why isn't this guy a team leader, or better yet? In charge of this project. It'd be done already. He understands what the hell's going on. Oh. He? Is a junior analyst. Every analyst? Has several junior analysts, under him. Every full analyst? Is a part of his team, which is led by.. a senior analyst. The senior analysts in turn, are under the software engineer. And a couple of software engineers? Are overseen by... the senior software engineer.

   Shit, rolls downhill. If the senior software engineer thinks something isn't able to be done, or will take too long and cost too much time and money than is remotely feasible for the client? It doesn't get done. If the client insists? It gets sent out of house now.

   A company like mine? Its where we get our contracts from. There are companies, and big well off ones, too. Exposing these available contracts, trying to find a place that's willing to do it. We learned not to even screw around. Where's the good stuff. What good stuff. The contract you wish you could get fulfilled. Oh. They call that different things, at different places. The one we use the most? Calls it the dreamer file.

   That's the big table of all the cover letters, and accompanying reports "proving" that its impossible, or realistically not possible.

   I love doing the work. Its fun. Proof of concept, is like a scientist in a laboratory. When he can hook wires up to the big... whatever it is he invented and got working? It does... well, again... whatever. But, its proof that thing X? Is not impossible. Its the problem of someone else, to take that and make it into a product.

   Successful proof of concept? Is the computer programming version of that.

   I love that part. I also? Like to create the software programs that work together in a system, to make the product. My first such trip? Wow. How cool is this going to be, you know. In front of a room full of guys who're something like me. Explaining, instructing. Answering questions. And I guess on paper? Looks pretty sweet. Put up in some fancy hotel or condo. You get taken to lunch by... whoever has the biggest dick on that floor of the building. I mean, in my mind? I finally really arrived. I'm at long last? The goose that laid the golden egg. I'm here, to teach what are supposed to be my better paid and more experienced and more highly rated peers? Indeed, how easy it really is, to squat down and shit gold eggs out.

   We planned on a week. I was there three weeks, and I'd like to about strangle someone. The owner and his clan? They more than want you there. They need you there, and they're all happy about it. They take you around, swing that huge dick they have around, and everyone has to smile and nod. This is the grown up version of the teacher. The teacher? Likes me.

   Soon as the teacher isn't around, though. Honestly, like a bunch of kids in grade school. They sit there with these pouting little faces, and they grouse and bitch. They fight you tooth and nail. You have to about hold their feet to the fire, to get them to admit its true. Its a nightmare, not a dream come true I was imagining.

   A guy once told me. Its no fun being number one, not at all. In any ranking system? The guy above you is simply the enemy. You want to be the number one, or any number higher up than your own rank. By definition, everyone else is now against you, and hates you, and is out to put any tiny chink in your armor they can.

   Driving myself there? I was about whistling a merry tune. All but skipping from my car to the front door once I arrived. And after the first day? Good lord. When every minute of instruction, brings several minutes of argumentation... one week becomes three. Couldn't wait to get home. I soldiered through it. I left them with the proof of concept, proven to work, and had explained every last detail top to bottom.

   Three months later? Can we take the contract, to just make it. Its nothing but all problems. My boss? Cackles with glee.

   Now, I'm sure you're wondering what the point of all this is, and I'll tell you.

   Its been like this, my whole life. Your entire system? Works exactly like I just spent so much time and energy, explaining one example in excruciating depth and detail, so you thoroughly grasp the several interrelated problems.

   I'm simply a leftover coin. A one dollar coin, that doesn't fit in anywhere. Sure, I'm better and worth more in many ways, but... I'm just not designed the same. The round pegs, slide quite well into the round holes created for them. They, just figure out which round pegs fit neatly into whatever round holes waiting for them. The square pegs and holes? The same. The triangular pegs and holes? Same. There's even a star shaped peg or two, which fits like a key into star shaped holes.

   Look down, when done.

   There's a peg left over.

   There's no hole for it.

   That's me.

   As a little kid? Everyone told me I was... Christ.

   Why, I'm simply...

   Stupid. Ugly. Weak. Worthless. There was no end to it. You quickly end up? Angry. Frustrated. Dejected. Depressed. You hate yourself. You hate whatever god made you this way. And that's only after coming to hate everyone and everything else. And it makes no sense, either. You end up with zero ego, and actually zero would be an improvement. You're less than zero. You're just sure, you can't do anything right.

   Stupid? Hardly. I always got overall great grades, and took only the hardest classes, still getting top marks. I got old enough to realize this and point it out? Oh. See, what you are? Is you're so smart, you're actually stupid.

   Ugly? I know I'm not the best looking guy in my school and town, but... ugly? Not at all. Again, as a teenager I was amazed to discover. I leave my little town, and go out and about? Girls run up and talk to me, just fine.

   Weak? Ending up a hair over six foot one, I'm really not. Now guys shorter than me, are lifting weights and filling out. See? You're a bean pole. You really are... weak. So? I started lifting weights. Look. I'm fairly strong. So? Some kid that's shorter and smaller cleans my clock. Boxer, wrestler, generic tough guy that grew up rough.

   I scratch my head. That's not weak. You're taking someone more or less a bit of an expert at something, and demanding I do it as good as he does it. When I predictably don't measure up? How is that weak.

   Worthless? Well, you might have something there. But in the end? I'm actually kind of valuable.

   Value. Even with terrible grades? The kids that played football, seemed very valuable. When you play football, girls are easy. Most teachers? Are either on board, or forced to be so. I ran track, and the mile run was my event. Took first place in most dual track meets in my event. I was good at it.

   Everyone cheers, when you're leading that race. They explode, when you take that string across your chest. My god, what a rush to finally be valuable, and win. Soon as the mile run's over though? My sweats are missing. I know where to look. The garbage can. Those low spots where the water collects and its usually a mud puddle. If its dry out? Garbage can.

   I once rolled the garbage can over the hill, and it hadn't rained in weeks. Ha. I win one! There's my sweats, where I left them to run the race.

   They smelled faintly, like piss.

   College was a game changer. I blossomed. Body. Mind. Soul. Ego. Like... some predator raised in captivity, and had no idea what it was? I was out now. I was discovering my true place in the scheme of things. Finding my true value.

   When what befell me, happened? I didn't go to pieces.

   I doubled down.

   And you know what? I won... again. I bounced back. Bigger, stronger, smarter, wiser... and perhaps most importantly? More determined than ever. You'd think I got somewhere? Not so much.

   In the end of all things? The big lessons were finally learned.

