Solomon never had a lot of friends in school, just kids he’d say hi to or trade homework answers with from time to time. But, somehow he’d always end up having lunch with this kid named Grant Larsen. Grant was that sort to constantly talk about hot girls and action movies and which teachers he hated most. That is, when he wasn’t bragging about his dad’s “cool job” for an electric car company.
“Then why don’t you guys have one?” Solomon would ask him.
“We don’t have any way to charge it at home yet. But, soon, man. Real soon.”
Grant didn’t mind so much that Solomon never talked about girls or bragged about his dad’s cool job. He just liked being listened to and that happened to be one of Solomon’s strong suits. He’d nod and respond with one or two word answers. It was the only way he could sit there surrounded by hundreds of loud kids without freaking out. He would focus on Grant and keep quiet. Any more attention than that, and he risked having a panic attack right there in front of everyone. Like the one that eventually sealed his fate as the crazy kid.
To his credit, Grant did come to see Solomon after the fountain. But, at home, Solomon wasn’t the muted listener he’d been at school. He was himself. And that was someone who Grant didn’t seem to like very much.
“You want to play a game or something?” Solomon asked one day, just a few weeks after leaving school.
“What kind? You got a PlayStation?”
“Oh. No. I suck at video games. I meant a card game or something. You like strategy games?”
“Are you asking me to play Dungeons and Dragons? Because hell no. I’d like to not die a virgin.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Tell that to my uncle Eric. Plays those nerdy games with all his nerdy friends all the time and my mom says he’ll probably be alone forever.”
“She sounds nice,” Solomon said under his breath.
“Don’t be a dick, I’m just trying to say it’s a little lame.”
It wasn’t lame. Not even a little. And it didn’t take long for Solomon to realize that he didn’t need a friend. Which worked out well, because after a few months and a few more failed attempts at hanging out, Grant eventually stopped coming over altogether. His parents asked him a few times what Grant was up to, why he’d been so busy, and Solomon just shrugged it off and said he didn’t know. He knew. He was busy boring someone new to death.
See, Solomon’s world wasn’t lonely like you’d think. It wasn’t dark and sad. It was small, sure, but it was comfortable. Why would it need to be anything but that? He knew his parents worried, though, and that was really the only thing that bothered him. What he wished, more than anything, was to be able to explain to them how much better it was now. But judging from their silence on the issue, and his lack of a therapist, he figured they already knew.
FOUR
LISA PRAYTOR
Lisa had learned some important things from her mother. Like how to put on mascara while driving and what time of year it’s okay to wear white shoes. But, mostly, Lisa learned that if she settled for a life she didn’t want, then she’d end up just like her—overworked, mildly depressed, and failing miserably at a third marriage.
Lisa wanted more than Upland, California. It wasn’t the worst place on earth, by any means, but it wasn’t her place. Someone like Clark could live there forever, happy enough to have a quiet little life and never make too many waves. But Lisa needed something bigger. She wanted to be important. And that wasn’t going to happen in the Inland Empire. Luckily, with her junior year coming to a close, Lisa saw an end in sight. And now that she had an appointment to see Solomon Reed’s mom again, she was feeling pretty confident about her escape plan.
She still wasn’t sure what to do about Clark, though. She loved him. It was hard not to, but every attempt she’d made at taking things to the next level had been shot down. He didn’t want to talk about college, always saying he just wasn’t ready yet. And, despite his looks and confidence, it turned out he wasn’t ready for some other things, either.
Clark wanted to wait. Lisa wasn’t sure what, exactly, he wanted to wait for, but every time she tried to initiate anything even close to sex, he’d remind her that it wasn’t the right time yet.
Of course she never once considered that the problem could be her.
“He’s religious,” she told her friend Janis on the phone. “That’s why, right?”
Janis Plutko had been Lisa’s best friend since the first grade. But, ever since she’d become a born-again Christian sophomore year, Lisa had felt a lot of distance from her. She didn’t have a problem with it, but sometimes she wasn’t so sure Janis knew the difference between being religious and acting that way.
“Please,” Janis said. “I’ve dated three guys from Sunday School and every single one tried to feel me up. God’s not your problem, Lisa.”
“Well, what is it then? And don’t say it’s me. It’s not.”
“Lisa . . . he’s on the water polo team and he has three older brothers,” Janis said.
“What? Not again, Janis. He’s not gay.”
“Scientifically and superficially, these facts do not help his case for heterosexuality.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“They say the more older brothers you have, the more likely you are to be homosexual. For males, at least. And do I even have to explain to you why water polo is gay?”
“Boys in Speedos playing around in a pool,” Lisa said. “I get it. But he’s not gay.”
“Whatever you want to tell yourself, Lisa. But don’t count this out. I have an instinct for these things. Best gaydar in town.”
“The thing is, I don’t really care that much right now.”
“Lisa . . . I think you should probably care about something like this.”
