I'm Lily Madwhip and I'm Learning About Monsters.
I’m at the library, which is called Winslow Library, reading a book on mythology. Winslow Library is named after Miles Winslow, who donated books to the town after the original library burned down... because Miles Winslow accidentally set it on fire. It’s a long story. Short version is, Miles Winslow was a crazy fellow.
After I told Felix everything about Hekate, he asked me if I knew anything about Grease and I told him I saw the movie five times, although I didn’t know what that had to do with anything. Also I never understood why their car turned into Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang at the end. It turns out Grease is a country too, and that’s where mythology comes from. Felix suggested I go to the library and “brush up” on the subject, because apparently Hekate was around way back when people rode chariots instead of cars and everything was dirt and olives.
I already know about the minotaur, which is a person with a cow for a head. Not the whole cow, just the head. He lives in a maze. I also know about Medusa, who was a lady with snakes for hair. Not the whole snake, but most of it. But other than those two, I’m not a mythology know-it-all.
It turns out people from Grease were obsessed with mixing up animals. Besides the minotaur, there’s also centaurs, which is where the other half of the cow went. Then there’s harpies, which are ladies with vultures for butts. Not the whole vulture, just the butt. I didn’t know those were myths though, because I’ve seen commercials on TV where people admitted they had harpies and were taking medication to get rid of them.
Then there’s the chimera. That’s like a lion-goat-scorpion. I don’t even know where to begin. Like, where did someone think they saw this thing? Was it like they were walking along and saw a lion looking out from behind a tree, but there was also a goat behind it and they mistook the goat’s butt for the lion’s butt? And where the heck did they see a scorpion big enough for its tail to look like part of this mess? I think people in Grease just drank a lot. My Uncle George drinks a lot, at least since my cousin Susie got run over by a boat. I don’t think he ever saw a lion and a goat at the same time though, and thought they were the same animal.
I have a yellow pad of paper for taking notes, but I have no idea what kind of notes to take, so I just draw in it. First I draw a chimera, because it’s the weirdest animal I’ve read about yet. Then I try to draw a harpy, but I’m not any good at drawing people, so I give it the body of an alligator. I call it an alligarpy. Eventually I’m not even reading the book anymore, I’m just doodling imaginary animals combined with other animals.
“What are you drawing?”
There’s another kid in the library. He’s taller than me, so he’s probably older. He’s got crazy brown hair and freckles... or maybe his face is just dirty. I wish I had freckles. And he’s wearing old, velcro shoes. The velcro is so old that it doesn’t even stick together anymore and the straps just hang loose. Still, velcro shoes are nice. I wish I had velcro shoes. So jealous right now.
I look at my most recent piece. “It’s a... pigapotomus. It’s from mythology.” That’s not actually true, I just made this one up. “That’s stories from long ago about superheros and monsters.”
“I know what mythology is.” he wipes his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. I can see the snot streak go up to his elbow. There’s other, older, crustier streaks up both arms. Ew. He may know what mythology is, but I bet dollars to doughnuts that hygiene isn’t in his vocabulary.
The kid keeps standing there, snuffling occasionally and wiping his runny nose. I stare at him, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t.
“Can I help you?” I finally ask.
He’s got dead eyes. I don’t normally see those on other kids. Dead eyes are something you typically only find on adults. There’s no shine in them anymore. It’s almost like they just stop reflecting light. Usually it goes with people who have given up on enjoying life and have settled for living day to day. You can tell who loves life, because they got the glint in their eyes. This boy has no glint, just empty dead eyes.
“Nobody can help me.” he sniffles, still staring dead-eyed at me. He’s got some sort of strange accent I can’t place. I want to say he’s from overseas or maybe North Dakota. I don’t know what people speak like there, but I imagine it’s like me, but with a weird North Dakota accent.
I look around, but there’s nobody else in this part of the library. Winslow Library isn’t the preferred library to use as it is. Most people go to the one over in Northfield. They’ve got a multimedia room there with movies on laserdisc. My parents took Roger and I once and I got in trouble for wandering off to the laserdiscs and signing out a weird movie called The Shining. There’s a scene in that movie where a guy hugs and kisses a dead lady in a bathtub. People come up with strange ideas for movies.
The gross boy leans forward across the table and whispers, “Do you know what a mirage is?”
“That’s where you park cars.”
He frowns. “No, it’s an illusion.”
I don’t argue with him but I know they’re real because we have one attached to the house.
He nods at my mythology book. “You read about the sphinx yet?”
I sure have. The sphinx is a person with a lion for a body. Not the whole lion, just the body. Or maybe it’s a lion with a person’s head. It’s a lion/person mishmash, basically. And it asks riddles. If you get its riddle wrong, it eats you.
“Yeah, I’ve read about the sphinx.”
He wipes his nose again. It looks red and sore, probably from all the wiping. “Well I’ve got a riddle for you, like the sphinx--”
“You won’t eat me if I get it wrong, will you?” He kinda looks like he might actually try.
“No.” The grimy kid closes his eyes. Maybe he’s trying to remember how the riddle goes. It sucks when you try to tell a riddle or joke and screw it up. I have this joke about a bunch of people in a crashing airplane who don’t have enough parachutes, but I always get it wrong. “Where can you be somewhere and nowhere at the same time?”
You know what? I don’t like riddles. I’m supposed to be doing research, but instead I’m letting this weird kid with his runny nose ask me nonsense questions. I pretend to think for a moment by pushing my lips out and tapping them with my finger. This is how some grownups switch on their brains. Finally, I stop and look at him again. “I don’t know. Where?”
He presses his finger into the table. “Right here.”
“At the library?” I don’t get it.
He cocks his head. “Are you at the library?”
I look around carefully. “Yyyyes?”
The kid stands back up straight and shakes his head. “You just think you are. I know. I’ve been lost here forever.”
“At the library?” That would be awful. How does someone get lost at the library? Don’t the librarians check to make sure nobody’s still inside when they lock up?
The boy sighs. “No, here. Here. Where we are.”
I am so confused. Then again, this kid doesn’t seem like he’s got all the cards in his deck. He acts like he bet all his marbles on a hail mary play and lost. He’s definitely not from around here, judging by his accent.
He continues to talk. Something inside him got switched on and activated the connection between his brain and his mouth and now whatever bizarre thought passes through one spills out the other. “You lose track of time. I did. And eventually you give up, you see through the mirage and you know where you are, and that’s when it stops trying to pretend to be anything other than what it is. It all just goes away.”
“You can’t see then. There’s no sun, no candles, nothing. You start to wonder if you even exist anymore. Are you breathing? Are you hearing yourself breathe, or are you imagining it? Was there ever really anything to begin with? Your mother... did she ever really exist?”