   Whatever a person can do? Well. That, is simply the best thing ever. Now. You, and what you can do? Ha. That, is shit. Most of them, actually believe their own bullshit. And the rest? They know its bullshit, but they throw it out there anyways. So I made my own little world, and my own little life. And I lived in it. I was quite happy and content, too. Even attracted to myself, what for me was the perfect girl.

   Of course, we all know how that ended up.

   So, I'm now dragged by her into the back seat. I'm been mauled, then fucked and I must say, quite thoroughly. We're done now, and laying under the thin blanket in case someone walks by. We look now done, like we're taking a nap in the truck stop parking lot. A normal thing for anyone traveling to do. Its a truck stop. They want you to stop and stay a while. Buy a 20 dollar shower and a 20 dollar meal, stop in their overpriced convenience store and buy 20 dollars worth of their overpriced and under-quality goods they proffer.

   Her car's not a compact. Makes sense. Clothes and a few boxes thrown into the trunk, she can simply turn the key and move onto the next waitress gig and another shot at what she wants. And by all indications out of her pretty little mouth? What she wants, is me.

   She's really... one of them. A normal person. But she had a crash course in being me. being traumatized by the system that suddenly turned on her, and she had to fight like hell to scratch and claw her way up and out of that burial pit. She learned what I could have told her. The world, the system? Is designed for the average person. Stray too far, one way or the other? Nothing fits, nothing works.

   Part of her no doubt wants desperately to be normal again, and in all ways as she was in the beginning. But now she's learned things, and will carry them with her, back to her normal world if she makes it all the way there. Because she's found out some truth.

   You can be as average as you like, and even above average. But, let any member of the herd sniff you, and detect so much as a hint or a whiff of something off, something different about you? You get shunned, and even cast out. Included, but only when you're doing things they need done. When they no longer need thing X from you? Go away.

   Run your mile. Win for us. Now? Get the fuck out. And if we can find a normal person that can do this? You're out for good.

   "Hmm. Like I told you, little boy. Your rewards? Will be numerous."

   I gave her my best dead pan voice. Always had it, comes easier these days.

   "Oh no. Please don't. Whatever, will I do."

   "I can answer that one. You, will do whatever I want. Won't you."

   I nodded yes.

   "Yeah you will. Imagine that."

   She sighed. A big slow one, then nestled in a little more.

   "I know how I must come off. Nuts. Like, some nympho obsessed with sex and nothing else."

   "No. Those girls. They... run around getting laid. Having sex is like going to the bathroom. Gotta take a shit bad enough? Any toilet will do. And if you gotta go bad enough? Anywhere is better than in your pants. You? No. You demand a clean toilet. The door closed when you go. I understand."

   "You know, we hear it a lot. Our whole lives. Money's not important. Friends and family, are what matter."

   "Sure."

   "Is it though?"

   She's got my goat now.

   "You tell me."

   "Well. Depends on who borrows 20 bucks."

   "Not sure, that I---"

   "If someone borrows 20 bucks, off of me? When I finally want it back. Money's not really important. But if I owe them the same 20 bucks, suddenly they don't want to hear that. All they want to hear? Is exactly when they're getting their 20 bucks back."

   "This surprises you? I learned when I was little. The shoe goes on the other foot? Whole different ballgame. I... don't take any of it to heart. I learned to decide for myself, what the real rules are."

   "Well? What's the real rule here."

   I chuckled.

   "Pretty obvious. You already got a great handle on it. Whatever feels best at the moment, whatever seems to benefit people the most? That's what they choose to believe. Rich people? Love to tell you people are what's important, not money. Because money's not an issue to them. Poor people? Say it because it makes them feel better. They'll even go so far as to claim that having money? Makes you less of a person."

   "So, almost all people, are a bunch of cheats and liars."

   "Mm. Some, sure. More than a few, actually. But... I honestly think most of them believe it. If it sounds good, and especially when it both benefits them and sounds good and floats? That's all they need. The only liars are the ones that know, and its just something to say to try to get out of it or postpone giving it up."

   "Yeah. I guess."

   "Why do you ask, I wonder."

   "Well? We hear all about how sex isn't what's important. Its about love. Its about friendship. Its about being a team."

   "But."

   "When I couldn't have sex? No boy would stay with me. And if I can't keep a boyfriend, I can't get married. Sex is actually very important."

   "In some ways? It is."

   "What's the difference between dating, and going steady? We all know it. Going steady, means you're at least fooling around, if not doing it. If you get married, and your wife or husband refuses to have sex at least once? You don't get a divorce. That's grounds for an annulment. Legally, you were never married and are still officially? Single. Sex is the most important thing, to the most adult relationship there is, marriage."

   "You're on a roll. Can I add in?"

   "Sure."

   "Wife quits having sex with her husband. For months. He complains? He's an asshole, he's childish. Its about love and commitment, not sex. Now. Guy refuses to have sex again with his wife? Wife doesn't buy his theory that its about love and commitment."

   "There's a lot of these..."

   "Yes, little one. There's a lot of these... 20 dollar stories."

   "I'm not spending the rest of my life like I was. You can't get to the love, without the sex first. I mean, not romantic love. Not like my parents had."

   "Little one? I know something about going without sex, and what a driving force it can be."

   "Really?"

   "Yeah. In high school? I was the weird smart kid. Couldn't score with even a fat chick that was like me, one of the geeks. I had this... really high sex drive? And no outlet."

   "You're not ugly."

   "I know. Found out in college. If I go somewhere no one knows me? Don't talk much. Girls come up to me. No problems."

   "When was the... problem."

   "When I get around other people. Its not the guy's looks. Its his social standing. Give about any guy some money and some social standing? All it takes. He can date the prettiest girls."

   "Except when he's ugly."

   "Nope. The less looks? A little more money, a little more social standing. All fixed. Never saw a smoking hot babe, with some older fat hairy slob? You know the guy's rich, without asking. Joke is, money makes your dick bigger."

   "No, you're right about that one."

   "I know I am. Want to hear the 20 dollar bullshit story in that case?"

   "Sure."

   "Don't accuse, just so much as hint. That, the woman is with her husband, because he makes that pile of cash. Know what you hear?"

   "Bullshit, no doubt."

   "Definitely. Oh, women just like men that know how to get what they want. That's what really turns a girl on. Sounds like a snow job to me, but there it is. Now. I counter that. These women, with these rich men. When something happens, and the men lose it all? They stay a little while. I mean, this is the guy that used to make millions. He's a good horse to bet on, that he can do it again."

