hospital with severe concussion and possibly brain damage," that's a really great thing to have happen in the middle of the Saturday afternoon TV ball game. Then there's the relief and thankfulness when the kids going to be OK. Then he has to pay for having the wreck towed. And finds out the car is a total loss. And his wife says, "Who cares about the car so long as Owen is all right!" and bursts into tears. He
does
care about the car, but how can he admit it even to himself after that? And how can he admit that he's terribly humiliated by the fact that his son can't even drive around a corner without falling off? He has to be grateful to the son for not getting killed. And he is. Only there are moments when he'd like to kill the son himself. So he comes in and tells him not to worry, the car was fully insured, no problem. Not to worry. Only getting insurance for a while, after this, is going to be terribly expensive, so maybe the best thing is not to try to replace the car right away. And the son lies there and says, "Yeah, sure, that's fine."
I had to stick around home for a couple of weeks because our doctor said so long as there was some vision impairment it would be wiser. It was very dull because I couldn't even read, because of seeing double, but I didn't care. I didn't want to read.
Natalie came by once, on the Friday after the accident I think. Mother came upstairs, and I said I didn't want to see anybody. Natalie didn't come back. Jason and Mike came by on the weekend and sat around and told some jokes. They were disappointed because I couldn't tell them anything about the accident.
When I went back to school, it was no trouble to avoid Natalie. It had never really been easy to meet her, since she had to run such a tight schedule. All I had to do was go in late for lunch and not be at the bus stop at two-thirty, and I never saw her at all.
I should be able to explain to you why I did that, why I didn't want to see her, but I can't. Parts of it are obvious, I guess. I was ashamed and embarrassed and so on. I was also resentful and frustrated and so on. But those are all reasons and feelings, and I wasn't reasoning or feeling anything much at all. Things just didn't seem to matter very much. The main thing seemed to be to avoid pain. There wasn't any use trying to be in touch. I was alone. I'd always been alone. For a while with her I'd been able to pretend that I wasn't, but I was, and finally I'd proved it even to her, forced her to turn her back on me like all the others. And it didn't really matter. If I was alone, OK, it was better to accept it, not pretend. I was a kind of person that just does not fit into this kind of society. To expect anybody to like me was stupid. What should they like me for? My big brain? My big, smart brain with the concussion? Nobody likes brains. Brains are very ugly things. Some people like them fried in butter, but hardly any Americans do.
The only place for me, actually, was on Thorn. Thorn didn't have much government in the usual sense, but they had some institutions people could join if they liked; one of them was called the Scholary. It was built part way up one of the highest mountains, out in the country. It had a huge library, and laboratories and basic science equipment and lots of rooms and studies. People could go there and take classes or teach classes, however it worked out best, and work on research alone or in teams, as they preferred. At night they all met, if they felt like it, in a big hall with several fireplaces, and talked about genetics and history and sleep research and polymers and the age of the Universe. If you didn't like the conversation at one fireplace, you could go to another one. The nights are always cold, on Thorn. There's no fog there up on the mountainside, but the wind always blows.
But Thorn was way behind me now. I'd never go back there. No way home. I was finally able to be realistic about myself. There was school to finish, and then
does
care about the car, but how can he admit it even to himself after that? And how can he admit that he's terribly humiliated by the fact that his son can't even drive around a corner without falling off? He has to be grateful to the son for not getting killed. And he is. Only there are moments when he'd like to kill the son himself. So he comes in and tells him not to worry, the car was fully insured, no problem. Not to worry. Only getting insurance for a while, after this, is going to be terribly expensive, so maybe the best thing is not to try to replace the car right away. And the son lies there and says, "Yeah, sure, that's fine."
I had to stick around home for a couple of weeks because our doctor said so long as there was some vision impairment it would be wiser. It was very dull because I couldn't even read, because of seeing double, but I didn't care. I didn't want to read.
Natalie came by once, on the Friday after the accident I think. Mother came upstairs, and I said I didn't want to see anybody. Natalie didn't come back. Jason and Mike came by on the weekend and sat around and told some jokes. They were disappointed because I couldn't tell them anything about the accident.
When I went back to school, it was no trouble to avoid Natalie. It had never really been easy to meet her, since she had to run such a tight schedule. All I had to do was go in late for lunch and not be at the bus stop at two-thirty, and I never saw her at all.
I should be able to explain to you why I did that, why I didn't want to see her, but I can't. Parts of it are obvious, I guess. I was ashamed and embarrassed and so on. I was also resentful and frustrated and so on. But those are all reasons and feelings, and I wasn't reasoning or feeling anything much at all. Things just didn't seem to matter very much. The main thing seemed to be to avoid pain. There wasn't any use trying to be in touch. I was alone. I'd always been alone. For a while with her I'd been able to pretend that I wasn't, but I was, and finally I'd proved it even to her, forced her to turn her back on me like all the others. And it didn't really matter. If I was alone, OK, it was better to accept it, not pretend. I was a kind of person that just does not fit into this kind of society. To expect anybody to like me was stupid. What should they like me for? My big brain? My big, smart brain with the concussion? Nobody likes brains. Brains are very ugly things. Some people like them fried in butter, but hardly any Americans do.
The only place for me, actually, was on Thorn. Thorn didn't have much government in the usual sense, but they had some institutions people could join if they liked; one of them was called the Scholary. It was built part way up one of the highest mountains, out in the country. It had a huge library, and laboratories and basic science equipment and lots of rooms and studies. People could go there and take classes or teach classes, however it worked out best, and work on research alone or in teams, as they preferred. At night they all met, if they felt like it, in a big hall with several fireplaces, and talked about genetics and history and sleep research and polymers and the age of the Universe. If you didn't like the conversation at one fireplace, you could go to another one. The nights are always cold, on Thorn. There's no fog there up on the mountainside, but the wind always blows.
But Thorn was way behind me now. I'd never go back there. No way home. I was finally able to be realistic about myself. There was school to finish, and then
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