“My mother?” My mother existed. How would I have been born if she didn’t exist? I miss my mom. I want to cry now.
“And then suddenly there’s the sun, and there’s the ground. But everything’s different. People are different. The world is different. It’s not your world anymore, it’s someone else’s. Someone else has come along after so long you don’t even remember what it’s like to exist anymore. And they believe in the illusion. So it changes to suit them and all you can do is... is... I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, because I want the dream to continue, but I know it’s just a dream--”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask. His dead eyes have got a spark of life in them now, but they’ve got a bit of a crazy look in them too. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started grinning and clacking his teeth together and his eyes bugged out like one of those creepy wind-up monkeys.
The boy is panting, he’s been talking so fast at me. He sounds kind of ragged, like he gargled some asphalt and washed it down with salt water. “I’m okay. I’m okay now. Because you’re here.”
“But here is nowhere,” I say sarcastically.
“Yes!” now he claps happily, which makes a cloud of flaky grossness come off his filthy shirt sleeves. “You understand! But don’t make it go away. Don’t let the sun go away. Maybe together we can find a way out.”
I’d say this kid already found a way out, if you know what I mean. I pull my yellow pad of paper close to my chest and stick my pencil behind my ear. I keep a close eye on this whacko kid as I close the mythology book. “Look, I gotta go talk to someone else, but this has been fun. Maybe I’ll see you here again. Here being nowhere.”
I tuck the book onto a nearby shelf. That’s not where I got it from, and I’m not supposed to do that, but I just really want to get out of here and away from the fruitcake in the crusty hoodie.
As I walk backward down the aisle toward where the reference desk and the card catalogs are, the boy watches me quietly and his smile uncurls back into a straight line. “If you get out without me, tell Paschar that Ambrose says hullo. Ambrose Viccars. You tell him I didn’t run away.” He starts wiping at his eyes with his crusty sleeve. “Tell him, I’m still here. But please-- please don’t go without me.”
Once I’m far enough away, I turn and sprint to the check out desk. There’s a librarian there, Sean. We know each other. I like books about earthquakes and he likes nose rings and red striped shirts that make him look like Waldo.
“What’s the rush, Lily?” he asks me. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Can I have a day without weird stuff happening? Just one day, please?” I lean against the counter to catch my breath. The weird kid is nowhere to be seen. “I think there’s a teenage hobo living in your history section.”
Sean pushes his glasses back into place and looks in the direction I came from. “Did somebody give you trouble?”
“No, just... wanted to make sure you knew there’s someone else in the library besides me. You know, in case you close up early or something.” I don’t know if they can even do that, close up early. I think they’re required to be open at certain times. Does it matter? There’s a snot-covered boy hiding by the 201 books, and he may not be all there.
And he knew Paschar.
It takes me an hour to get home, because I was halfway there when I realized I left my backpack at the library and had to go back and get it. No sign of the weird boy, Armbone or whatever... thank goodness. Also, I stopped by the bridge over the Dog River and played Pooh sticks. That’s where you toss a stick in the river on one side of the bridge, and then watch for it to come out the other side. You’re supposed to play it with other people, so I just tossed in a bunch of sticks and placed bets with myself on which one I thought would appear first. Wouldn’t you know it, I won.
Once I’m finally home, I walk in the door and Paschar is sitting on the dining room table with a note from Dad about dinner. This has become the new normal, as they say. That means it wasn’t normal before, but now you treat it like it is, even though it isn’t. I hate the new normal. I would like to go back to the old normal. Old normal didn’t have weird, smelly kids coming up to me at the library and babbling about... I don’t even know what.
Paschar asks me what happened at the library. He can tell by my expression that I’ve got something I need to talk to him about.
“There was this gross boy at the library.” I stare at Paschar to try to read his expression but I don’t know why I’m bothering because his face is made of plastic and it never changes. “He said to tell you hello.”
You told him about me? Paschar asks.
“No, he knew you. Not like Felix, who knew of you because of his angel Raziel. This boy knew you like he knew knew you. He said his name was Angelo something. Or Andrew. Amber Victor?”
Ambrose? Paschar’s voice sounds uneasy. Not scared, like when he talks about Samael, just sort of like he’s wary about saying the name. Ambrose Viccars?
“That sounds right.” I drop my backpack and get out my yellow pad of paper to check to see if I wrote it down. There’s nothing but doodles on it. I’m not sure if this was a successful visit to the library. Felix will probably look at my notes and make me go back and read more. I can’t believe I’m taking notes on mythology for the weasel. Old normal, where are you?
Ambrose Viccars can’t be alive.
“Well, what can I tell you?” I shrug, “This is the new normal, remember? Oh wait, that’s right... you don’t remember. This is the old normal to you.”
No, Lily, this is not normal in any way. But maybe it makes sense, if the things you say are happening to you really are happening. Ambrose Viccars disappeared over four hundred years ago. He did not die, he simply vanished.
You know, looking at it in better light, this is a really good pigapotamus. I should make a book full of imaginary animals. I wonder if I could create my own mythology?
Lily, focus. Paschar sounds annoyed.
“Sorry.” I put the pad of paper down.
Oh, that is a good pigapotamus.
I blush. It’s nice that he noticed.
Paschar continues what he was talking about. Ambrose was the youngest person we’d ever... “recruited” you could say, before you. It was a really difficult time back then.
“What was that, pilgrim days?” I ask. “Did they even have plastic dolls back in pilgrim days?”
My totem was made out of a corn husk. Paschar chuckles.
I visualize Paschar with a corncob head and I laugh. It feels good to laugh. I don’t think I’ve laughed since I found out my mom was suddenly dead. Oh. I shouldn’t have thought about that. Why did I do that? I stop laughing and look at my feet. They remind me of standing in front of her grave, so I cry a little. Just a little.
Sorry, Lily, Paschar says. Listen, Ambrose and his mother and almost everyone they knew... they simply vanished without a trace. No death, though disease and other bad things happened a lot back then. We would have known if they died. They didn’t, they just ceased to exist. One moment he was there, the next he wasn’t. And then she wasn’t. And then they weren’t. We never found out what happened. Believe me, we investigated. Several of us even crossed the veil to look into things first-hand.
“You mean you were here? On Earth? In the flesh?” I wonder what Paschar looks like. Does he look human? Maybe he looks like a cricket with a top hat, like the one in Pinocchio.
Yes, because Ambrose was my connection, I came over. As did Dumah, because of course, if they were dead, he would know. With us was Zaphkiel and Metatron, neither of whom you’ve met. They were mostly there to observe and report.
“Observe and report what?”
The lost colony. Over a hundred people, gone without a trace. You say you saw Ambrose at the library?