   "He is."

   "Yeah. But, a year or two, waiting? If its not happening. If it looks like he lost his mojo. She takes the kids, and goes looking. Now, the men? They'll argue, its not like that. Or, that their woman? Well. She's special. She's not like that. But look at the numbers. That trophy wife? Might stay, but its statistically unlikely."

   "So. Its all... bullshit."

   "Not all of it. But most of it? Yeah."

   "I used to think the world? Was a pretty okay place."

   "If you're normal? And things are going, more or less normal. I guess it is."

   "I know I'm not normal anymore. I won't fault you for saying it."

   "If I woke up one day, and you were... just like most of the girls out there? Not sure I'd stick around. So don't go thinking normal, is best. Not in my book, anyways. You're not a bad deal."

   "Really? I'm a hot goddamn mess, is what I am."

   "Honey? Side by side, you're better looking. Not that looks is all I go on. I value a number of other things, and it all forms a personal... sort of a sliding scale. The best looking girl in a crowded room? With one of those hot shit personalities, well... I won't even talk to her. I'll insult her, to get her away from me. Looks like a runway model, but a shit attitude? That's shit. Intelligence. Honestly. Pleasant to be around. Good attitude. I'll chase that around. Really try. Most guys either brag if they have it, or lie and claim they have it. Me? I'll avoid the issue, or even lie and claim I'm broke and out of work. You? Are one of the only girls I've met since I was out of college, that didn't ask the same three questions."

   She paused.

   "And the three question quiz, was..."

   "So. What do you do. So. What kind of car do you drive. So. Where do you live."

   "Eh. Normal questions. Conversation."

   I chuckled.

   "Yeah. If you work for the IRS. Might as well ask to see my paycheck and my tax form."

   She though about it, and giggled.

   "I got another one."

   I cocked my head.

   "Sure, go ahead."

   "Where did you grow up."

   "You're right. If I say Squirrel Hill, or St Peters Township... her odds are good she landed a live one."

   She waited.

   "You really like me."

   "Hmm. You sure its not just the hot sex?"

   "Duh. You wouldn't even try to really kiss me. I had to literally rape you."

   "They say, men trade love to get sex. Women trade sex? To get love. Me and you? Are strange creatures to everyone else. I'm a guy that couldn't or wouldn't try to have sex, and you're a girl that cares about nothing else."

   "Plenty of nymphos out there."

   "Okay, true. But... you don't run around. Welcome to my world."

   "Which is..."

   "We're the weird couple."

   She sighed.

   "We're both with each other, because we have no options."

   "In the last couple years? I had options. You did too. We just didn't want our options. We both wanted? What we have now. You had to force me into it, and I guess I needed that. You saved me, from a life doing without. My grandma would have said, you tried dunking the horse's head in water, to get it to take a drink. Even that didn't work? So, you held the horse's head underwater until he had no choice."

   "You glad I did?"

   "I haven't called the cops yet. You're probably safe."

   She giggled into my neck.

   "Thank you. I mean that."

   "For?"

   "Letting me... do this, this much."

   "Can I make an observation? Without being in... too much trouble."

   "Sure. You get a free one."

   "I'll find out how loyal you really are, when you get what you want, and you get your confidence back."

   "That's harsh."

   I shrugged.

   "Pure logic. Even if you're telling me the complete truth? Its only as you see it, right now."

   "But... the truth? Is... well? Its the truth."

   "Philosophy 101. Know what the definition for the truth is?"

   "I'm afraid to ask, but go ahead anyways."

   "The truth? Is that which is agreed upon, by a plurality of qualified observers."

   "Meaning?"

   "You have an excellent vocabulary, little one. Which word are you having trouble with. Plurality, means---"

   "I know exactly what it means. Its a silly definition. The truth? Is... what's right."

   "Is it?"

   "Is this... one of those... weirdo questions? Like, why is there air."

   I giggled some now.

   "I am a weirdo. So? Maybe."

   "Give me an example, of this definition of the truth."

   "I went through this, just like you. Classic example. Guy is wearing a bright red shirt. Now. I take every waitress at your truck stop, like a cop, and put them on a lie detector test. What color is that shirt? They can't lie. What happens."

   "They all have to say red shirt."

   "Why."

   "Because that's the truth. You said, he's wearing a red shirt. This is..."

   "Let me finish."

   "Okay."

   "One girl? Says blue. Machine says? She's telling the truth."

   "How t---"

   "She's colorblind. She can't see red. Since she can't see red? Certain colors come out funny to her. Stop signs? Aren't red to her. They're green. She doesn't understand what a red light, even is. Other? Than that's what we call it, that top light on that thing dangling at intersections. To her? There's really a top green light, that means stop. There's a bottom green light, that means go. In fact? She has absolutely no way to have explained to her, what the color red, even looks like. You can try anything you want, from now until the end of time... how do you explain, what a color she can't see is."

   "I thought colorblind people, see in black and white. Color, blind."

   "Colorblind? Is actually a common name for several different things. The rarest? Is called an achromatic. They, actually see the world in shades of gray. Just like an old fashioned black and white TV. The others? Have one or more colors off, depending on what doesn't work right with their eyes."

   "Did not know that."

   "Yeah. I'm a trivia champ. Ask me something insignificant, that doesn't really matter."

   She laughed into my neck.

   "Okay. But, the shirt's... red. That's the truth."

   "Some animals see in black and white. Some, see in reduced colors. We could have just as easily evolved? To all be incapable of seeing the color red. In that case, red technically doesn't even exist."

   "But, its still red. It just..."

   Then she sighed, and said she saw my point.

   "I know it comes as a shock to you, little one. It sure rattled my cage as a freshman taking a philosophy class. There is no such thing as the truth, not really. Its just whatever we all agreed it is. Now then. We can come back, to you. After one last example."

   "Okay. I'll try better, on this one."

   "Stealing, is wrong. Would you agree, that's the truth?"

   She paused. She now sensed a trap, because it was obvious there was going to be one. She sighed, though.

   "I have to say yes, because I can't... yeah."

   "Okay. Its the great depression. You're starving to death. Literally. There are no jobs. Your child, is starving to death. Its steal a loaf of bread? Or watch your child die, in front of your eyes. Now. Explain the so called truth to me. That stealing? Is wrong."

   "Well. Whoever owns that loaf of bread? They don't agree with you."

   "Plurality? Is not each and every person. Its the greatest number of them. Very few business owners and rich people. Lots and lots of poor and mostly starving people. To over 90 percent of the town? Stealing that loaf of bread is not only an okay thing to do? If you don't try to steal that bread, you're a piece of shit for allowing your child to die, when you could have done something to prevent it."

