Chapter 10

  And, following white, there was the world. Or, more precisely, a street. Lewis wasn’t sure how long he had been running; it seemed less like he had been propelling himself forward and more like the world had been sliding past him, like watching the street from the passenger side window. He couldn’t feel his legs, or really anything at all. His undeveloped motor skills made him keep almost tripping, but somehow, just from the fear, from his desire to go as far as he could, he kept running. He wasn’t really paying attention to his surroundings, but now he was in one of those neighborhoods filled with duplicated houses, this seemingly endless street lined with clones. One of these clones had a lady sitting in a rocking chair out front, and I’m realizing only now that her name was Margaret. When she saw Lewis, this small 5-year-old boy, running deliriously down her street of Xeroxed homes, her immediate thought was probably something like, “He’ll hurt himself if I don’t stop him here!” So she did just that by waving for his attention, which was luckily caught after a moment of confused hesitation. She introduced herself by name, which was of course Margaret (Of course.), but Lewis could only get out one syllable: Ma. Picture Lewis hyperventilating on this kind lady’s porch, only able to say “Ma… ma… ma…” The implication of that doesn’t really need to be explained. After trying to calm him down for a moment, the nice lady opened her front door and urged him inside. Upon walking in, Lewis found himself surrounded by all sorts of trinkets and antiques covering every surface of the house. He was overwhelmed, but it helped to lead his mind somewhere else. Ma took Lewis’ hand and led him to a bedroom, where he immediately crawled onto the bed and fell asleep.

  Lewis woke up the next morning, still quite disoriented. He made his way to the living room and sat down on the couch to watch the TV. Much to his vexation, the channel was not currently on cartoons, and Lewis did not know yet how to use the remote. I think he thought the TV was just magic or something. Currently on was the news, which Lewis passively gazed upon, not really caring. There was a news anchor, and they were saying some stuff about the world or some people. This was all the news was to Lewis. Eventually, they cut to some footage of a burnt down house. Lewis knew this house. Two black-and-white images faded into view. One was his sister Sierra, and the other was his mother. Suddenly, they showed a picture of his dad looking really serious in front of a wall. The whole time, the anchor was saying words like “arson” and “custody,” which Lewis did not know the meaning of. The whole thing was deeply unsettling to him, and he could feel himself beginning to shake when Ma walked in with a plate of pancakes and a glass of milk. Seeing what was on TV, she quickly set down the food and changed the channel to some cartoons. This made Lewis happy. He began to eat his pancakes with noticeable fervor, eager to loosen hunger’s current grip on him. He took a sip of his milk, only to be astonished by just how good it was. Said sip turned into an extended tipping of the glass until all of the milk was gone, much to Ma’s amusement. For the first time in his life, Lewis felt that he had discovered something that he actually enjoyed, a genuine interest that he cared about. He promptly went to the kitchen to find the milk and pour himself another glass.

  I never liked eating in public. I mean, I don’t hate it. I just prefer not to. Still, I found myself here, in this diner. It’s a nice diner, all things considered. The table me and mom were sitting at was kind of sticky. So was the ground. Maybe this whole diner was sticky. That’s part of why I don’t like eating in places like this. The environment is uncontrolled. A lot of times, I’ve seen a place and wanted to change it to my liking. But I can’t do that, of course. Maybe when I’m older. I had some pancakes in front of me, those were pretty good. Especially with the syrup. And especially with milk. God, I love milk so much. I think the only thing I love more than milk is my mom, and it’s close! Even still, with two things I love dearly sitting close to me, I couldn’t really describe the overall experience as “good.” It just wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to be doing. I wished I was at home so I could read. Maybe I could’ve brought a book to the diner, something like that collection of Shakespeare plays we had, but mom would’ve probably told me off. I guess it makes sense. Stuff like this was for us to bond. But I felt sufficiently bonded with her already. Oh well. At least there weren’t too many other people around us.

   A man walked into the diner. The top of his head was without hair, but the sides were left to grow scraggly wisps falling all the way down to his shoulders. The bottom half of his face was masked by a writhing mass of beard, a real bird nest on a human face. What he was wearing was less “clothes” and more so a loose collection of fabrics and scraps. He shambled for the counter with an uneven gait, and his face portrayed an emotion that I didn’t know existed. For some reason, as soon as I saw this man walk into the diner, I wanted to cry. I couldn’t bear to look at him. I think I knew him somehow, but I didn’t want to. I hid under the table. I was shaking so much I could hardly breathe. Mom didn’t know what was wrong with me, she didn’t know why I was so scared, and truthfully neither did I, but she just put her arm around me under the table, she held me close to her, she told me it was ok. I was crying, I was a mess, but her being there for me almost made me forget about everything in an instant. In that moment, I think she was the only thing in the entire world.