“Yeah, he was wearing a hoodie covered with snot and had velcro sneakers. Did they have velcro and snot four hundred years ago?” I become suddenly very aware of my own habit of wiping my nose on my arm when it’s runny. I should stop doing that.
Paschar puts on his bossy voice. Take me to the library.
“But it’s almost dinner time and I haven’t even read this note my dad left--”
Lily, Paschar interrupts, if Ambrose is truly here, we need to know where he’s been all this time. And more importantly, is he here as a harbinger of another vanishing?
I don’t know what that means but it sounds bad. I grab Paschar and stuff him in my backpack so his head is sticking out. He likes to see as we go. When I was little, I didn’t listen as well and I’d just stick him in my backpack and he always complained when I got where I was going and pulled him out. There’s little snack bags of pretzels in the cupboard, so I grab one to munch on along the way. I wish they had more salt. A pretzel’s not a pretzel if you don’t salt it. Also a pretzel’s not a pretzel if you don’t knot it.
Just as I turn to go, there’s a knock at the door. Why didn’t they just use the doorbell? I like the doorbell, it sounds jingly. Knocking on the door is startling. I peek out the mailbox slot but all I see are someone’s legs in brown pants. That’s no help.
“Lily?” Oh, it’s Felix. He must have come by to find out what I learned at the library.
I unlock the door and open it. Felix is standing on the porch in regular clothes. I’m still blown away at him with combed hair and glasses and dressed like he’s a professional with a job and not some weirdo stalker guy you’d expect to see crouching behind a garbage can in a dark alley. Of course, I don’t say that because it would be rude. Paschar knows I’m thinking it though, which means ehhhhh... Felix probably knows I’m thinking it too, since that’s his thing.
“Sorry, Dr. Clay,” I tell him, figuring he knows what I was just thinking.
He ignores it. “Lily, I hope you don’t mind me coming by. Is your father home?”
“Yeah,” I lie, because you should never admit that you’re home alone, especially to a weasel who tries to murder people. But this isn’t that person, this is a therapist. This is my therapist. I don’t know if it’s wrong to lie to him.
“You’re lying,” he says matter-of-factly.
Oh right, he can just... see that. I look at the porch floor. We got a squeaky board with a loose nail and I always step on it without thinking.
Felix steps back, giving me a bit of breathing room. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not here to see him. I need to show you something important. Have you done your research that I suggested yet?”
“Yeah, I was actually on my way back to the library because--” I stop. Do I want to tell him about Ambrose? Oh, right, it doesn’t matter, because if I don’t tell him, it’s a secret and he knows it anyway.
As if to emphasize the point, Felix stares through me for a second and then says simply, “You’ve met someone.”
“Yeah, um... I’ve got to go find him. It’s kind of--”
“Important. Okay. We’ll go together. I can give you a ride.” He pulls out his car keys and jangles them in front of me. He’s actually got a lot of keys on his keychain. Car, office, house I assume, maybe an apartment. What are all the other keys for? Adults keep lots of keys. When I grow up, I’m going to have just two keys. That’s all I think I’ll need.
We should just walk there, says Paschar, but Felix takes my backpack and tosses it in the open window to the passenger seat. Well, I guess that’s decided then. My legs are tired of walking anyway. I’ve already walked there, then halfway back, then back back, then all the way back home again.
Felix’s car is black and shiny. He must get it cleaned regularly, because it smells like it just got picked up from the dealership. I climb in the back because I’m not old enough to ride in the front seat yet. Felix seems baffled by this at first. He looks around before getting in the car, like he’s not sure where I went. I wave at him so he’ll see me, but he doesn’t wave back, he just gets in, buckles his seatbelt (as you always should), starts the car and drives off. I think I see a silhouette in the window of Jamal’s house. I wonder if he was watching. I hope I don’t worry him, getting in some stranger’s car and letting them drive me away.
Getting a ride to the library should cut my travel time down to just minutes, that is, if we were going in the right direction.
“We’re going the wrong way, Dr. Clay.”
I see him look back at me in the rearview mirror. “I know, honey, but I need you to meet my son, Joseph.”
Joseph. The boy from Felix’s locket. The one Meredith accidentally killed in a fire, which set off the whole disaster that was last year. But that was of course in the old normal. Not this new normal where Felix isn’t a magician and a nutjob.
“Why do I need to meet Joseph?” I ask.
Felix sits there, driving quietly. I can hear other cars rush by. I don’t know where we are anymore. I’ve never been to this area. I don’t think we’re even in the same town. It didn’t occur to me that Felix might not live nearby. In the old normal, I’d say that was a good thing. Maybe he lives near Meredith. I wonder if there even is a Meredith in this new normal.
Several minutes go by.
“Dr. Clay, why am I meeting Joseph?” I repeat.
“Because I need you to understand why I can’t let you face Hekate.”
“What? But you said you were going to help me!” Dang it! Why did I get in the car with the weasel? I am so so stupid. I should have walked like Paschar suggested.
“I am going to help you, Lily,” he says with that same awful voice that tormented me last year. I realize now that it was always there, I just ignored it because he was clean-cut and dressed nice and didn’t look like a greasy strangler. “I’m going to help you understand that things now are better this way.”
His hands are shaking on the steering wheel. Maybe he’s got tremors. That’s a thing my Nana had. Her hands used to shake so bad she couldn’t hold a teacup without wearing it.
He starts sounding more manic and frustrated. “I’ve seen the reality you knew. I’ve seen what I am there. I know what you think of me. But most importantly, I know what happens to my Joseph. Your mother is gone, Lily. She’s not coming back. But my Joseph is here. He’s alive. And if I help you, he won’t be. He’ll die horribly. Would you really let that happen to him, knowing you could do nothing and save him?”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Clay, but... maybe there’s a way I can get Hekate to make it so my mom’s alive and so is Joseph.”
He stares at me with his weasel eyes from the rearview mirror. “I can’t risk that.”
“Well, introducing me to Joseph isn’t going to change my mind.”
He turns the car off the road we’re on and onto one that’s not as well-paved. The ride turns bumpy and I’m getting tossed up and down, kind of like when I’m riding the bus. I want to throw my hands up and yell “whee!” but I’m just not feeling whee-ful at the moment.
“I thought that might be the case,” Felix says. He isn’t looking at me anymore. He’s staring straight ahead and focused on the road. Or maybe he can’t look at me. “That’s why I rented this car.”
Paschar looks at me from the backpack in the front seat. Lily, he says, when the car slows down... pull the handle and run.