   "Stealing is still wrong."

   "Then you die. You watch your child die, first."

   "These are just special cases. Made up, just to..."

   "Not really. You're like me, on that first week in that class. I know where you are right now. Been there. I can take every so called big sin? And show a case, where its not true. Killing. Stealing. Lying. Cheating. What you call the truth? Is just what most all of us agree on. Now. On? To you."

   "Okay."

   "You say this now. What you say. And what's more? I believe you. But as circumstances change? You're ideas might well change with it. As I said. We'll see."

   "What about you. I could say the same thing. I broke the ice on you. Who's to say you get doing a little better, and... its not like you don't have options."

   "Do you think I would do that?"

   "Hmm. Not, with what I heard about you."

   "Guess it depends on what you heard."

   "Well? You've been going out for coffee and night time dinners to the truck stop, for years now. Not like the girls that have been there a while, don't know about you some."

   "Oh my. Gossip. Sounds juicy. You got to share."

   "Some of it? Concerns your... ex. So, I wouldn't---"

   "Nope. I never shoot the messenger. Go ahead."

   "Well..."

   "Go on."

   "The basics? What about that guy. Oh, him? Really nice guy. Too nice, really. He's been coming in here, since he was in college. He used to study all night here. Tips good, and he's honest. He won't steal tips, he returns phones and wallets and keys, if he finds them. Cash and credit cards? Always still in the wallet."

   "Wow. I'm a nice guy. I'm honest. I'm not a cheapskate about a tip if I have the cash. Not all though, is it."

   "No."

   "Spill it."

   "Depends now, on who you talk to."

   "Ooh. Controversy? How exciting."

   "He's not as nice as you think. He'll say really rude stuff. And means it."

   "That could happen. Can't be all."

   "Again? Depends. He's weird. He's strange. Oh, he's just different. He thinks he's better than everyone else? Just because he reads books, and knows stupid stuff that doesn't matter."

   I chuckled.

   "Ah. The infamous... dat dere book learnin', dat don't teach you nuttin. Like I ain't never heard that one before."

   "Uh. He's too nice, its weird. Its creepy. Talk to him for too long, too many times? He's got that creeper vibe."

   I snickered. Heard it all before.

   "Where's the part my ex comes into it."

   "Oh. I think he's gay. Girls try to talk to him? He doesn't like girls. Then? Another one said you have a girl, but... why is he, with her. He could do so much better. Obviously? Something weird going on."

   "Anything else?"

   "The rumor mill. Some of which? Now hearing all your stories... I can imagine how they got the stuff they heard."

   "Hmm. Now I'm getting the good stuff. Do tell, do tell."

   "Don't buy into that whole... I'm such a nice guy routine. He's dangerous. He's crazy? And he can go off at the drop of a hat. Sometimes? He won't say anything when someone's running up one side of him and down the other. He just laughs. But another time? He gets kind of scary."

   "No example?"

   "One girl gave one. She said, she used to think of you as... goofy? But funny."

   "Used to. Until?"

   "Coffee talk. Everyone was talking about the Columbine massacre? She said everyone about shit themselves. The quiet book and computer guy? Which is you by the way. You... stuck up for the two killers. Said technically? They, were in the right. Those kids they shot? Got exactly what they deserved. Everyone thought it was one of your weird jokes? But no, you went off on a long rant, explaining it."

   "She has a good memory. True story."

   "Like I said before. Its.. all over the map. Before you had your own girl, which almost no one ever saw her, by the way. You would be trying to talk to girls, get dates."

   "Yeah. That would be weird for a single guy to do that."

   "Yeah, but... then a girl is falling all over you? And you chase her off. And there's no explaining it. She said, he's weird. Crazy. Something. He'll be all... goo goo eyes over, some... really, nothing girl. Then? Something actually really good looking is all over him, and you about chased her off with a stick. Made fun of her and everything. What kind of normal guy, picks the least attractive girl he can get."

   "Christ honey. How desperate were you, you're slumming it with me."

   "Well. I stand back, and I watch. I don't see any of the... bad stuff they talk about. You don't seem conceited, to me. I mean, I have this... very sensitive radar for a guy I think might be dangerous to me? And, you just don't set that off. And? There was one story, that... I about squirted in my panties."

   "There's a good story going around about me? I must be losing my touch. Damn."

   "Ha ha. Some girl worked out there. She was kinda new. In fact, she actually rented my shitty trailer, back in the day. Anyways. She would have a black eye now and then. Little girl. Apparently, she had some boyfriend. Out of work. Not looking for work. He had his buddies out every night, and he has her buying beer, for them. Story went, her boyfriend would come in? Wanted 20 bucks out of her tips in her apron. She'd give it to him, but he'd take the rest, too. She had to keep some of her tips on her, so she had something to give him? Hide the rest."

   "What a swell guy. And me? I'm the creepy, weird, probably dangerous guy. Continue the story."

   "Apparently, everyone talked shit on the kid, but no one would actually do anything. So one night, this shit show, goes on right in front of you. He didn't hit her, but he shoved her drunk a few times, then cleaned out her wad in her apron. Story was? You slammed this... big... college book down.... and asked. Real loud. All you so called tough guys out here. Isn't anyone going to handle this? No one would do a thing. So? Story was, you walked right up, said give her all the money back. He's drunk, he... mother-fucked you or whatever. You... grabbed him, threw all the money around, like confetti. And... depends who says it, but... grabbed him by the shirt, the arm, scruff of the neck... something. Literally dragged him outside, everyone is watching you through the big glass front windows... the exact description? He, dribbled him like a basketball, off the hood of his own car. Tossed him in the car, and... I guess he's not allowed to set foot in the truck stop, if you're there."

   "End of the story?"

   "Actually? No. Apparently, he gets two or three of his free beer buddies to come out a week or two later, and... there you are, a big book. Book goes down. You said just a minute, boys. You got your waitress, not her, another one. Asked her if she would mind watching your food and coffee, you'll be back in three to five. She asked... three to five minutes? Or hours. She says you laughed, and said it was too early to tell. But, either three to five minutes? Or three to five years. She asks which one... you said, the joke goes... too early to tell yet, depends on how much fun I get to have."

   "Sounds like something I would say. And?"

   "You... went outside, with these three of four young kids, all drunk and raising hell. I guess you started smacking these kids around, and actually tossing them around. You, chased them into the car they came out in, and... off they go."