  A small spiral can only go inwards for a short while before it collapses in on itself. There just isn’t enough room on the paper. As it increases in size, it can travel inwards further, but still not too far. Of course, if you begin inwards and move outwards, this is no longer an issue, but several other problems arise concerning circularity and evenness. Other symbols don't have these problems, such as a squiggle or an arbitrary polygon, but there is simply something more interesting about a spiral. It’s like a fractal in that if assembled perfectly you could theoretically zoom in forever, but of course it’s impossible to do that on paper. Still, the thought of that impossibility alone is what makes it enticing, the fruitless attempt after attempt to go inwards forever and ever and ever.

   “Lewis? I’d like you to solve this next one.”

   Oh. Right, I was in math class. It had only been what, 10 minutes, and I was already completely zoned out. I looked up at the whiteboard, my eyes struggling to focus on the writing. There was something there, an equation, something I knew I understood. Or could understand, potentially. I wasn’t thinking right. I couldn’t bring what I knew into focus. I could see my teacher glaring at me expectedly, and around me I could feel a dozen pairs of eyes staring me down. This didn’t help. I stood up to walk closer to the board. It almost became something to me, almost shifted into a set of numbers and operators that I could parse into some sort of solution. But only almost. I started mumbling something, anything. Just to make them all think I had even an inkling of knowledge. Mrs. Morris’ mouth was moving, telling me something, probably providing a hint, a way out, but I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t think of anything. I couldn’t do anything. I started tearing up. What’s wrong with me? It’s just math, I’m pretty good at math! I thought I was good at math. What else do I not know I’m terrible at? Does everyone but me know that I can’t do anything? I couldn’t bear to stand up there in front of class with only my useless thoughts. I turned wordlessly to walk out the door, leaving it open as I left the classroom. I kept walking until I reached some room, a room with computers. I had probably been here before, but I didn’t remember it. There are too many rooms in this school. I pulled out my phone to text my mom, my hands still shaking.

   “Hhey momh hi mom is itg ok if Can you coemfe Comeo opick meu p fsigrom form the oslcvhol sThe sdchoool ???? Himom im Not efeloing verry goodg rightrn ow imm sscaccred idm im i mi im im im im immm im pelase psaelase plesae please i do ntwa nt tobe here righnbrtn now”

   “Lewis, honey, what's wrong? I’ll be there soon. Please try and calm down. I love you.”

   “i lobve you toom om”

   What the fuck am I good for? What can I do? I guess I’m well read, but what good does that do for me or anyone else? Who cares about that? Who cares about me? Fuck, I shouldn’t think like that. I need to calm down. I put my backpack on the ground and sat in one of the chairs. I remembered I had something in my pocket, so I pulled it out. A CD with writing in red marker, “family photos.” After booting up the computer in front of me, which took ages, I put it in the flimsy little disk drive. The subsequent whirring and clicking breaking the silence of the room felt deafening. About 30 seconds later, I was able to access the contents of the disk. It was a singular folder just titled “New folder,” and there were 3 photos inside. The first photo was of Sierra. I didn’t look at the dates on these photos, but I’d assume she was about 14 or 15 in this one. She had on a t-shirt for some band I’ve never heard of. I’m sure if she was here now she’d tell me all about it. The second photo was of me. I couldn’t have been any older than 4 years old. My hair was down almost to my ankles, and tangled just about everywhere. My shirt had a monster truck on it, which I’m sure I was immensely proud of at the time. I wasn’t smiling. The last photo was of my parents. Leopold and Magnolia, the two high school sweethearts that promised to stick together no matter what. If only they hadn’t. If only he thought about anyone apart from himself. I couldn’t bear to look at this shit. All of the despair bubbling up from my childhood, all of the unresolved rage building up within me, all of that had to come out of me somehow. So, I screamed, screamed without restraint, a sound nearly unrecognizable as human, and punched a hole straight through the monitor. There were tears in my eyes again, dripping onto and mixing into the blood running down my left hand.

   My phone rang. I picked it up.

  Lewis, it’s Isobel. Are you okay? You’re acting weird in there. What’s going on?”

   “What? Wait… How did… Um, yes, I’m. Okay.”

   “You don’t sound okay.”

   “Well, of course I’m not okay, but I’m doing my best, alright?”

   “Okay, okay. I was just worried about you. Pacing around, talking to yourself.”

   “That's, uh. Yeah, I do that all the time, yup. Helps me think.”

   “Oh, well alright. Just stay safe in there, okay? Be careful.”

   “I will. Thanks, Isobel.”

   Isobel hung up. I looked around; I wasn’t in that awful wooden maze anymore. I was in front of the stairs. They looked a whole lot shorter now. So, swallowing my fear, my sadness, my common sense, I climbed them. Once I reached the top, I was met with a single door at the end of a hallway, already slightly ajar. Subconsciously, I was already holding my breath. I walked into the room. It was shockingly huge, almost cavernous.

   “Hey, asshole. I guess you finally decided to pay your old man a visit.”

