When he was ten years old, Ethan had organized the other children of his neighborhood to compete in a kid Summer Olympics. When Neil Sullivan face-planted during the stunt bicycle competition and needed nine stitches and one thousand dollars’ worth of dental work, it was Ethan who spoke to the boy’s parents.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, I could tell you that none of us knew this was going to happen, that we didn’t think anyone would get hurt, but I would be telling you a lie. All of us—me, Neil, all of us—did this because there was a danger that someone could get hurt. It was a thrill. But all of us, especially me, are really, really sorry.”
Later that night, Mrs. Sullivan conveyed the story, with a lump in her throat, to Ethan’s mother. Not only did Ethan escape any punishment, his parents bought him a new video game console just for being honest.
“How much will my family get?” Jared asked.
“I like that,” Ethan answered. “A man who cuts to the chase.”
“I don’t exactly have a lot of time.”
“Point taken. We’ll pay your family five million dollars.”
“Five million dollars,” Jared repeated.
“Yes.”
Jared let the idea sink in. It was more money than he could have hoped to get on eBay, and it sounded like his life wouldn’t have such a terrible end, at least as far as such things go. He couldn’t see a reason not to agree, though he once again had a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something. Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember what else he had recently forgotten.
“Okay,” Jared said. “Let’s do it.” It never even occurred to him to negotiate.
***
“Please,” Jackie said, pleading with the school nurse, “I’m fine. You don’t need to call my parents.” She’d managed to get her tears under control just after arriving at the nurse’s office. All she wanted now was to go back to the computer lab to let Max know she was okay.
The nurse, a bureaucrat to her very soul, would have none of it. She got Jackie’s mother on the phone.
“Jax?” her mother said.
As soon as Jackie heard her mom’s voice, the waterworks started again. Deirdre was there fifteen minutes later.
Jackie cried all the way home, all the way up the front walk to her house, all the way up the stairs to her bedroom, and didn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop crying, as she checked Facebook, only to find Max gone. He had left her a message.
Max
Solnyshko, Jacquelyn, I am worried. Please send me message when you are once again online.
Jackie started to type a response, but it proved too hard. She was too upset. She threw herself on her bed, burying her face in her stuffed animals, the largest a three-foot-tall giraffe her father had won for her at a carnival and that she, for reasons she could no longer remember, had named Twiggy. She pounded her fists into the mattress and screamed into Twiggy’s soft belly until all the fight drained out of her and she fell asleep.
***
Perhaps by coincidence, or perhaps through some larger interconnectedness of all things in the universe, as Jackie slept off her breakdown at school and Jared slept off his encounter with Ethan Overbee, Glio was feasting on the memory of the day Jared had won Twiggy, the giant giraffe.
The entire family was at a festival at the local Greek church, the large parking lot replete with rides, games, and vendors selling exotic foods. Deirdre, her smile occasionally crossing the line to a giggle, was munching on a confection dripping with honey and rolled in chopped almonds. Glio was intoxicated by the smell of the thing and wanted to try it. Or, more to the point, he wanted Jared to try it. But Glio was only consuming memories; he couldn’t affect their outcome. He felt a pang of frustration that he was limited to being only a theatergoer, a voyeur, but he shook it off.
The pleasing odor of the cookie mixed with the bright lights, ringing bells, and delighted screams of children scattered throughout the festival created a feeling of excitement and unmitigated joy for Glio. If this was a carnival, he never wanted to leave.
Glio turned his attention back to his host. Jared was aiming a gun of some sort at the mouth of a frightening plastic clown head. In the framework of Glio’s limited experience, the scene didn’t make sense. He looked to his left and right and saw a row of children on either side all doing the same, some with the intensity and concentration of a chess grand master mid-match, some with the attention span of a gnat.
Glio looked down and saw four-year-old Jackie, all smiles and wonder, hugging Jared’s leg. “Daddy wins, Daddy wins, Daddy wins!” she was saying over and over again.
Megan, sitting in a stroller, was clapping in time with Jackie’s chant.
“Not yet, Jax, not yet,” Jared said.
The booming voice of a mustached man, standing behind the counter on which the gun sat, caught everyone’s attention. “Okay, folks, first one to make the balloon pop wins. Everyone ready?”
The children all screamed yes while Jared looked down at Jackie and winked.