   "End of the story?"

   "Almost. Story was, that got around. If you see one more black eye on the girl? Doesn't matter if she says he did it or not. You, said you were going to... close both of his eyes, and more. And, that you were then going to go around, until you found every one of his... little boyfriends, you called them... and do the same thing to them."

   "I know. I mean, am I an asshole, or what."

   "So then, things start getting even better. The one... little boyfriend, as you called him. He's bragging, his uncle is... whatever. And, he's getting him to handle you. You? Laughed. Said something like, if I had nickel every time... and, eventually, some guy comes out and sits down and talks to you."

   "Some big scary guy?"

   "Yeah. They said this? Was no little kid, like they were. Some big guy."

   "And?"

   "They said, it was the weirdest shit they ever saw. Guy sits down, talks all quiet and polite with you, then you guys shake hands and the big guy leaves. Next thing anyone hears? The uncle goes back to the little nephew. Goes into the beer party, at the same trailer? Tells him, he needs to knock his shit off. The nephew is drunk, and starts giving his uncle shit, and the uncle? Smacked him a few times, and told him. You kids? Should not be fucking around with this guy. I know a few people that know him. You don't want to do this."

   "Hmm. Now its the end of the story."

   "Almost. The girl? Is... now, kind of... goo goo eyes. You know, my hero. And, the girls said... she's not ugly. As good or better, than girls you normally are asking out. You? Won't give her the time of say. She demands to know why. Then? You insulted her, and made her cry."

   "What was I supposed to have said to her."

   "Something about, you called her a... welfare queen, or some shit like that."

   "Your story? More or less about a hundred percent accurate. Except? For one detail. What I told her was, and I quote. You a single mom? She is. Told her? Deal breaker. I don't date single moms. Never have? Never will. If the dad isn't dead from a car wreck, or got killed overseas in the service? No single moms. Also? Her choice of boyfriends, is for shit. Where's the father of the kid? In jail, drugs. Who do you date next? Out of work, won't look for work? Drunken bums, that hit women and steal drinking money off them."

   I sighed, and drew a long breath before continuing.

   "She came back to this, and I had to tell her. Look. That kid? You might be half okay. But the dad? Some kind of piece of shit, who probably comes from a long line of pieces of shit. Way to breed, lady. Great genes. So, you turn over a new leaf, change your ways, and we get together. Now. I'm supposed to help raise some criminal's genetic filth? No way. Not to mention. Asshole's going to get out of jail? And I got to put up with him, and his visitation rights, and all that shit. Not to mention. Those drunken assholes, doing coke and beer, while you're working? That's who is out there watching, your own kid? No way in hell, we're ever going out."

   "Holy shit, no wonder they said you insulted her, and made her cry."

   "Tell me one thing I said, that wasn't accurate."

   "Yeah, but..."

   I shrugged.

   "But nothing. She needed help? I helped her. But, that was just a typical, single mommy shit show. There's a million of them, I want nothing to do? Ever, with any of them. And yeah. By my age now? Impossible to find one without kids, that's worth a fuck. You, little one? Are the exception, rather than the rule. I'd rather do without, than get a deal like that."

   "But, I'm a hot mess, too."

   "You? Didn't create your own mess. She did."

   "She was young, she made a mistake."

   "Really? Let me handle the math, here. And this goes for about all of the young girls out there. High school. Do the bare minimum. Schoolwork? That, is for losers. Dating? Whee. I like bad boys, tee hee. They date assholes. Nice guys? No way. They're too nice, they're... creepy. So in high school? They date guys in their twenties, that live in their parent's basement, and sell pot to teenagers. And bang teenyboppers. Shall I continue?"

   "Please."

   "That? Is step one. Step two. Either run around fucking all the... I like bad boys, tee hee. Or? Get pregnant. Gotta get all that free shit, on welfare. Now? You need a job, to keep welfare. And, don't look for a quality, nice guy. No... keep dating... bad boys. These girls run around, like drunken whores. Until? Oh, 35 or 40. Now? Time to settle down. And hey, single guy? Oh, all of a sudden. Now? We need a nice guy, with a good job and a career. What a deal. Every drunken asshole ever been arrested and been to county? Has railed that ass. She loved every minute of it. Now, she has a kid to every one of these criminals. You're just a meal ticket, and she's still fucking drunken bums, because that's what she likes. I like bad boys, tee hee, tee hee."

   "Wow."

   "Hey. Again, what wasn't accurate."

   "So, you prefer girls that got grades in high school, and went to college."

   "In general? But honestly. There's girls I like just fine, that dropped out of high school years before graduating. But, they read books. They can read and write, and speak like a human being. Honestly? I don't think I ask for much, but... somehow, any girl that ever graduated college? Kind of figures only a guy with serious money is worth her time and trouble. I'm, uh, kinda priced out of my own market. There's serious competition for girls with no criminal record, a college degree, and acts like a human being with a decent attitude. My ex, might not have ever been asked to be on a girly calendar, but... she had lots of attributes other than that, I liked just fine."

   "You really are after something, other than just looks."

   "What's so strange about that."

   "What was the story, about the pretty girl, and you made fun of her."

   "Yeah. I was sitting having coffee and dinner, waiting on my coffee buddies to show up. Started talking to some girl. She was nice. Looks? She met... minimum specifications or a little over. But, she was sweet and nice, and it didn't seem like a fake snow job. Bought her a piece of pie, and we're bullshitting. This is the weekend. Some, yeah. Much prettier drunk girl wanders over, while the girl I'm gabbing with is in the bathroom and making a phone call, seeing where her girlfriend has gotten to. This girl sits down, and I told her. Seats taken, the girl is coming back."

   "That's it?"

   "Hell no. She's basically, telling me how I'd rather be with her, why spend time with an ugly girl, when I can go out with her. Now, you know me. For a while now. This dog won't hunt. I told her. I don't like you. I like? Her. Leave me alone. Well, she's drunk, and keeps this shit up. I had to get the manager? To remove her, from bothering me. I told her, she is pretty? But... her ears were, all shaped weird, and it freaked me out."

   "Oh. She had, dumbo ears, huh?"

   I chuckled.

   "Not at all. I just made it up. Give her a complex, if I could. She deserves it."

   Now she's laughing into my neck.

   "Was she really that pretty?"

   "Yeah. I call a girl like her? Perfect ass syndrome."

   "Cute butt, huh."