   It felt as though my heart had not only stopped, but that it may never start again. The voice had not come from in front of me, but instead from above me. Looking up, I saw what evil had really been in this house the whole time. Here was Leopold, wicked and old, towering over me, as if he were some Laestrygonian warrior ready to consume me.

   “Why did you even come all this way? What are you planning on doing, exactly? Killing me? Come on, Lewis, we both know you’re too much of a pussy to ever do that. That’s how you’ve been your whole life. Too pussy to stand up for yourself, to say what’s on your mind, to make a change in your own life. What’s the point of all this if you’re just a scared little boy with no sense of purpose?”

   “No, that’s not true, I-”

   “Shut the fuck up. You don’t have anything to say. When was the last time you talked to me? Over 20 years ago? You’re just as stupid now as you were then. And you’ll always be stupid. You’re worthless. You don’t have any fucking friends. What’s that, you made a friend today? A super duper good friend that you’ll trust forever and ever? News flash shithead, she doesn’t give a fuck about you. All she wants is to get rid of me. She’s using you. Once this is all over, she’ll go back to her little cabin in the woods and never think about you ever again. And then you’ll be back to square one. 26-years old with no friends and nothing to hold onto in life. Why don’t you just kill yourself? Maybe you shouldn’t. It wouldn’t really change anything. Nobody would notice. You’ll probably just get old, mentally still a crybaby, and die once you run out of money from that hopeless job of yours. No tears will fall. You’ll just be another name in the paper, if that.”

   “I hate you!” I screamed at him. I couldn’t say anything against him. Maybe he was right. I didn’t know better than he did.

   “I know you do, pal. I hate you, too. I’ve hated you since the day you were born. Sierra, too. I just wish you could’ve gone out with her. I wanted you to die instead of Magnolia. But sometimes we make mistakes. Hell, I’m looking at my biggest mistake right now. I tried my damn best to make sure you never got to breathe again, but of course, you had to weasel your way out of that one. You aren’t supposed to be alive.”

  I realized something. If Leopold tried to kill me once and failed, why should I listen to him? Why should I listen to the guy who couldn’t do something as simple as killing a little kid? Why should I listen to a self-absorbed freak who despite his own words is even more hopeless than me? Why should I care about anything he had to say? I was wrong. He doesn’t know any better than I do. He doesn’t know anything at all.

   “Yeah, but I am alive. I’m standing right here in front of you. Who’s fault is that?”

   “It’s your fault that you-”

   “Shut the fuck up! You keep trying to convince me that I’m stupid, that I’m worthless, that I’m just a kid. Maybe you’re right about some of it. Maybe I do have a dead end job. Maybe I do have no friends. Maybe I am scared. But why should that mean I have to answer to you, some senile man with anger issues who spent half his life in prison? I lived 21 years without even thinking of you, and I was perfectly fine with it. You mean nothing to me! I’m done dealing with your shit!”

   As I realized that Leopold held no real power over me, the room began to shift. It grew smaller and smaller, and so did Leopold. He didn’t say anything, but as he shrunk, I noticed his furious gaze grow more and more afraid, his eyes darting, his lip trembling. Just as I had been mere moments ago, Leopold was now no more than a terrified, defenseless boy. By now, the room was a normal size, but Leopold was no longer in my sight. I looked around. In the corner, slumped in a chair I hadn’t noticed before, was the man himself, leaking from his head. A gun laid on the floor beneath his dangling right arm. As it turns out, he had killed himself before I even arrived. I cannot neatly describe how I felt seeing that, so here are some words: shocked, concerned, relieved, overjoyed, disturbed, confused, hopeful, vindicated, scared, and finally, calm.

  I left the room and shut the door behind me. Somebody else can deal with that. After a day like this, I felt like letting my hair down, so I took out my hair tie and let it all come crashing around my shoulders. I looked at the hair tie for a moment, pink and worn from years of use, and put it gently into my pocket. I walked down the stairs, straight out of the house and onto the front lawn. Isobel was leaning against the side of my car, her foot tapping anxiously with her hands on her face. When she realized I was standing in front of her, she ran up and hugged me so tight that I was slightly winded.

  “Lewis! Are you okay?! What happened?!”

  “Isobel, I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t know. I really do not know what happened in there.”

  “Oh? Well, did you find Leopold?”

  “Yeah, I did. He was dead.”

  Isobel didn’t say anything for a while. I wanted to know what she thought about the whole thing, but her face was pretty much unreadable.

  “Well. That’s something. Ok. I guess we… don’t have anything left to do now, right?”

  “No, we don’t. We can go now. I’d like nothing more than to never see this house again.”

  Isobel decided she would drive, since she felt bad for me. I didn’t tell her anything about what I saw, but somehow, just from the way she carried herself, I felt that she somehow knew. I felt that Isobel somehow knew what it was like to be me. I know I had just said I wanted nothing more than to never see the house again, but really, I wanted nothing more than to be by her side.

  “Hey, can we stop by the grocery store? I haven’t had any milk all day.”

  “Sure. It’s your life, haha.”