As if he can hear him, Felix turns and looks at the doll. Of course he can’t hear him, but the moment Paschar tells me what to do, Felix knows what I’m planning. I hate his gift of knowing people’s secrets so much. Stupid, stupid angel gift. Felix grabs Paschar and stares at him for a moment. He probably looks like I do when I’m having a conversation with--
“You can go now, Paschar,” he snarls, then throws Paschar out the open window.

I'm Lily Madwhip and I'm Learning About Monsters.
I’m at the library, which is called Winslow Library, reading a book on mythology. Winslow Library is named after Miles Winslow, who donated books to the town after the original library burned down... because Miles Winslow accidentally set it on fire. It’s a long story. Short version is, Miles Winslow was a crazy fellow.
After I told Felix everything about Hekate, he asked me if I knew anything about Grease and I told him I saw the movie five times, although I didn’t know what that had to do with anything. Also I never understood why their car turned into Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang at the end. It turns out Grease is a country too, and that’s where mythology comes from. Felix suggested I go to the library and “brush up” on the subject, because apparently Hekate was around way back when people rode chariots instead of cars and everything was dirt and olives.
I already know about the minotaur, which is a person with a cow for a head. Not the whole cow, just the head. He lives in a maze. I also know about Medusa, who was a lady with snakes for hair. Not the whole snake, but most of it. But other than those two, I’m not a mythology know-it-all.
It turns out people from Grease were obsessed with mixing up animals. Besides the minotaur, there’s also centaurs, which is where the other half of the cow went. Then there’s harpies, which are ladies with vultures for butts. Not the whole vulture, just the butt. I didn’t know those were myths though, because I’ve seen commercials on TV where people admitted they had harpies and were taking medication to get rid of them.
Then there’s the chimera. That’s like a lion-goat-scorpion. I don’t even know where to begin. Like, where did someone think they saw this thing? Was it like they were walking along and saw a lion looking out from behind a tree, but there was also a goat behind it and they mistook the goat’s butt for the lion’s butt? And where the heck did they see a scorpion big enough for its tail to look like part of this mess? I think people in Grease just drank a lot. My Uncle George drinks a lot, at least since my cousin Susie got run over by a boat. I don’t think he ever saw a lion and a goat at the same time though, and thought they were the same animal.
I have a yellow pad of paper for taking notes, but I have no idea what kind of notes to take, so I just draw in it. First I draw a chimera, because it’s the weirdest animal I’ve read about yet. Then I try to draw a harpy, but I’m not any good at drawing people, so I give it the body of an alligator. I call it an alligarpy. Eventually I’m not even reading the book anymore, I’m just doodling imaginary animals combined with other animals.
“What are you drawing?”
There’s another kid in the library. He’s taller than me, so he’s probably older. He’s got crazy brown hair and freckles... or maybe his face is just dirty. I wish I had freckles. And he’s wearing old, velcro shoes. The velcro is so old that it doesn’t even stick together anymore and the straps just hang loose. Still, velcro shoes are nice. I wish I had velcro shoes. So jealous right now.
I look at my most recent piece. “It’s a... pigapotomus. It’s from mythology.” That’s not actually true, I just made this one up. “That’s stories from long ago about superheros and monsters.”
“I know what mythology is.” he wipes his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. I can see the snot streak go up to his elbow. There’s other, older, crustier streaks up both arms. Ew. He may know what mythology is, but I bet dollars to doughnuts that hygiene isn’t in his vocabulary.
The kid keeps standing there, snuffling occasionally and wiping his runny nose. I stare at him, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t.
“Can I help you?” I finally ask.
He’s got dead eyes. I don’t normally see those on other kids. Dead eyes are something you typically only find on adults. There’s no shine in them anymore. It’s almost like they just stop reflecting light. Usually it goes with people who have given up on enjoying life and have settled for living day to day. You can tell who loves life, because they got the glint in their eyes. This boy has no glint, just empty dead eyes.
“Nobody can help me.” he sniffles, still staring dead-eyed at me. He’s got some sort of strange accent I can’t place. I want to say he’s from overseas or maybe North Dakota. I don’t know what people speak like there, but I imagine it’s like me, but with a weird North Dakota accent.
I look around, but there’s nobody else in this part of the library. Winslow Library isn’t the preferred library to use as it is. Most people go to the one over in Northfield. They’ve got a multimedia room there with movies on laserdisc. My parents took Roger and I once and I got in trouble for wandering off to the laserdiscs and signing out a weird movie called The Shining. There’s a scene in that movie where a guy hugs and kisses a dead lady in a bathtub. People come up with strange ideas for movies.
The gross boy leans forward across the table and whispers, “Do you know what a mirage is?”
“That’s where you park cars.”
He frowns. “No, it’s an illusion.”
I don’t argue with him but I know they’re real because we have one attached to the house.
He nods at my mythology book. “You read about the sphinx yet?”
I sure have. The sphinx is a person with a lion for a body. Not the whole lion, just the body. Or maybe it’s a lion with a person’s head. It’s a lion/person mishmash, basically. And it asks riddles. If you get its riddle wrong, it eats you.
“Yeah, I’ve read about the sphinx.”
He wipes his nose again. It looks red and sore, probably from all the wiping. “Well I’ve got a riddle for you, like the sphinx--”
“You won’t eat me if I get it wrong, will you?” He kinda looks like he might actually try.
“No.” The grimy kid closes his eyes. Maybe he’s trying to remember how the riddle goes. It sucks when you try to tell a riddle or joke and screw it up. I have this joke about a bunch of people in a crashing airplane who don’t have enough parachutes, but I always get it wrong. “Where can you be somewhere and nowhere at the same time?”
You know what? I don’t like riddles. I’m supposed to be doing research, but instead I’m letting this weird kid with his runny nose ask me nonsense questions. I pretend to think for a moment by pushing my lips out and tapping them with my finger. This is how some grownups switch on their brains. Finally, I stop and look at him again. “I don’t know. Where?”
He presses his finger into the table. “Right here.”
“At the library?” I don’t get it.
He cocks his head. “Are you at the library?”
I look around carefully. “Yyyyes?”
The kid stands back up straight and shakes his head. “You just think you are. I know. I’ve been lost here forever.”
“At the library?” That would be awful. How does someone get lost at the library? Don’t the librarians check to make sure nobody’s still inside when they lock up?
The boy sighs. “No, here. Here. Where we are.”
I am so confused. Then again, this kid doesn’t seem like he’s got all the cards in his deck. He acts like he bet all his marbles on a hail mary play and lost. He’s definitely not from around here, judging by his accent.
He continues to talk. Something inside him got switched on and activated the connection between his brain and his mouth and now whatever bizarre thought passes through one spills out the other. “You lose track of time. I did. And eventually you give up, you see through the mirage and you know where you are, and that’s when it stops trying to pretend to be anything other than what it is. It all just goes away.”