   "Well, its my joke. Yeah. A smoking hot rear end, and pretty much everything else. So, she has a perfect ass. But, she is... a perfect ass, too. So. She has the looks, of an 8 or maybe a 9. But the personality and attitude? Total shit. Now, the other girl? What. A 5 or a 6. Really plain. But she's quiet and polite. Very well spoken. Reads a lot, there's no faking that. We talked about books we had both read. I considered that plain book girl? Twice as good a find, as the cute asshole girl."

   "Did you go out with her?"

   "I was single then. Tried like hell. Nothing doing."

   "How did it go."

   "Oh, all she wanted to do, was spend half the time talking about her boyfriend. He? Is in jail. DUI, took a swing at the cop. Obviously? Excellent husband material. I told her, look. You said. He gets drunk? And yells at you, and hits you. Piss on him. I ain't never hit a girl in my life, ain't starting now. I'm in college, so I don't have much. But in a couple years? I expect to have a decent career. And I can see myself? We're both reading, talking about books, having fun. He's a drunk, a criminal, in jail. Me? I'll treat you like a queen. I really like you."

   She nodded on my chest.

   "Nice pitch. And..."

   I chuckled, bouncing her head. Imitating a girly voice.

   "Oh. He's just... all boy. When he's not drinking? He's really not that bad. I can't leave him, while he's in jail. Maybe it'll settle him down, I have to see."

   "Did you make fun of her, and make her cry, too?"

   "No. She didn't breed with him. Yet. I'm sure that was coming soon, to a shit show near her, though. I tried."

   She waited a while. I broke the silence.

   "So. You get to hear all about me. What about you. What were you like, before you got hurt."

   "Nothing special. I always thought of myself, as kind of normal."

   "Did, you run around with pot dealing thugs in their twenties, when you weren't old enough to drive yet?"

   "No. My parents would have killed me."

   I snickered.

   "What."

   "Little joke, but... that is normal."

   She thought about it, and busted out laughing. I love the musical glass bell notes of her laugh. This? Is right up there with fishing and spending time with little Sogger, and better.

   "I guess it is. But, I just don't have any big... stories. My parents were, not strict strict? But you know. You know there's all the kids in 7th grade, already drinking beer, staying out half the night on weekends?"

   "A bunch."

   "Well, I always wondered how kids did that shit. My parents wouldn't put up with any of that junk. I got grounded if I didn't clean my room or take the garbage out. Cigarettes, beer, running around all night? Didn't really seem like it was on my menu."

   "Wow. Real, actual parents. Like, it was Halloween? And they decided to dress up as... parents."

   I bought myself a longer string of laughter music. God, I love it.

   "Yeah. Everyone said my parents? Were more like their own grandparents. I don't know how that happened."

   "I'm glad it did."

   "Thanks. Couple boyfriends in high school, nothing too serious. I mean, I didn't have a new boyfriend every week. I tended to keep one a while. Yes, I lost my virginity in high school. I wasn't one of the... real popular, fast girls? But, I wasn't a complete wallflower, either. Just... normal, average? Something like that."

   "Then college."

   "Yeah. Couple boyfriends there. When I say not too serious? Not like we were planning on getting married or anything. I was doing okay in college, then? You know what happened."

   "Nothing really noteworthy?"

   "Mm mm. I guess not. I mean, I broke my ankle and had a cast in, was that ninth or tenth grade? Icy steps. Christmas break, with a cast and crutches, and back to school a cripple. See, one of my chores I was supposed to do? Was sprinkle the rock salt every day, on the front cement steps. My mom came home and I hadn't done it yet, and... mom went on her ass. So, I'm getting lectures. And, mom calls on her drive home from work? Salt on the steps right now, so it has ten minutes to work. So, I run out there in bedroom slippers, and... well I broke my foot off sideways at the ankle, so..."

   "Ouch."

   "I was never a complete klutz or anything, but... cast, ice and snow. Cast? Ice, and snow. You fill in the blanks there. I went down in my ass so many times that winter until the snow and ice went away for good? I lost count. I was constantly all banged up. My mom felt all bad, cause you know. She was yelling at me to do it, then I got hurt. My dad was, its funny now. My mom's spoiling and babying me, and my dad one night blurts out. Aw, for Christ's sake. Bedroom slippers? You basically went outside on ice, to work on icy steps? With banana peels on your feet, I thought you were a smart kid. The hell's the matter with you."

   It sounded mean, but yeah, it was funny too. Somehow.

   "And, if it wasn't snow and ice? It was still cold. Then when the snow melts? I'm stepping into gooey mud puddles, about one degree above freezing. One kid spit on the ground without looking, landed right on my toes. I freaked, and whopped him upside the head with my book bag. I got suspended for three days."

   "Did you get in trouble for that?"

   "No. My mom was mollycoddling me, all guilty, remember? My dad was sarcastic. Gee, honey. Which one of your stupid parenting books, was this in. My daughter just assaulted someone, I need to make her a tray of her favorite brownies and hand deliver them to her room every hour on the hour."

   Her life was so... normal sounding to me? It reminded me of one of those TV shows I didn't think was anything but boring as a kid. Some perfect, handsome, rich dad? And a gorgeous, perfect mom. One or more cute, perfect kids. And every week? Some tiny "crisis", a half hour of cute funny dialog, and a morality lesson ending and everyone hugs and eats cupcakes. I used to sit there if my parents wanted to watch this dippy boring thing, and I always wondered. Who in the hell, lives these perfect little lives. Now I know. She did.

   "Can I ask you a serious question? But, just for fun. I don't mean nothing by it."

   "Tell you what. Before you do?"

   "Hmm."

   She laughed. I felt her jab me under the blanket while looking at me with one of her patented "serious" faces, that come across as funny.

   "Feel that?"

   I nodded.

   "I don't like it? Two finger blowjob."

   "Uh..."

   "Oh no, little boy. Now, if you don't tell me? Three."

   "If you hadn't of had what happened to you, happen? Would you still have went out with me."

   "Good one. Why don't we just back that one up, and you ask me if we had been in the same high school, if I'd have dated you."

   "Would you have dated me, in high school?"

   "Am I supposed to tell you what you want to hear? Or what."

   "No. The truth."

   "My type? Do I seem like I was, what. Normal and boring?"

   "Something like that."

   "I wasn't running around, like other girls did. I didn't just... get lucky, all the time. If I had a boyfriend? Okay. But I didn't blow guys for rides in their dad's sports car. My type? I guess, like me. Normal, boring. I didn't date jocks, or guys that were failing classes, or guys that got in trouble. Now. You did tell a single mom the harsh truth. So? I don't think so, no. I wouldn't have been mean to you, or picked on you? But... not sure I wanted to date... I don't know how to put it."