“Maybe everyone else should just care less about it. I’ve got too much to do anyway. Sex should be the last thing on my mind.”
“See, you’d make a great Christian. Maybe just start going to church and he’ll be all over you.”
“I’m afraid I’d catch on fire as soon as I walked in.”
“I’d be afraid of that too,” Janis snapped.
“I love him. I’m pretty sure he loves me. So, for now, what’s it matter?”
“This conversation started because of your sexual frustration.”
“Even so. Like I said: sex is distracting. I need to focus on school and on getting out of here.”
“Will you tell me about the dentist now?” Janis asked.
“She was nice. And I was right. He hasn’t left the house in years.”
“Fascinating,” Janis said. “I wouldn’t leave the house either if I’d done what he did.”
“He couldn’t help it,” Lisa defended.
“Honestly, I don’t know why you care so much about a kid you never met.”
Lisa’s plan had been taking shape for some time before she actually met Solomon’s mother, but she wasn’t quite ready to tell Janis about it. Sometimes when you’re doing something you maybe shouldn’t be doing in the first place, the last thing you need is someone like Janis to tell you why you shouldn’t be doing it. Lisa was smart enough to know the risks, and she’d already made up her mind.
Later that evening, at Clark’s house, Lisa tried bringing up college to see if she could get some idea of what was going on in that head of his.
“Given any more thought to schools on the East Coast?” she asked.
“I was researching the other day,” Clark replied. “Then I felt way too grown up and played video games instead.”
“Well, I finally decided for sure. So, maybe you can plan around where I go.”
“Okay. Where?”
“Woodlawn University. They have the second highest ranked psychology program in the country.”
“W
hy not go for the first?”
“Because I know I can be top of my class at one and I’m slightly unsure I could be at the other.”
“You’re like Lady Macbeth without the murder.”
“Thank you. You have no idea how much of a compliment that is to me.”
“So, I should be looking at schools close by? Where is that, Oregon?”
“Maryland,” she corrected. “Baltimore.”
“I always wanted to see Poe’s grave.”
“Ridiculous,” she said. “I have never understood this universal fascination with gravesites. It’s morbid and just . . . sad.”
“I go to my granddad’s grave sometimes. It’s nice.”
“Sorry.”
“Doesn’t matter to me,” he said. “I like what I like, you like what you like.”
“What do you do there? Just look at it and be sad?”
“No. Usually I just pray or talk to my granddad like he’s still here. It honestly makes me happier than it does sad.”
“People are strange, aren’t they?”
“Is that why you’re so dead set on fixing us all?” Clark asked.
“Not you,” she said quickly. “You’re good like you are.”
“Thanks. So . . . Woodlaw . . .”
“Woodlawn,” she corrected.
“Yeah, that. Can you get in?”
“With my eyes closed.”
“What do you have to do? An essay or something?”
“Yeah. My personal experience with mental illness.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” he laughed. “You can just write about your mom. Or maybe my mom. She’s legitimately insane.”
“No. It has to be unique. It has to be the best one they read. Maybe the best one they’ve ever read. They give one scholarship a year. Full ride.”
And she knew exactly what she was going to write about. It had practically hit her over the head the second she saw Dr. Reed’s ad in the paper. She needed to find Solomon, charm him, and counsel him back to health. Then, she’d record it all in her essay to Woodlawn and be well on her way to securing her place among the greatest psychological minds of the twenty-first century. They’d be naming a building after her by the time she had grandkids.
But, she’d need to get started soon if she wanted to have guaranteed success. Especially since, by the sound of it, she could be dealing with a full-blown agoraphobe. That isn’t something a person can conquer in a few weeks. Lisa would need several months with him to make the kind of progress she wanted—and she was already nearing the end of her junior year. That would allow just enough time to get her application in early. She wouldn’t settle for being wait-listed and she wasn’t about to apply to the third best psych program in the country. This was where she belonged and it was where she’d end up, no matter what.
“I’m going to write about my cousin,” Lisa said.
“The one in the place?”
“Institution,” she corrected. “I met him once. He gets out sometimes. Gets to come home for a weekend or two a year. It’s weird. I’ve always wanted to talk to him or try to get to know him. I never do though.”
“I’d be careful there,” Clark advised. “No telling what could be wrong if he has to live away from everyone like that.”
“No telling,” she said. “But maybe I’ll try to talk to him anyway.”
Despite her interest in psychology, Lisa wasn’t really planning to talk to her cousin, or anyone in her family for that matter. She could barely stand being in a room with her mom and her dad’s birthday cards quit coming when she turned nine. She just needed a good cover so Clark wouldn’t find out about Solomon. Not yet, anyway. You don’t go telling your boyfriend that you need to spend a few months with another guy, especially one with a history of emotional instability and public meltdowns. She’d find the right time. Ignorance was bliss to Clark, so she was just doing him a favor anyway. He could wait a little longer to find out about her project. After all, it seemed like he really liked waiting on things.