“You can’t see then. There’s no sun, no candles, nothing. You start to wonder if you even exist anymore. Are you breathing? Are you hearing yourself breathe, or are you imagining it? Was there ever really anything to begin with? Your mother... did she ever really exist?”
“My mother?” My mother existed. How would I have been born if she didn’t exist? I miss my mom. I want to cry now.
“And then suddenly there’s the sun, and there’s the ground. But everything’s different. People are different. The world is different. It’s not your world anymore, it’s someone else’s. Someone else has come along after so long you don’t even remember what it’s like to exist anymore. And they believe in the illusion. So it changes to suit them and all you can do is... is... I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, because I want the dream to continue, but I know it’s just a dream--”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask. His dead eyes have got a spark of life in them now, but they’ve got a bit of a crazy look in them too. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started grinning and clacking his teeth together and his eyes bugged out like one of those creepy wind-up monkeys.
The boy is panting, he’s been talking so fast at me. He sounds kind of ragged, like he gargled some asphalt and washed it down with salt water. “I’m okay. I’m okay now. Because you’re here.”
“But here is nowhere,” I say sarcastically.
“Yes!” now he claps happily, which makes a cloud of flaky grossness come off his filthy shirt sleeves. “You understand! But don’t make it go away. Don’t let the sun go away. Maybe together we can find a way out.”
I’d say this kid already found a way out, if you know what I mean. I pull my yellow pad of paper close to my chest and stick my pencil behind my ear. I keep a close eye on this whacko kid as I close the mythology book. “Look, I gotta go talk to someone else, but this has been fun. Maybe I’ll see you here again. Here being nowhere.”
I tuck the book onto a nearby shelf. That’s not where I got it from, and I’m not supposed to do that, but I just really want to get out of here and away from the fruitcake in the crusty hoodie.
As I walk backward down the aisle toward where the reference desk and the card catalogs are, the boy watches me quietly and his smile uncurls back into a straight line. “If you get out without me, tell Paschar that Ambrose says hullo. Ambrose Viccars. You tell him I didn’t run away.” He starts wiping at his eyes with his crusty sleeve. “Tell him, I’m still here. But please-- please don’t go without me.”
Once I’m far enough away, I turn and sprint to the check out desk. There’s a librarian there, Sean. We know each other. I like books about earthquakes and he likes nose rings and red striped shirts that make him look like Waldo.
“What’s the rush, Lily?” he asks me. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Can I have a day without weird stuff happening? Just one day, please?” I lean against the counter to catch my breath. The weird kid is nowhere to be seen. “I think there’s a teenage hobo living in your history section.”
Sean pushes his glasses back into place and looks in the direction I came from. “Did somebody give you trouble?”
“No, just... wanted to make sure you knew there’s someone else in the library besides me. You know, in case you close up early or something.” I don’t know if they can even do that, close up early. I think they’re required to be open at certain times. Does it matter? There’s a snot-covered boy hiding by the 201 books, and he may not be all there.
And he knew Paschar.
It takes me an hour to get home, because I was halfway there when I realized I left my backpack at the library and had to go back and get it. No sign of the weird boy, Armbone or whatever... thank goodness. Also, I stopped by the bridge over the Dog River and played Pooh sticks. That’s where you toss a stick in the river on one side of the bridge, and then watch for it to come out the other side. You’re supposed to play it with other people, so I just tossed in a bunch of sticks and placed bets with myself on which one I thought would appear first. Wouldn’t you know it, I won.
Once I’m finally home, I walk in the door and Paschar is sitting on the dining room table with a note from Dad about dinner. This has become the new normal, as they say. That means it wasn’t normal before, but now you treat it like it is, even though it isn’t. I hate the new normal. I would like to go back to the old normal. Old normal didn’t have weird, smelly kids coming up to me at the library and babbling about... I don’t even know what.
Paschar asks me what happened at the library. He can tell by my expression that I’ve got something I need to talk to him about.
“There was this gross boy at the library.” I stare at Paschar to try to read his expression but I don’t know why I’m bothering because his face is made of plastic and it never changes. “He said to tell you hello.”
You told him about me? Paschar asks.
“No, he knew you. Not like Felix, who knew of you because of his angel Raziel. This boy knew you like he knew knew you. He said his name was Angelo something. Or Andrew. Amber Victor?”
Ambrose? Paschar’s voice sounds uneasy. Not scared, like when he talks about Samael, just sort of like he’s wary about saying the name. Ambrose Viccars?
“That sounds right.” I drop my backpack and get out my yellow pad of paper to check to see if I wrote it down. There’s nothing but doodles on it. I’m not sure if this was a successful visit to the library. Felix will probably look at my notes and make me go back and read more. I can’t believe I’m taking notes on mythology for the weasel. Old normal, where are you?
Ambrose Viccars can’t be alive.
“Well, what can I tell you?” I shrug, “This is the new normal, remember? Oh wait, that’s right... you don’t remember. This is the old normal to you.”
No, Lily, this is not normal in any way. But maybe it makes sense, if the things you say are happening to you really are happening. Ambrose Viccars disappeared over four hundred years ago. He did not die, he simply vanished.
You know, looking at it in better light, this is a really good pigapotamus. I should make a book full of imaginary animals. I wonder if I could create my own mythology?
Lily, focus. Paschar sounds annoyed.
“Sorry.” I put the pad of paper down.
Oh, that is a good pigapotamus.
I blush. It’s nice that he noticed.
Paschar continues what he was talking about. Ambrose was the youngest person we’d ever... “recruited” you could say, before you. It was a really difficult time back then.
“What was that, pilgrim days?” I ask. “Did they even have plastic dolls back in pilgrim days?”
My totem was made out of a corn husk. Paschar chuckles.
I visualize Paschar with a corncob head and I laugh. It feels good to laugh. I don’t think I’ve laughed since I found out my mom was suddenly dead. Oh. I shouldn’t have thought about that. Why did I do that? I stop laughing and look at my feet. They remind me of standing in front of her grave, so I cry a little. Just a little.
Sorry, Lily, Paschar says. Listen, Ambrose and his mother and almost everyone they knew... they simply vanished without a trace. No death, though disease and other bad things happened a lot back then. We would have known if they died. They didn’t, they just ceased to exist. One moment he was there, the next he wasn’t. And then she wasn’t. And then they weren’t. We never found out what happened. Believe me, we investigated. Several of us even crossed the veil to look into things first-hand.
“You mean you were here? On Earth? In the flesh?” I wonder what Paschar looks like. Does he look human? Maybe he looks like a cricket with a top hat, like the one in Pinocchio.
