on me, kid. I’m in a spending mood these days,” and I said, “Thanks a lot,” and he smirked and waved a hand. “It’s nothing.”
And I don’t know why, Sam, maybe because I was hungry—I can get really grumpy when I’m hungry—but it just sort of pissed me off that Byron said that a quarter was nothing, so I just stared at him, and he didn’t notice, so I said, “No, it’s not,” and he looked up and said, “What the hell are you talking about?” and I suddenly got kind of scared, but I just couldn’t back down, because I guess I just don’t know how to, Sam, so I said, “A quarter is not nothing,” and he just kept staring at me like he was going to kill me or something, and finally he said, “Fine, smart ass. Prove it.”
And my heart started to really race, and I thought and thought and thought, and my tummy was grumbling and I felt a little dizzy and I didn’t think I could come up with anything, but finally I sort of stammered, “Because … because I have nothing … and I don’t have a quarter, therefore,” and I poked my fingers out [ in the mathematical therefore sign, “they aren’t the same thing,” and this made him stop staring at me—his eyes sort of crossed—and he didn’t say anything for like five seconds, and then he sort of smirked and nodded. “That’s not bad, kid. Not bad at all,” and my tense shoulders sort of went untense.
But then suddenly Byron lunged across the table and pointed his finger so that it was right in between our two heads, like he did with the skinhead, except he didn’t poke my forehead, he glanced over to see if the girl was watching, and I guess shemust have been because he slowly sat back down and whispered, “But you watch your mouth around me, or I’ll give you a good smack,” and I nodded, and he said, “I will. I promise.”
And I just sat there with my heart thumping like crazy, and then Byron finally just leaned back and forth in his chair, like he was thinking hard about something, and I thought of just getting up and leaving but I knew I couldn’t, and he finally said, “And, anyway, to totally slay your argument about nothing, well, you don’t have ‘nothing.’ We all have something , or someone, right? Right?” and I didn’t say anything.
“Right,” he answered himself. “I mean sure, you might say that you aren’t so happy with what you have and maybe you want something else, but you have something ,” and then his tone went a little nicer. “Anyway, that’s pretty obvious, kid, it’s pretty effin’ obvious,” and I still just sat there silently because I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about and I just wanted to erase what I’d said, because I guess even though Byron was scary, I still wanted him to like me.
And then he looked down at the Ms. Pac-Man screen for a bit, and I was totally relieved when he said, “Okay, kid, so this is The Word. Listen up good,” and he bent forward and slipped two quarters in, pressing two players, and started to play. “Pac-Man, the original game,” he began, “was easy because there were patterns you could just memorize and then you’d just win. Boring. But the creator of Ms. Pac-Man decided to make the game more random, more like Chaos, which is why I love it—anything can happen, and eventually, you just die … or just do yourself in … it doesn’t matter,” and he smiled his big teeth at me, just like alittle kid saying cheese , so I couldn’t tell if he was being serious.
“Yeah, so anyway,” he said, talking faster, “there are still little patterns you can do, but they don’t always work. So you have to ad-lib, and I love ad-libbing. I’m an artist, a Ms. Pac-Man artist, and yeah, so I guess I’m the Picasso of Ms. Pac-Man, breaking all the effin’ rules,” and then he sat up straight like a geeky student and made his voice go all nasally. “My dad’s an art historian, you know, like a professor, so I know all this crap about Picasso
And I don’t know why, Sam, maybe because I was hungry—I can get really grumpy when I’m hungry—but it just sort of pissed me off that Byron said that a quarter was nothing, so I just stared at him, and he didn’t notice, so I said, “No, it’s not,” and he looked up and said, “What the hell are you talking about?” and I suddenly got kind of scared, but I just couldn’t back down, because I guess I just don’t know how to, Sam, so I said, “A quarter is not nothing,” and he just kept staring at me like he was going to kill me or something, and finally he said, “Fine, smart ass. Prove it.”
And my heart started to really race, and I thought and thought and thought, and my tummy was grumbling and I felt a little dizzy and I didn’t think I could come up with anything, but finally I sort of stammered, “Because … because I have nothing … and I don’t have a quarter, therefore,” and I poked my fingers out [ in the mathematical therefore sign, “they aren’t the same thing,” and this made him stop staring at me—his eyes sort of crossed—and he didn’t say anything for like five seconds, and then he sort of smirked and nodded. “That’s not bad, kid. Not bad at all,” and my tense shoulders sort of went untense.
But then suddenly Byron lunged across the table and pointed his finger so that it was right in between our two heads, like he did with the skinhead, except he didn’t poke my forehead, he glanced over to see if the girl was watching, and I guess shemust have been because he slowly sat back down and whispered, “But you watch your mouth around me, or I’ll give you a good smack,” and I nodded, and he said, “I will. I promise.”
And I just sat there with my heart thumping like crazy, and then Byron finally just leaned back and forth in his chair, like he was thinking hard about something, and I thought of just getting up and leaving but I knew I couldn’t, and he finally said, “And, anyway, to totally slay your argument about nothing, well, you don’t have ‘nothing.’ We all have something , or someone, right? Right?” and I didn’t say anything.
“Right,” he answered himself. “I mean sure, you might say that you aren’t so happy with what you have and maybe you want something else, but you have something ,” and then his tone went a little nicer. “Anyway, that’s pretty obvious, kid, it’s pretty effin’ obvious,” and I still just sat there silently because I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about and I just wanted to erase what I’d said, because I guess even though Byron was scary, I still wanted him to like me.
And then he looked down at the Ms. Pac-Man screen for a bit, and I was totally relieved when he said, “Okay, kid, so this is The Word. Listen up good,” and he bent forward and slipped two quarters in, pressing two players, and started to play. “Pac-Man, the original game,” he began, “was easy because there were patterns you could just memorize and then you’d just win. Boring. But the creator of Ms. Pac-Man decided to make the game more random, more like Chaos, which is why I love it—anything can happen, and eventually, you just die … or just do yourself in … it doesn’t matter,” and he smiled his big teeth at me, just like alittle kid saying cheese , so I couldn’t tell if he was being serious.
“Yeah, so anyway,” he said, talking faster, “there are still little patterns you can do, but they don’t always work. So you have to ad-lib, and I love ad-libbing. I’m an artist, a Ms. Pac-Man artist, and yeah, so I guess I’m the Picasso of Ms. Pac-Man, breaking all the effin’ rules,” and then he sat up straight like a geeky student and made his voice go all nasally. “My dad’s an art historian, you know, like a professor, so I know all this crap about Picasso
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