   "Why would you want to date the weird kid, if you didn't have to."

   "I wouldn't have said it like that."

   "You weren't saying it. Look. You can be blunt. I'm medicated. And even before I had to be medicated? You still could have been blunt with me. I like the truth, when I can get it."

   "I didn't date... up? But, I didn't date down, either. So no, probably not."

   "I can dig that. College?"

   "The way you describe college? I think that could have happened. Look. Somehow, you got caught in... some kind of... weird loop in high school. You know how on TV, they do instant replays? You were, like, a scratched DVD, and... this one scene keeps repeating. And it just happened to be a bad one. College? You smacked the DVD player, and... the movie played normally. The way you describe yourself, honestly, in high school? I think, you should have ended up... just some boring kid, that got really good grades. Sometimes said the wrong thing, and everyone laughed. But, not what you describe. Now, in that case? We might have dated in high school. But, you went through what you did. College, like I said. It could have happened."

   "And, after college. Assuming I never met my ex."

   "Not sure I would have planned on being single for years after college. Not like I scheduled it, marriage right after graduating college, I'll find some guy and have him lined up. But... I always wanted what my parents had. They got married in their early twenties. I mean, was I trying to imitate my parent's life exactly? Not like I wrote it down and crossed items off a list. But, I always thought my parents had a pretty okay life. I could do a lot worse, than have a pretty okay life, too, right? People have all these... you know, huge plans."

   "How did your parents meet. Tequila night?"

   She laughed. Never gets old.

   "No. I know they say if all parents told the truth? Happy hour, was probably responsible for more births than anything else. Uh, no. When I got old enough I asked? My parents laughed. Mom said, go on, tell her. Dad was one of those, you know, sarcastic guys. One of his pet peeves? Girls jumping up and down, squeaking. He says, he can understand little girls. Teenagers, even. But full grown women? Anyways. He said he's standing there, couple buddies with him. Some girls in their early twenties, just like him and his crew. They just start jumping up and down, squeaking up a storm. My dad says, he shakes his head, points. Says to his buddy. Is there something wrong with me, but why in the hell do they have to bounce up and down like pogo sticks, and squeal like mice on crack. And my mom was just standing in line there too, he says she wasn't even looking at him, she just says... no, I don't do that shit. I'm a girl, and I never understood why they all do that, too. I quit acting like a ten year old girl? When I turned eleven."

   "They hit it off."

   "My dad said, he looked at his buddy on his right, he looked at his buddy on his left. Then he looked at her. Dad's a smart ass, he said something like... lady, are you single? I never met a girl that doesn't act like a retard like that. Mom said she laughed, said she was single. Story is, dad said lady? If you don't do shit like that all the time? You don't have to be single, if you don't want to be. Mom said they started talking, they hit it off... that ended up being that, but they didn't know it at the time. I asked if that was love at first sight? Dad, said... no, honey. That's... I didn't hate her at first sight, that's my version of that."

   "You have... party parents? Or, what."

   "Mom and dad? No. Other people's houses. Dad's got a beer in his hand, watching some ball game. My did wasn't like that. My mom didn't do it either. Weekend, not usually. Unless people were over, and they were. Then? Dad had, like one beer. Maybe two? And it was rare. Did I ever see dad drunk? Yeah, but... couple times a year. July fourth. Christmas. Thanksgiving? Was, like, a three beer holiday. That's about how often mom drank, too. They did it? Not very often, though."

   Her life? Really had been a boring TV show.

   Granted, I'm listening to her version of everything. Lord knows that sometimes you get as many versions of exactly what happened, as were people present. But she's uniquely qualified to tell me all about herself. Sure, its possible her dad drank and carried on and hid it from her? I don't consider it likely. I'm pretty sure her impressions of growing up, are spot on. I might as well share back. She's asking.

   "So? What about you. Tell me about... what went on between, you know. Stuff happening. Your childhood couldn't have been all bad. You're too well rounded, coming out of all that, there weren't good things. Maybe even great things."

   "Hmm. I liked my models. I remember that."

   "You and your dinosaurs."

   "Dinosaur books. Dinosaur models. And if they were in a movie? I had to see it."

   "Hmm. I'm picturing a little boy. Cheering for the monster, this case a dinosaur. Go get them, eat them up."

   I giggled. I just realized, I not only like and love her musical laugh, her little titters? I can't remember the last time I giggled, snickered, and chuckled so much. God, what I wouldn't give for a good... arms and legs kicking, can't stand up, laughter session. Lord would that be magical. That, would be pure... magic. The word magic, echoed through my head and lingered.

   "Hmm. The old dinosaurs, the old movies? They never got them right. I'm, complaining. That's Dimetrodon. He'd didn't live with Pteranodon. Hey. Ankylosaurus? He didn't have spikes like that, not there. My mom would complain I was talking through the old movie on TV, my dad would giggle. Honey, when he's older? We can get him a job making sure they do the dinosaurs right in the movies."

   "That's cute. More sweet stuff. We both remember enough bad stuff. You got me talking about good stuff. Keep going."

   "You can only do so many dinosaur models. Somehow got onto jet airplanes. World war two fighters."

   "What did you like about it. Models."

   "I don't know. Starts with the picture. The picture on the box? Wow. Dinosaur, fighter plane. Doesn't matter, that picture. Its exciting, and all real and detailed. You know your model won't be that? But how close can you get. When I was done? I'd always carefully cut out that awesome box picture. Put it up, in front of my model. And? It looked like a little... museum display. Once you had a couple lined up."

   "You went to the museum once, I guess."

   "Once? I wanted to go as many times as I could. That's the place, with the real dinosaurs. You walk in? Those bones. Big, real life. There was always some... too young to know it then, but... some pretty girl, in a pant suit and sport coat. She walks a group around, giving the tour. I'd walk with her. Pester her, really. She liked a little kid that knew all the dinosaur names, and could talk all about them. And boy, did that feel good. I mean, there's some people like me out there, you know."

   "Allies. Future allies."

   "Hmm. I guess. Oh, I remember one thing I liked about the models."

   "Sure. What."

   "You open it up. You lay all these... parts out. On those plastic, tray, framework things? Man. Every piece. Labeled. A one, through A seventeen. Then? B one, through, B nine. They had to be in perfect order. They had to be arranged, part one, upper left corner. Just like the diagram."

   "Mild OCD. When you control things, and things make perfect sense? It feels good."