Yes, because Ambrose was my connection, I came over. As did Dumah, because of course, if they were dead, he would know. With us was Zaphkiel and Metatron, neither of whom you’ve met. They were mostly there to observe and report.
“Observe and report what?”
The lost colony. Over a hundred people, gone without a trace. You say you saw Ambrose at the library?
“Yeah, he was wearing a hoodie covered with snot and had velcro sneakers. Did they have velcro and snot four hundred years ago?” I become suddenly very aware of my own habit of wiping my nose on my arm when it’s runny. I should stop doing that.
Paschar puts on his bossy voice. Take me to the library.
“But it’s almost dinner time and I haven’t even read this note my dad left--”
Lily, Paschar interrupts, if Ambrose is truly here, we need to know where he’s been all this time. And more importantly, is he here as a harbinger of another vanishing?
I don’t know what that means but it sounds bad. I grab Paschar and stuff him in my backpack so his head is sticking out. He likes to see as we go. When I was little, I didn’t listen as well and I’d just stick him in my backpack and he always complained when I got where I was going and pulled him out. There’s little snack bags of pretzels in the cupboard, so I grab one to munch on along the way. I wish they had more salt. A pretzel’s not a pretzel if you don’t salt it. Also a pretzel’s not a pretzel if you don’t knot it.
Just as I turn to go, there’s a knock at the door. Why didn’t they just use the doorbell? I like the doorbell, it sounds jingly. Knocking on the door is startling. I peek out the mailbox slot but all I see are someone’s legs in brown pants. That’s no help.
“Lily?” Oh, it’s Felix. He must have come by to find out what I learned at the library.
I unlock the door and open it. Felix is standing on the porch in regular clothes. I’m still blown away at him with combed hair and glasses and dressed like he’s a professional with a job and not some weirdo stalker guy you’d expect to see crouching behind a garbage can in a dark alley. Of course, I don’t say that because it would be rude. Paschar knows I’m thinking it though, which means ehhhhh... Felix probably knows I’m thinking it too, since that’s his thing.
“Sorry, Dr. Clay,” I tell him, figuring he knows what I was just thinking.
He ignores it. “Lily, I hope you don’t mind me coming by. Is your father home?”
“Yeah,” I lie, because you should never admit that you’re home alone, especially to a weasel who tries to murder people. But this isn’t that person, this is a therapist. This is my therapist. I don’t know if it’s wrong to lie to him.
“You’re lying,” he says matter-of-factly.
Oh right, he can just... see that. I look at the porch floor. We got a squeaky board with a loose nail and I always step on it without thinking.
Felix steps back, giving me a bit of breathing room. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not here to see him. I need to show you something important. Have you done your research that I suggested yet?”
“Yeah, I was actually on my way back to the library because--” I stop. Do I want to tell him about Ambrose? Oh, right, it doesn’t matter, because if I don’t tell him, it’s a secret and he knows it anyway.
As if to emphasize the point, Felix stares through me for a second and then says simply, “You’ve met someone.”
“Yeah, um... I’ve got to go find him. It’s kind of--”
“Important. Okay. We’ll go together. I can give you a ride.” He pulls out his car keys and jangles them in front of me. He’s actually got a lot of keys on his keychain. Car, office, house I assume, maybe an apartment. What are all the other keys for? Adults keep lots of keys. When I grow up, I’m going to have just two keys. That’s all I think I’ll need.
We should just walk there, says Paschar, but Felix takes my backpack and tosses it in the open window to the passenger seat. Well, I guess that’s decided then. My legs are tired of walking anyway. I’ve already walked there, then halfway back, then back back, then all the way back home again.
Felix’s car is black and shiny. He must get it cleaned regularly, because it smells like it just got picked up from the dealership. I climb in the back because I’m not old enough to ride in the front seat yet. Felix seems baffled by this at first. He looks around before getting in the car, like he’s not sure where I went. I wave at him so he’ll see me, but he doesn’t wave back, he just gets in, buckles his seatbelt (as you always should), starts the car and drives off. I think I see a silhouette in the window of Jamal’s house. I wonder if he was watching. I hope I don’t worry him, getting in some stranger’s car and letting them drive me away.
Getting a ride to the library should cut my travel time down to just minutes, that is, if we were going in the right direction.
“We’re going the wrong way, Dr. Clay.”
I see him look back at me in the rearview mirror. “I know, honey, but I need you to meet my son, Joseph.”
Joseph. The boy from Felix’s locket. The one Meredith accidentally killed in a fire, which set off the whole disaster that was last year. But that was of course in the old normal. Not this new normal where Felix isn’t a magician and a nutjob.
“Why do I need to meet Joseph?” I ask.
Felix sits there, driving quietly. I can hear other cars rush by. I don’t know where we are anymore. I’ve never been to this area. I don’t think we’re even in the same town. It didn’t occur to me that Felix might not live nearby. In the old normal, I’d say that was a good thing. Maybe he lives near Meredith. I wonder if there even is a Meredith in this new normal.
Several minutes go by.
“Dr. Clay, why am I meeting Joseph?” I repeat.
“Because I need you to understand why I can’t let you face Hekate.”
“What? But you said you were going to help me!” Dang it! Why did I get in the car with the weasel? I am so so stupid. I should have walked like Paschar suggested.
“I am going to help you, Lily,” he says with that same awful voice that tormented me last year. I realize now that it was always there, I just ignored it because he was clean-cut and dressed nice and didn’t look like a greasy strangler. “I’m going to help you understand that things now are better this way.”
His hands are shaking on the steering wheel. Maybe he’s got tremors. That’s a thing my Nana had. Her hands used to shake so bad she couldn’t hold a teacup without wearing it.
He starts sounding more manic and frustrated. “I’ve seen the reality you knew. I’ve seen what I am there. I know what you think of me. But most importantly, I know what happens to my Joseph. Your mother is gone, Lily. She’s not coming back. But my Joseph is here. He’s alive. And if I help you, he won’t be. He’ll die horribly. Would you really let that happen to him, knowing you could do nothing and save him?”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Clay, but... maybe there’s a way I can get Hekate to make it so my mom’s alive and so is Joseph.”
He stares at me with his weasel eyes from the rearview mirror. “I can’t risk that.”
“Well, introducing me to Joseph isn’t going to change my mind.”
He turns the car off the road we’re on and onto one that’s not as well-paved. The ride turns bumpy and I’m getting tossed up and down, kind of like when I’m riding the bus. I want to throw my hands up and yell “whee!” but I’m just not feeling whee-ful at the moment.
“I thought that might be the case,” Felix says. He isn’t looking at me anymore. He’s staring straight ahead and focused on the road. Or maybe he can’t look at me. “That’s why I rented this car.”
