Nov. 1--Question for Mom

Mom, quick question. You didn’t go into my room today, did you? No? Because I’d swear there was a full size Snickers in that bag of Halloween candy on my desk, and now I can’t find it.

            No, I’m sure. Did anyone come into the house today? You had company, maybe? No? Hm. Well that is a mystery, isn’t it.

            No, I’m sure I’m not misremembering. I remember getting it last night, trick or treating, because Mr. Jameson down the street gave it to me and I remember thinking at the time is was weird that he’d spring for the full size candy when he can’t apparently afford to touch up the paint on his house. That he’d have his family live in such shabby conditions but spring for extravagant candy. I even mentioned it to his son Jeffery this morning on the bus. Yeah, you’re right, I shouldn’t have said anything, can’t argue with that. No, I wouldn’t say I hurt Jeffery’s feelings. No, I’d say it just angered him. Angered him a lot. Kind of provoked him into a frenzy, in fact.

            But more to the point, mom, I’m sure that candy bar was there on my desk this morning because I looked at it this morning. Held it in my hand, actually. Held it in my hand and thought, I will eat this after school today. This will be my reward for getting through the day. And then, while I was at school, I thought about it. About how good it would taste. About how I’d get home and sink my teeth into the chocolate and nougat and let the day sort of slip of my shoulders.

I remember because when I woke up this morning and thought about how I had another day of school to get through I couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed, I couldn’t imagine finding the strength to get through another day, until I remembered that candy bar. And thinking about that candy bar was the only thing that got me up and dressed and out of the house. So I’d say it’s strange, I’d say it’s pretty fucking weird, in fact, that I should get home and find the fucking thing missing. You know?

            But look at me, I haven’t asked about your day yet. Did you have a nice day, mom? What did you do today? Did the laundry, that’s nice. Let me ask you something. When you did the laundry, did you have anyone looking over your shoulder commenting on how it was going? No? Now, while you’re home doing the laundry and you have to go to the bathroom, if you have to urinate, who do you call to ask for permission? Oh, no one? You just go to the bathroom whenever you want? That’s weird. Yeah, it seems weird to me that you know if you actually have to go to the bathroom without a teacher or something letting you know if it’s an appropriate time. Because, you know, at school today I had to urinate during math class and when I raised my hand to go Mr. Holland told me that in fact it wasn’t a good time to go. Isn’t it weird how Mr. Holland knows my body even better than I do? And wow, mom, I really thought I had to go. Even after talking to Mr. Holland I still had a hard time telling myself I didn’t have to go. I tried telling my bladder—which really felt tense!—sorry, bladder. You’re wrong. Not right now. I sat there trying to convince my bladder that Mr. Holland knew better about it’s need for relief than it did and guess what happened? Mr. Holland called on me to answer a question—it was about remainders—and I was so distracted not knowing my own body and its needs that I kind of stuttered when I answered the question. Here’s the good news, everyone thought it was hilarious! Yes, they were rolling in the aisles laughing. I’m a regular god damn Marx brother, I guess. Who knew? You know what I think is funny? What I find hilarious? The whole time I was sitting there holding in my urine with all my classmates laughing at me, all I could think about was that snickers bar. About how all I had to do was get through a couple more hours and then it would be mine. And then I get home and the fucking thing is gone. Guess the jokes on me twice today, right?

            Yeah this has really got me stymied. I just don’t know where it could have gone. That’s a weird feeling for me, too. You know, as a fairly fucking advanced third grader. Gifted. I’ve even been called erudite, and knew what it meant when I heard it. Not the kind of kid who usually misses things. But hey, maybe that’s not true. Maybe I’m just some run of the mill dummy. I mean, I can’t even keep track of my own candy. Can’t trust my own memory. Maybe I’ll just give up. I was going to start my homework in a little bit but maybe I’ll blow it off and play violent video games instead. Maybe I’ll dabble with drugs, how about that? Some drugs should take the edge off. I bet that would relax me way more than candy ever could. Maybe I’ll slam heroin into my arm like a degenerate junky, if I’m so stupid and worthless.

            Youre sure you  didn’t see that candy bar? Ok, mom. I believe you. I believe you because I love you, mom. I love you and I really trust you. I know you wouldn’t lie to me. I guess we’ll talk to dad when he gets home, see what he says. Yeah, I think dad’s insight on this should be pretty fucking interesting.