   "Sure does. And, something about those diagrams. Those instructions? These things weren't just drawings. They were, perfect. Perfectly, to scale. Always oriented correct. If there was a little mark on the piece? It was on the instructions. So, you could get that part turned around perfect. When I got older? Blueprints were the same thing. Blueprints? Called to me. They were perfect, too. And first real blueprints I ever picked up? Like reading a newspaper. Makes most people itchy, but not me. Calming. Fun."

   "You were learning. There were some places, where you would fit in."

   "I guess. Had to figure out how to get there though, you know. Everything that fascinated me? Education. Degrees. I liked school just fine. I wished I had my own school. No other kids."

   "You told me how many times, all the studying and everything like that, you do on your own. I think, that was you making that real. You said, you'd read 20 books on something. On your own."

   She stopped me cold. She was right, I'd have never realized this all on my own. I used to laugh at psychology. Subconsciously this, expressed as consciously that. But? Here it was. What I wished for as a little kid? I made real later. Then? My gut had a twinge. How many times had I sat and wished I could hurt the people that were torturing me. A fantasy. I went on to make that real, too. Then that punch in the gut, felt like a kick. The worst of them? Yeah. Fantasy that I killed them. That childhood fantasy, stuck in my subconscious? That got expressed too.

   What path was I even on. Was I turning into some kind of monster. A human dinosaur, roaming and... no. I'm not a monster. Its not random. Its not people that remind me of... whoever that did whatever. Its them. They? Did it. They need to pay. I was raised, with rules. You had to follow them. It was what was right, after all. Do the wrong thing? No, and it was explained why. Do it again? Reminded. Again? Lecture. But if you keep messing up, or worse yet, doing it because you can get away with it? I was met with anger, and punishment. Consequences.

   I was taught. You follow the rules. Good things happen. You disobey the rules? Bad things happen. But, it didn't work like it was supposed to. Not at all. I had to follow the rules. But, no one else had to. I got punishment and consequences, for following the rules. And everyone else? The opposite. They by and large, could ignore the rules. And laugh about it. But, they got rewarded for it. Not only escaping punishment and consequences, they got gifts and prizes and all but awarded ribbons for it.

   It was all some sort of schematic. It was precise, it was logical. It was well metered. I didn't continue hurting people, for less and less. No. I had finished up, and there we go. All done hurting people, they finally learned their lesson. Now? Calm, the model done? I can sit down and go back to my own school. Where I was the only star pupil, gaining by leaps and bounds. I didn't hurt more people, that looked or acted like they had.

   But, I had learned a thing or two off of them, hadn't I. Sure did. Fuck the rules. Get away with it. Where they were violating the rules to benefit themselves? I did it for the right reasons. I had to break the rules, and get away with it? To do the right thing. To make things right. So that when I was done? I could sit back and enjoy that calm that only comes when the long plan has been followed properly.

   She can do this for me. She just talks a little? And this goes on in my head. I realize I need her. No one else can do this for me, just her. Other people? Its not like just anyone will do. Well, some are like that. But most people, are looking for one or more things in their partner. So am I. But unlike them? It has to be just the right girl. I had found that, the person that fit into my own schematic, fairly perfect. Oddly shaped part, but it fits in just so.

   I'm realizing it now. She fits in, too. Maybe even better. That cannonball in the gut of guilt, but its irrational. I can fix that up if it doesn't subside, with a half a cc. And when this is over, I need to get off the stuff. Its going to be hell, but it will be over and end, then I can go back to my life.

   I was being poked.

   "Hello."

   I snapped back.

   "Hi."

   "There you are. Where did you go."

   "Just, you said something. Made me think of something. That led to the next memory. Kind of spaced out."

   "Bad stuff?"

   "No. You said, caught in a loop of bad when I was little? This, was... a loop of good. Thanks."

   "No problem. You liked it?"

   The word was still echoing in my skull.

   "It was... magical."

   "Hmm. There you go again."

   "What. I'm not up to four fingers, am I?"

   Her sweet faux angry face came back, but with a giggle. Her finger poking now, like before.

   "Two things. First? You just... made me feel it. Again."

   "What."

   "You just said. Something I said, made you remember more good stuff. A good instant replay. And, you said it was magical. I, just... flew for a second there. You said just the right thing, at just the right time. And it made me feel it. You?"

   I sighed.

   "Feel. Feelings. The medication, it... but, sometimes. I can sort of feel, or detect? What makes the feeling. Where the feeling would have come from. So if I can't really say I felt a little blast of feeling good? I can say, that I know it would have. If I wasn't, all..."

   She nodded.

   "Been a couple years. Maybe its time."

   "Time for..."

   "I had an ankle cast. It kept me from ruining my ankle worse. When they had me all... pilled up? It was like that cast. Kept me from hurting myself. The cast, came off eventually. Hurt like hell then, to learn to walk again, without that support. It goes away though. Your medication? A cast. The cast comes off eventually. It hurts all over again, but only for a little bit."

   "And if I can't?"

   She shrugged.

   "Then, I'd have walked with some kind of... ankle brace the rest of my life. Like, an old lady but I'm still young. A somewhat bum leg I limp and drag along."

   "You might not want a partner, with a gimp leg like that."

   The faux annoyed face came up again, the finger pushed to punctuate her authority on matters.

   "Shut up. I'm in charge, right? So I decide what I want. And if I want a partner with an ankle brace, or I don't mind it? My choice. Like an old war movie. Not leaving you behind, and I run off. You got that?"

   I nodded.

   She hissed with her fake anger.

   "Words."

   "I got it."

   "Good."

   Slight softening now, face and words.

   "Don't get glib. I might not appreciate it, when you talk lightly about... how many fingers. or anything else like that. In fact, I might not appreciate it? One, little, bit."

   "Sorry."

   "Not yet you're not. Hmm. I took your cherry, didn't I."

   "My---"

   "Shh. You're not cherry in the rear anymore, are you."

   I shook my head, no.

   I got kissed and mauled now, slow and sweet.

   "That's right. I took that cherry. And you know what? I'm going to take some more. Whenever I want. You..."

   Sweet little kisses.

   "... are just a basket of cherries. And you know what? I'm going to take one? Any... time... I... want. Ain't that right."

   I nodded yes.

   "Good. And just so you don't forget it? Things are going good. Great. And when we get back home? Its time. You, are going to give yourself to me. Offer yourself to me. And I'm going to take you. To keep. You? Are going to be mine."

   The word magic did keep reverberating around inside my head.