Paschar looks at me from the backpack in the front seat. Lily, he says, when the car slows down... pull the handle and run.
As if he can hear him, Felix turns and looks at the doll. Of course he can’t hear him, but the moment Paschar tells me what to do, Felix knows what I’m planning. I hate his gift of knowing people’s secrets so much. Stupid, stupid angel gift. Felix grabs Paschar and stares at him for a moment. He probably looks like I do when I’m having a conversation with--
“You can go now, Paschar,” he snarls, then throws Paschar out the open window.

I'm so glad there is a place to post this. I have been up since 4am, cackling to myself.
Our apartments are pretty nice, meant to help people who don't make enough to afford housing, but make too much to qualify for aid. Its mostly young families and older couples in our "neighborhood" (cul de sac of 4 apartment buildings, each with 2 floors, 4 apartments on each floor, so each building holds 8 apartments total. Some have 2 bedrooms, some 3, some 1. Our apartment building is 2 bedrooms.) Anyway. On to the story.
Last night, I wasn't feeling super great, so I had my husband run down to my car for me to grab my purse and take some garbage out. The walls aren't crazy thin, but the hallways echo and if the door is open, you can hear pretty much anything said outside of an apartment, and sometimes outside of the building, if the front door is open. Hubby walls the trash out, grabs my purse, and is holding the door open for an older woman, he thought maybe 70s, that he had never seen before. This woman side-eyes him, and comments that the purse doesn't really go with his outfit. He laughs it off, states he is just getting it for his wife, wishes her a nice night. It's probably around 7 or 8 pm at this point. Not too late for a visit, but kind of iffy if the people you are visiting work early mornings. Apparently she was there to see our neighbors across the hall. I have only met them no more than 10 times in the year we have lived here. They are an older gay couple with an even older dog, and I'm a SAHM with a little kid. Our paths just don't really cross, you know? We have seen each other enough to say hi in the parking lot, but not enough to feel comfortable inviting them over for mimosas...yet. That has since changed. I'm going to be asking them to brunch tomorrow, because, damn, their night sucked. Anyway. This bitch starts pounding on the door. Loud enough I heard it while putting my daughter to sleep. With our door closed, and her room door closed. Then we hear the screaming, again, not paper thin walls here. "I know you are both in there! Living in sin! I just want to talk to you! Why won't you answer the door for your mmmmoooother!" No answer. I am pretty sure the one guy was already at work, and I know the other works at like 5am, so he was probably already asleep.
This goes on for another 10 minutes, maybe. I got my kiddo to sleep, commented that I was surprised the guys' dog hadnt started barking, and my husband, who has had more interaction with the neighbors, said the dog was pretty deaf, so she was probably sleeping too. We had just started discussing calling the police, because fuck no were we getting in the middle of that, when another neighbor, who also works pretty early, opens her door. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU! Get out of here! If they wanted to talk to you, they would have. Now go away, some of us have to work in the morning."
Then this gem drops from someone's awful MIL: "My new Church pastor says he can cure these two of their wicked ways! I'm trying to do Jesus' work here! They can be cured of this demon that has possessed them both!" And I saw it, guys, the perfect opportunity. I opened the door, and said "I am going to be doing Luis' work and throw water on you if you don't get out of here. I'm also going to be calling the cops. Leave. Now."
Cue the CBF and a scurry down the stairs. I'm baking some muffins today for neighbor lady, and inviting the guys to brunch this weekend. Those poor dudes.
Edit because sentence was weird. Also, no keys required to get inside building (mailboxes are inside, etc,) so didn't just let random person into our building, he was being polite in holding open an unlocked door for crazy lady.
UPDATE: I am not sure what happened to my post, but i just copied it and am placing it here!! Guys, gals, and everybody/thing in between--- grab a drink. Its gonna be good llama noms, you need something hefty to wash it down.
Ok. So I heard guy get home, and then I hear him leave with dog. There is nobody else home on our floor right now, due to vacancies and work schedules, so I am not worried about being overheard. I re-introduce myself, and I ask if he is aware that had an attempted visitor last night. Cue confused look, and then the saddest, most defeated look I have ever seen on a person, ever, as I describe said visitor as "70ish, gray Shirley temple haircut, annoyingly screechy voice, and a need to threaten cop intervention and a hosing for her to leave." He sighs, with a slight tremble. "Fuck. She found us again. Oops...sorry for the language." I laugh, say no apology necessary, and could we talk for a couple minutes? My little one is ok for me to stand outside my door for 10 minutes, and that's all this is going to take.
He just nods, and is quiet, and so I start talking (my best thing.) I apologize that we didn't send her packing sooner, but state that neighbor lady and I did indeed get her gone. And I for one, have no problem doing it again. He just nods, then shakes his head, "we are going to have to move. She will be so bad, we will get kicked out. Again." I meet his eyes, tell him, no he wont, and remind him to call the property manager. He isn't the first to have this problem, and I'm sure won't be the last, just let them know. I have no problem screaming over her crazy and calling the cops on her, and he has friends in us.
Then I invited them to Sunday brunch. You know, cuz us Jesus hating heathens have to stick together (said with a wink.) He finally smiled, and I told him I threatened to dump water on her, but I was a little afraid she might melt into the floor. That got a laugh. So he and his not yet husband are coming over for brunch, and I'm sure I will have stories!
Part 3: Anyway, bitch came back last night. Again, no one answered, no dog barking, etc.
Neighbor lady came out again, as did I. As the MIL is trying to find out who lives in the apartment ala "Oh, I am so sorry, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. Do you know if so-and-so or what's-his-name live here?" Neighbor lady yelled to GTFO, and slammed the door in her face. I acted like I had to think about it, while my husband, under the guise of taking more trash out, went downstairs. He already had looked up the non-emergency line for our police, and had it ready to go. He also went downstairs, took a video of her car in our parking lot, and a picture of her license plate.
So as I am stalling her, he comes back up, asks us to smile, and took a picture of her and I together, and then went back inside.
I had been letting her ramble, about how her son was possessed by some wicked demon, and this other man just used him, and that she has been dealing with this for 20 years, yada yada yada.
I took a deep breath, and told her that I thought she was despicable, I don't know who she is looking for, but she needs to stay away. We have everything we need at this point for the cops to intervene, and to have a good night. The face was amazing. Just...like she couldn't figure out why we weren't helping her. And I shut my door, locked it, and we emailed the pics to ourselves as well as the video. Husband gets off early today, so he is going to go next door, and explain what happened.
Our property manager is still gone until Monday or Tuesday, and we don't want to call the cops until we know what neighbor guys want.
