Becca, do you know?
“What are you, like, talking about?” she asks.
You do, you know what this is about.
Maybe she’s even surprised that it’s taken this long for us to actually have an argument.
Then you kind of take over from here. You say the next line: “This isn’t working out.”
And the next line too: “You and I have nothing in common.”
I’m still the one who’s saying everything, but you’re helping me line up the words, the lines, in a way that makes this feel as dramatic as possible for Becca and everyone else watching.
But we couldn’t be any further from this day. Moment’s a blur but we’re having a good buzz.
“I’m tired of being treated like a child.”
That’s a good one. That line makes everyone around Becca and me gasp.
She puts up her side of the fight, meaning it’s the tears, and her saying sorry and all of that stuff.
I can see that it could be easy to break down too. It could be easy to trade her tears with my own. But instead of crying, I end up laughing at the thought. We’re graduating so soon—why does she even care?
It’s kind of funny, if you think about it.
Becca doesn’t find it funny. Everyone else thinks this is serious.
Becca and Hunter are breaking up! Fresh gossip for the grapevine.
More people crowd around us.
The next line is actually a long list of things I can’t stand about her. It’s like you’re telling me to just let it all out: You’ll feel better later. Let it all out. Tell her how she’s ruined the relationship. Tell her how it really wasn’t much of a relationship to begin with. Tell her that it all goes down the drain the same way. Tell her that you don’t actually know what that means, but then save that line by saying that it’s a metaphor for everything that doesn’t make sense about the relationship. Tell her that she never saw you as anything more than something who helps her get her way. Tell her about that one time you almost cheated on her. Don’t mention what actually happened between you and Nikki, but use it as an example of how miserable she makes you feel.
Go on and on until it makes sense that she’s in tears.
She apologizes and says, “We’ve been through so much. I’ve invested too much in us to just let it fall apart now!”
That’s enough to take it home with the one line that’s left:
“We’re finished.”
Now it’s a dramatic end where I’m looking around at everyone who’s watching. I don’t care about what they think. I don’t care that they’re looking at me like I’ve gone insane. I don’t care at all.
I don’t care that Becca is trying to hug me, trying to save it. She’ll understand it better later. But she’ll never understand me.
No one here really gets why I’m breaking up with her.
Later, when I’m at lunch, Brad will act like it was a surprise. He’ll say things like, “Damn, bro, all those years just wasted.” Never mind that he was the one who told me to break up with her way back when. Never mind that. He just forgot. It was probably just something to say at the time.
There it goes, forgotten. But Becca won’t forget this. I won’t either.
I look around at the faces, not knowing any of them. I pick out Blaire in the crowd. I wave to her, all happy that I finally did it. I broke up with her!
But Blaire looks at me like I’m someone else.
I’m waiting for you to tell me why.
I’m waiting for you to say something like I know you can.
But you wait until I leave school for the day. You wait until I’m unexpectedly driving back down that dirt road, getting out of the car, leaving it running. You wait until I’m running through that field, ignoring all the people there skipping school, drinking, and giving me looks when they see me show up, like I just popped up out of nowhere. You wait until I see the black crown, the darkened tunnel, and you wait until I run it again, this time without any hesitation. I just run down that tunnel, not at all worried that it might not have an end. You wait until I’m breaking a sweat, and with the sweat, I lose everything that might have been close to being an explanation.
I don’t need an explanation.
I don’t need to know why.
But as I run, you wait until I realize that I’m nowhere closer to the end than I was at the beginning.
You change the sound of my voice, making it more monotone.
More than that, you get me to turn and look, and I see that I’m only a few steps from the entrance.
Then, only then, do I hear you speak.
You say, “There’s an end to the tunnel and I’m going to show you.”
I’m the one who’s speaking.
Somehow that makes complete sense.
It makes sense now when before it didn’t. I’m not looking for symptoms and I’m not thinking about how you’re nearby.
It’s because you’re right here.
I hold up my hands, look at my palms.
You are here.
Right here where I’m standing.
I don’t think about what everyone’s been saying, their worried looks and all of them talking about me like I’m losing. I don’t think I’ve lost anything. I think I’ve found it.
I’ve figured it out.
I’ve found the end of Falter Kingdom.
You’re showing me, telling me it’s not that far at all. So when I start running again, you’re the one that’s running for me.
“Just keep running,” you say.
I run for maybe a minute and then I stop. I take out my phone and shine it in front of me. I see it. I see all the things that you’ve taken from my bedroom and from the house. At the end of the tunnel, there’s another bedroom, made from things you stole.
I’m saying, “This is where you come from?”
But that’s wrong, because what you’re telling me right after is that “this is where I go to be by myself.”
Then why are my things here?
But see, I get it. I do.
You really don’t have to tell me.