FIVE
SOLOMON REED
By most people’s standards, Solomon was a pretty weird kid. There was the agoraphobic thing, sure, but there were other things, too. He had impossibly weird eating habits, refusing to eat anything green, without exception, and having a substantial fear of coconut. Most days, he walked around half-clothed with a persistent case of bed head and a red line across his stomach where he’d rested the edge of his laptop while he did his schoolwork or streamed movies online. And, despite being terrible at video games, he’d ask his dad to play them just so he could watch, for hours and hours.
Oh, and he said his thoughts aloud sometimes. Not all the time, but often enough so his parents expected to round a corner and hear him saying something that made no sense to anyone else. The day after his mom met Lisa Praytor, she walked into his room at just the right time.
“Antwerp,” he said, sitting at his desk and not realizing she was behind him.
“Who’re you calling a twerp, twerp?” she said.
He spun around slowly in his chair until he was facing her. His cheeks were a little red, but they’d be back to normal soon enough. He spent a lot of time with his parents, so there were few things left that could embarrass him.
“You know that new patient I was telling you about? The one from your school?”
“Lisa something?”
“Praytor,” she said. “She sure was asking a lot about you.”
“Well, it seems like she’s all you can talk about lately. Are you trying to say I don’t have perfect molars? Are you going to trade me in?”
“I haven’t ruled it out.”
“And she was asking a lot about me? That’s creepy, Mom.”
“She wasn’t creepy at all. A little nosy, I guess. But not creepy. It’s nice to know someone out there’s thinking about you, isn’t it?”
Solomon didn’t really know what to say. So someone out there had been thinking about him. Great. What was he supposed to do with that—invite her over for brunch?
“I guess.”
“It wouldn’t hurt you to have a friend or two, you know?”
“We’re not friends? You’re saying we’re not friends?” he joked, raising his voice and using a mobster accent.
“I’m saying your only friends shouldn’t be middle aged and they certainly shouldn’t be your parents.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” he said.
“Oh my God.” She grabbed both sides of his face. “You’re as hopeless as your dad.”
Valerie Reed lived with older and younger versions of the same man—a minimalist introvert who never talked about his feelings and obsessed over ridiculous things. She managed to make it through their weekly viewings of old science fiction films and the in-depth conversations that would always follow. But she did like to joke that watching movies with them was “like pulling teeth.” Get it? Of course you do.
“You know, you could probably reconnect with some of your old school friends online,” she continued.
“Why would I want to do that, Mom?”
“For fun. I don’t know.”
“I have plenty of fun,” he said.
“Fine,” she raised one hand into the air and walked away. “I’ve got to go pay bills.”
Solomon wondered if he’d ever have his own bills to pay. He didn’t plan on leaving the house again. Ever. But even at sixteen he was starting to feel guilty for always being there—and for planning to always be there. His parents weren’t the type to sit around growing old. He knew they’d want to travel or maybe even move somewhere else after retirement. On some days, especially when his mom would hint at him getting better in even a small way, he felt like the biggest and only problem in their lives. And he didn’t want his cure to be their life sentence.
After his
mom left the room, Solomon went back to his schoolwork. But, every now and then, he’d get online and do research. He didn’t miss much about the outside world—Target sometimes, with its organized shelves and relaxing department store music. Some of his favorite restaurants, sure. Oh, and he really missed the way it smelled outside when it was about to rain, and the way the heavy drops would feel on his skin. This, though, he’d been able to enjoy by sticking his arm out of a window from time to time. Water calmed him down. He didn’t know why, but it helped. He’d lie in the bath for an hour or more, his eyes closed, focusing his attention on the whirring of the bathroom vent. And that blocked it all out, anything that could make him worse, any thoughts that could start looping around and around in his mind. He knew that when it happened, he was supposed to close his eyes and count to ten and take slow, deep breaths. But that never worked like the water did.
So, for weeks, he’d been secretly working up the nerve to ask his parents for a pool. But how could he even mention the idea of it if he couldn’t promise to go outside? He thought maybe he’d be ready by the time they could have a pool put in since he wasn’t especially afraid of the outdoors anyway. It was the potential chaos that lay beyond their yard that scared him. Plus, he could damn sure use the exercise, because running on a treadmill had become mind-numbing. It’s just that when you’re afraid of dying, you’ll do whatever it takes to keep yourself pretty healthy and the pool would help. He’d been fantasizing for weeks about waking up every morning and starting the day with a long swim. And, as much as he hated to admit it even to himself, he would imagine the warm beams of sun heating up his skin and eventually helping him look less like a walking corpse. Even in his isolation, Solomon wasn’t completely immune to superficiality. He didn’t know why he cared about his looks, but he did. And, at the very least, he hoped it was one more sign to his parents that his life was sustainable and not some statement against civilization.
Highly Illogical Behavior Page 2