be computer programmers, software entrepreneurs, doctors and nurses, motorcycle racers, deejays.”
He had touched on a subject that greatly interested Bob.
“How do they know?” he said. “How do they know what they want to be?”
But Orlando avoided philosophical discussion and continued his story.
“So, everybody reads their little paper except me and then the Terminator says, ‘That was excellent, class.’ She didn’t mention that nobody said they wanted to be a scientist or a mathematician, which everybody knows is what’s wrong with the country. One of the things wrong with the country. So I said, ‘Miss Termino, I didn’t read mine. You skipped me.’ And she said, ‘I didn’t skip you, Orlando, I assumed you would not have done the assignment, as usual.’ So I go, ‘I did this one,’ and I got up and walked to the front. Kind of stamping. And I read my paper. I knew it by heart. I go: ‘Orlando’s Ice City. I do not want to be a brain surgeon or president, I wouldn’t mind being a champion wrestler or a guy who raises pit bulls or the captain of an ocean liner but first I am going to build an ice city at the South Pole and I’ll get money from big corporations and hire a bunch of guys with no jobs—clean up the bums in Kansas City—to build the ice city. The buildings will all be clear ice and I’ll have a big furnace to melt snow and squirt the water into molds—rectangles cubes cones and cylinders—and the bums will put them together into big ice skyscrapers and domes and I’ll have all these lights inside so the ice buildings at night will shine in colors and the best and biggest buildings will be huge tetragons, and if people want to tour the city I’d charge fifty dollars each and that would include penguin steaks for dinner.’ So then a girl goes, ‘Penguin steaks! Agk! Gross!’ and I gave her a shove because it was proof of a closed mind and penguin steaks are probably pretty good, but the girl fell on her desk and broke her teeth off just like a hockey player and the Terminator said go to the office. I said not a word but picked up my books and walked. Quit. My father—he’s a jerk but so what—sided with me. Then two weeks later we moved here.”
“I guess you got a good imagination or you’re a big liar,” said Bob Dollar.
“Well, that’s for you to find out.” Orlando hung from the strap so his body swayed with the bus’s motion.
Bob said, “I don’t get how people know what they want to be before they’re old, like twenty or something.”
“You don’t have a clue?”
“No. Do you? I mean, after building the ice city.”
“Sure. I want to be rich and rule the world. I want to be a computer geek. And I don’t want to build the fucking ice city no more. That was kid stuff. Why you want to know about quitting school? You planning on doing that?”
“No. My uncle wouldn’t let me.”
“What does he have to do with it? What about your parents?”
“They disappeared when I was seven.”
“Holy shit! What do you mean, disappeared? Ran off in the night? Abducted by aliens? Exploded? Killed by gangsters or venomous reptiles? Man, I am impressed. I wish my parents would disappear. My mother—know what she does?”
“What?”
“She cooks stuff with the labels on. Those dumb stickers they put on the tomatoes saying ‘tomato’ or the avocados saying ‘avocado’? She forgets to take them off so you find these little labels in the salad. Or the chicken’s got this metal tag on its wing and she cooks it with the tag on and there’s lead and all kinds of poison comes out of the metal. So I’m half-poisoned. My father suffers the worst. He’s all bent over and coughing. Poisoned by metal chicken labels.”
The bus was filling up and Bob stood closer to Orlando. He could smell dirty hair and spearmint chewing gum.
“My mother and father went to Alaska to build a cabin for us to live in and I got to stay with my uncle until they came back. Except
He had touched on a subject that greatly interested Bob.
“How do they know?” he said. “How do they know what they want to be?”
But Orlando avoided philosophical discussion and continued his story.
“So, everybody reads their little paper except me and then the Terminator says, ‘That was excellent, class.’ She didn’t mention that nobody said they wanted to be a scientist or a mathematician, which everybody knows is what’s wrong with the country. One of the things wrong with the country. So I said, ‘Miss Termino, I didn’t read mine. You skipped me.’ And she said, ‘I didn’t skip you, Orlando, I assumed you would not have done the assignment, as usual.’ So I go, ‘I did this one,’ and I got up and walked to the front. Kind of stamping. And I read my paper. I knew it by heart. I go: ‘Orlando’s Ice City. I do not want to be a brain surgeon or president, I wouldn’t mind being a champion wrestler or a guy who raises pit bulls or the captain of an ocean liner but first I am going to build an ice city at the South Pole and I’ll get money from big corporations and hire a bunch of guys with no jobs—clean up the bums in Kansas City—to build the ice city. The buildings will all be clear ice and I’ll have a big furnace to melt snow and squirt the water into molds—rectangles cubes cones and cylinders—and the bums will put them together into big ice skyscrapers and domes and I’ll have all these lights inside so the ice buildings at night will shine in colors and the best and biggest buildings will be huge tetragons, and if people want to tour the city I’d charge fifty dollars each and that would include penguin steaks for dinner.’ So then a girl goes, ‘Penguin steaks! Agk! Gross!’ and I gave her a shove because it was proof of a closed mind and penguin steaks are probably pretty good, but the girl fell on her desk and broke her teeth off just like a hockey player and the Terminator said go to the office. I said not a word but picked up my books and walked. Quit. My father—he’s a jerk but so what—sided with me. Then two weeks later we moved here.”
“I guess you got a good imagination or you’re a big liar,” said Bob Dollar.
“Well, that’s for you to find out.” Orlando hung from the strap so his body swayed with the bus’s motion.
Bob said, “I don’t get how people know what they want to be before they’re old, like twenty or something.”
“You don’t have a clue?”
“No. Do you? I mean, after building the ice city.”
“Sure. I want to be rich and rule the world. I want to be a computer geek. And I don’t want to build the fucking ice city no more. That was kid stuff. Why you want to know about quitting school? You planning on doing that?”
“No. My uncle wouldn’t let me.”
“What does he have to do with it? What about your parents?”
“They disappeared when I was seven.”
“Holy shit! What do you mean, disappeared? Ran off in the night? Abducted by aliens? Exploded? Killed by gangsters or venomous reptiles? Man, I am impressed. I wish my parents would disappear. My mother—know what she does?”
“What?”
“She cooks stuff with the labels on. Those dumb stickers they put on the tomatoes saying ‘tomato’ or the avocados saying ‘avocado’? She forgets to take them off so you find these little labels in the salad. Or the chicken’s got this metal tag on its wing and she cooks it with the tag on and there’s lead and all kinds of poison comes out of the metal. So I’m half-poisoned. My father suffers the worst. He’s all bent over and coughing. Poisoned by metal chicken labels.”
The bus was filling up and Bob stood closer to Orlando. He could smell dirty hair and spearmint chewing gum.
“My mother and father went to Alaska to build a cabin for us to live in and I got to stay with my uncle until they came back. Except
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