I say, “Yeah, it’s kind of a stupid name. That’s why I didn’t end up using it.”
And then you say, “I understand.”
You really do. H—it’s not actually that cool of a name. Not that you need it, that name. Mine will do just fine.
You say it: “Hunter.”
Then I say, “You get used to it over time.”
We start working on a way where we can both talk and not lose the point of what we’re trying to say a moment later. It’s not going to work, I don’t think, if we refer to each other as “we,” right?
It will not work.
That’s what I thought. I think it’s better if we just keep things the same. Yet different. Yeah, well, it really does feel like everything’s changing and I’m really happy. I’ve never felt this happy before, like I can do... anything.
You can do anything.
I know, I know—it feels just like that, you know?
I know precisely what you mean.
That’s what’s so awesome, I think. I feel, like, encouraged to not hold back anymore.
There is no reason to hold back.
Definitely. Definitely. Not when I feel this good.
There will be problems.
I know. I know there’ll be problems, but when aren’t there any problems? I think that’s kind of why I stuck around her for so long. She was the problem, yeah, but I got used to the problem, and because I did, there was nothing else that really came up. It was always just one big predictable problem.
She needed you more than you needed her.
Yeah, that’s true. And it’s also like with everyone else... I met people and those people who I met became the people I stayed around. I mean, that’s what everyone does. But I did it in a way where it could have been anyone, really. It could be someone else, someone totally random, and I’d end up around them if they were there.
/> But not anymore.
I kept it all the same anyway... Yeah, not anymore. Things are starting to feel different. I mean, like, one thing that should be bothering me is am I awake or asleep? Does it matter?
It does not.
I guess it doesn’t. And then I should probably be worried about what people are saying.
Yet you won’t.
No, I won’t—I’m like, “Say what you want. I am trusting my instincts.” I get along. This is working. Getting along just fine. I think people don’t understand. They don’t understand what’s going on with me. They could never understand because it isn’t actually happening to them.
It is only happening to us.
Yeah, exactly! It’s like, it’s like... we met in our own way. I know we said not to use the plural “we,” but I guess in this case it works?
It will do just fine.
Cool—and, um, what was I saying? Right! You and I met just like Blaire and I met, and Becca and I met, and Brad—wait, not Brad. But it’s true. Sure, we’re different, but nobody’s the same. We’re different but actually I think we get along well. Who cares if what I tell people doesn’t make sense? They don’t get what we’re talking about. But we get along real well.
I think we have more in common than one would expect.
I agree. The strange thing is really just how people see this as so different, so, like, fucked up.
They do not understand.
Like, you make all those crashing noises, and open doors, and do all that stuff because... why do you do that stuff?
I get bored. I get lonely. I want attention too.
Yeah, I can see that. I can definitely see that. But people see it as haunting behavior. They see it as symptoms. They see it as problems that need to be fixed. Everything’s a problem to them, ugh. I just don’t want to be around people who don’t even try to understand what’s happening to me, you know?
I understand.
Well, yeah, of course you do. But that’s also why people are going to have such a hard time with this.
Many will fail to fathom it.
Fathom, yeah. That’s a good word. I like words that start with the letter “f”—“father,” “fixate,” “further”...
“Falter.”
Yeah, that’s a good one. Then there’s the go-to staple: “fuck.”
Humans love to fuck.
That makes me laugh, man, that really does. And it’s true. It’s basically written into our DNA or something. Do you ever have those kinds of needs?
No. I experience what I experience, but for the most part, what is felt is what humans define as loneliness. I get lonely, which is precisely why I do the things I do.
Well, you’re hanging with me now. You’re right here with me. I consider you a friend. No one would have really helped me out the way you did. There’s no way I would have been able to break things off with her if you weren’t there, even going all out and saying the right things so that I wasn’t so nervous.
I am not going anywhere.
Yeah, yeah, exactly. You can stick around. I want you to. I consider you a real friend. And we get along. We’re getting along, right?
You invited me. I am not going anywhere.
That’s awesome. Yeah, I can count on you. I mean, think of it this way: As long as I get what’s going on, nothing else matters, right? Right?
Correct.
Yeah, they’ll look at me weird. They’ll think they need to save me; they’ll talk about how I’m losing. But I never said I was fighting. I’m not fighting any battles, and I don’t think they’ll understand how I know even before I could ever know what’s going to happen. Like, I know what’s going to happen, like, whole days before it’s going to happen. People call that a symptom. I think it’s really a gift. You’re letting me know before it happens.
There are plenty of surprises ahead.
Yeah, it would be boring if there weren’t. That’s what I was going on and on about earlier. Things are definitely different and they can’t be different if everything’s the same.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
Nope. Things are getting exciting. I mean, people will say it’s weird, how I talk to myself... but that’s what they see. They hear us talking but it’s the same voice. It’s like, “Who is saying what?” It doesn’t matter. Hunter.
