in the mind does not show in the brain. But at the time it seemed proof that I was made wrong.
What I have in my head is light and dark and gravity and space and swords and groceries and colors and numbers and people and patterns so beautiful I get shivers all over. I still do not know why I have those patterns and not others.
The book answers questions other people have thought of. I have thought of questions they have not answered. I always thought my questions were wrong questions because no one else asked them. Maybe no one thought of them. Maybe darkness got there first. Maybe I am the first light touching a gulf of ignorance.
Maybe my questions matter.
Chapter Fifteen
LIGHT. MORNING LIGHT. I REMEMBER STRANGE DREAMS, but not what they were about, only that they were strange. It is a bright, crisp day; when I touch the window glass it feels cold.
In the cooler air, I feel wide-awake, almost bouncy. The cereal flakes in the bowl have a crisp, ruffled texture; I feel them in my mouth, crunchy and then smooth.
When I come outside, the bright sun glints off pebbles in the parking lot pavement. It is a day for bright, brisk music. Possibilities surge through my mind; I settle on Bizet. I touch my car gingerly, noticing that even though Don is in jail my body is remembering that it might be dangerous. Nothing happens. The four new tires still smell new. The car starts. On the way to work, the music plays in my head, bright as the sunlight. I think of going out to the country to look at stars tonight; I should be able to see the space stations, too. Then I remember that it is Wednesday and I will go to fencing. I have not forgotten that in a long time. Did I mark the calendar this morning? I am not sure.
At work, I pull into my usual parking space. Mr. Aldrin is there standing just inside the door as if he were waiting for me.
“Lou, I saw it on the news—are you all right?”
“Yes,” I say. I think it should be obvious just from looking at me.
“If you don’t feel well, you can take the day off,” he says.
“I am fine,” I say. “I can work.”
“Well… if you’re sure.” He pauses, as if he expects me to say something, but I cannot think of anything to say. “The newscast said you disarmed the attacker, Lou—I didn’t know you knew how to do that.”
“I just did what I do in fencing,” I say. “Even though I didn’t have a blade.”
“Fencing!”His eyes widen; his brows lift up. “You do fencing?Like… with swords and things?”
“Yes. I go to fencing class once a week,” I say. I do not know how much to tell him.
“I never knew that,” he says. “I don’t know anything about fencing, except they wear those white suits and have those wires trailing behind them.”
We do not wear the white suits or use electric scoring, but I do not feel like explaining it to Mr. Aldrin. I want to get back to my project, and this afternoon we have another meeting with the medical team. Then I remember what Mr. Stacy said.
“I may have to go to the police station and sign a statement,” I say.
“That’s fine,” Mr. Aldrin says. “Whatever you need. I’m sure this must have been a terrible shock.”
My phone rings. I think it is going to be Mr. Crenshaw, so I do not hurry to answer it, but I do answer it.
“Mr. Arrendale?… This is Detective Stacy. Look, can you come down to the station this morning?”
I do not think this is a real question. I think it is like when my father said, “You pick up that end, okay?”
when he meant “Pick up that end.” It may be more polite to give commands by asking questions, but it is also more confusing, because sometimes they are questions. “I will have to ask my boss,” I say.
“Police business,” Mr. Stacy says. “We need you to sign your statement, some other paperwork. Just tell them that.”
“I will call Mr. Aldrin,” I say. “I should call you back?”
“No—just come on down when you can. I’ll be here all morning.” In other words, he expects me to come down no matter what Mr. Aldrin says. It was not a real question.
I call Mr. Aldrin’s office.
“Yes, Lou,” he says. “How are you?” It is silly; he has already asked me that