H.
I said something.
Then I spoke.
I should be scared.
You should be scared.
Why am I not scared?
Because you’re smarter than most.
Right, and that’s cool of you to say, but what just happened there happened without even having to say anything. But we could have said it. If we did, it would be, like, to other people, complete insanity. They’ll say that I’m speaking in tongues. They usually say that about a person when he’s all possessed. Oh! And that’s another thing. This is possession, right?
You are possessed?
I’m not sure. I guess this is it. I was reading about it earlier. You saw.
I did.
And well, they say that when it’s, like, no longer a sense of being watched and now a sense of being one, or no longer, um—what were the words?—able to think clear thoughts without there being...
Interjections.
Yeah, interjections, then it’s more likely that the subject is possessed. That’s what they call people in the videos: “subjects.”
The subject in question is: What of bonding isn’t possession?
You mean...
Bonding is a form of possession.
People wanting to be around other people, and because they want to be around those people, they sometimes start talking like them, start acting like them, and they even start dressing like them.
Other people look to be possessed.
That... actually makes a lot of sense. I mean, yeah. Yeah... that does make a lot of sense. It’s sort of the same. But then it’s also very different. But no two things are the same, yeah. And then I’m kind of focused now on what’s happening next. I, well...
You go to school.
I don’t want to go to school. Can’t believe Halverson hasn’t just, like, suspended me again for, you know, “looking like shit.” That’s what everyone’s saying, even if they aren’t actually saying it. And it kind of is true; I just can’t stand being around people right now. I get exhausted. Dizzy. Just thinking about all the stuff I have to do, how I have to, you know, really try, it’s hard to stomach. It’s really hard to handle.
I’ll go to school.
You can go, but I’m not.
I’ll go.
Fine, that’s fine. Just be ready for all that usual stuff.
I’ll be fine.
But yeah, you’ll be, you know, taking me with you.
No.
I don’t get it—what do you mean?
Wait in the tunnel.
But you’re going to be there, as me.
When I am you, you are not.
I thought we were both using the name Hunter.
Hunter is Hunter. Sometimes Hunter isn’t Hunter.
So I’ll stay at Falter?
Stay. You will know everything, precisely when it happens.
That’s wild. I mean, you know how I feel about it. It’s... strange, I mean, yeah. Okay, I’m rambling. But it’s strange, right?
It is difficult at first.
I’ll get used to it?
Soon there will be no difference.
What if I go along with you?
Then it will be much like what has occurred previously.
If I don’t...
You wait where there is no need to worry. I am not the same.
Yeah, that’s true. I... trust you. Everyone else thinks I’m crazy for trusting you, but I mean, you got to go with your instincts, right?
Correct.
Okay. Okay. I’ll stay. I’m not going back to school. I don’t even want to see their faces. I just want to, like, stay in b
ed and chill.
Stay in bed. Watch it on video.
Yeah, I’ll watch it on video.
Do you trust me?
I trust you.
Friends?
Yeah, man, we’re friends. It’s pretty obvious that we are. Not that anyone else will ever get it.
11
I WALK TO SCHOOL SO THAT I MAY GET USED TO THIS body, these legs, this face, the sun. I walk to school and I wait where the locker reads “34.” This is your locker. This is my locker. There are plenty of students. There are plenty of opportunities. I walked to school, and because I did, there is an odor, a stench that barely registers to those here. But they smell it.
I am going to wait until that bell rings. The bell will ring, and I will begin with your day.
I am in your head.
I am plenty, and no, I am not exhausted.
I am your friend, you will see. This will be proof.
You watch as it happens.
The video feed shall be plenty.
It shall be plenty for you.
It shall be plenty of proof that I seek nothing if not the solution to the loneliness that I have felt for as long as I have learned the nature of loneliness.
Your first period is subdued. You sit in the back, I assume, given what you’ve left me. Yet I am concerned for there is a lot missing—details, such as names of acquaintances and the name of the instructor staring me down.
You see, I am not sitting. I am not sitting because I am not sure if you sit in the back or the front.
The instructor beckons: “Please, Mr. Warden.”
I know you’ll enjoy this, so I say, “Do you want to know how you’ll die?”
“Excuse me?”
The humor that it causes, it’s wonderful, isn’t it? Such humor, such fear in their faces.
Not to be worried.
The instructor will select not to acknowledge what has been said. The instructor will entertain the idea of Mr. Warden being sent to the principal’s office. First period, and I have already caused some calamity.
How intriguing.
The principal lives in a routine that has shut his mind off from the more curious concepts in life.
What a waste, I must say.
What a supreme waste of life. Halverson is his name, and he returns home to the same dinners, the same wines, the same few books before retiring for the night in his cushy yet unfeeling bed. There he is, your principal.
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