We will be suggesting a cheap video camera, at least on their door, and explain that we will be sticking up for them, and that this isn't their fault. We will also be printing or sending them the stuff we got last night.
Part 4: Guys. GUYS. You won't believe this shit. This bitch. Our mail comes anywhere between 11 and 1, depending on packages. I am expecting something from Amazon, so I head down at 11 to see if it's there yet. My 3 yo lives mail, so I had to sneak it in if I could, because it's a Christmas gift.
Anyway. She was hanging around the mailboxes. She looks up, sees me on the stairs and books it to the car my hubby took a pic of last night, so now we know it's hers. I went outside, to see if the maillady was there, because I know exactly what she was doing. She wanted to see what names were in the mail, since the box only has a last name, and I'm guessing it isn't her son's.
I see the old bat, hunched down in the car seat behind the wheel. Like I can't see her, the stupid woman. I make that motion you know, 2 fingers at my eye to you thing, on Mobile so can't link, but moms know what I'm talking about: I can see you and I am watching you!
I see mail lady, and she comes in. We have talked before, I say the lady out there is trying to see the names on the mail, and could she just exercise a little caution. She laughs, says oh hell yes, I will be sure to let the sub know too. I say we are going to try to have this avoided next week, but we still have 3 days of delivery at least. She is cool with it.
I walk mail lady out the door, and wave and smile at MIL. She gets a furious look, and screeches out of the parking spot. Hubby gets home in a few hours, and he will be sure to give them an update. I'm going to recommend a PO box for a few months, just until she can't come around anymore. This is 3 days of crazy showing up, an RO shouldn't be out of the question.
Part 5:
She fucking called the cops on me. She doesn't know we have a kid at home, but she called and said I was on some kind of drug and chasing people out of the apartment building. Cops got here, and my 3yo was a little star struck. They sat down, I offered water or tea, they declined. Explained why they were there, and I started to laugh. I said other than mainlining coffee, I have no drugs. I asked if they could describe the person who reported me, they said no, it was anonymous and over the phone.
So I went ahead and filled them in on the whole debacle. I even showed them pics and the video, and explained the mail thing, eyebrows were raised but no comments except a long whistle.
I stated my husband would be home in a little while, and that we were going to talk to the neighbors then about what has been happening. I also suggested they call the mail people, because I had spoken to the carrier this morning.
Then I just had a feeling, you know? Where this feels like a setup, and that something would happen? So I asked an officer to accompany me out the door. We have 2 sets of stairs, one leading from one door, the front, and one from the back, I asked the one to go down the back, and walk to the front, and just stay right out of sight. I would bet dollars to doughnuts she is out there in the car. I asked the other to walk out the front with me, while my kiddo stayed inside the apartment in her room. Naptime saved my ass for once, because she never naps, but willingly went down. The one officer was already outside, watching from around the corner, when the other came down with me. He got in the car and started to drive away. As soon as he was out of sight, she drove her car right up to the parking spot he just vacated, got out, and started screaming at me, I don't know what she said, as all I could do was just laugh and laugh. You guys, she pushed me as she started spitting in my face because she was screaming so much!
And the cop came around the corner of the building, and arrested her. I am pressing charges for assault. We are having the cops come back tonight, so they can get acquainted with the neighbors. They wouldn't tell me specifics, but they did say she has a bench warrant out, and she also popped up on a missing person case, so I am assuming she managed to get away from her handlers. The car had to be towed, and I am having a piece of cake and a beer for my super hard work lol
Edit to add: thanks for the gold! And also, I'm not a superhero. I like to think everyone who has had a shitty experience with a parent or in-law would do the same. Just trust your gut. I wouldn't have confronted her like that f I didn't have other people around. Keep yourself safe, and don't go looking for trouble!
Part 6:
Ok, so we just had a 45 minute sit down with neighbor guys. I am going to call them NG (neighbor guy) and NG's Husband (NGH) for simplicity.
Ok. So we started with, sorry our kid is attacking your dog, do you have some food i can let me kid think is treats, because she wants to give your pet treats. And the noms began, at least for the dog. And my llama.
So we went through everything that happened, and they were quiet. They also served us a fantastic tea, maybe lavender in it? I must get some...anyway. When we showed them the picture, NG began to cry. I mean, quiet, but tears streaming. When I explained about the mail, NGH got pissed. Got up, was pacing, and pounding one fist into the other open palm. When I said she called the cops on me, they both were startled enough to start tripping over their words, apologies, attempts at explanations, etc. I waved it off. I grinned. I got to tell them she had been arrested. NG started crying again, this time loudly.
So. I explained I did not need any background, if they didnt want to. I told them the officers would be back at 7, which is a couple hours, and suggested they both be home for it. They have taken off today, tomorrow, and Saturday (for one of them) so they can be home while this all gets figured out. I explained about the cheap cameras, documenting, the works. I asked about an RO. I suggested we talk to the property manager, Tuesday, all 4 off us. I vowed that her actions would not be reflected on them, and that we have been here a whole year with nary a problem. This isnt on them, its on her.
NG begins the story, starting by saying that the MIL, isnt a MIL at all. She is his aunt. When he was born, his mother was 20, and she was 28, and had just found out that she was unable to have children. They dont know if it was the husband or her, but something was going on. She cracked. She walked into the nursery, which you could totally do back in the day, and walked out with him as a 2 day old newborn.
His mom and dad moved him repeatedly, and aunt would always find him. When he came out as gay, both his parents totally supported him. Aunt wrote him a letter, expressing her dismay that he would never father her any grandchildren. Clearly, the delusion is strong with this one. The last place they lived at was a very posh, very nice townhouse. They were in the process of renting to own, when aunt showed up. She apparently had been released from a(nother) mental facility, and somehow knew exactly where to find them. (I guessed a family member had told her, but NGH insists she has skills at getting info from all sorts of sources, so it was probably something else. He stated that both of their families despise this aunt, as she had pulled some other shady shit since the baby-napping incident. Its also why they havent gotten married yet; they want a completely drama-free event, and are waiting until she dies.) She rammed her car into their garage door, and broke all the windows on the lower floor, next door townhouse included. She turned a hose on and pushed it through a window, and let it flood.
Anyway. The HOA that actually owned the property evicted them, kept their deposit, and did some other shoddy stuff, so they are in litigation with them at the moment (still) because it took them 6 months to find a lawyer who would represent them against this HOA (im guessing other lawyers live there, so that was considered a conflict of interest. This isnt a large metropolitan area, and college town means crap renters rights to be honest.)
They have lived here for 2 years. Aunt has been in and out of mental facilities. Apparently she was released, and they were not notified. They had an RO at the townhouse, but forgot to update it when they moved, because they had been fighting the move and everything. They will have the officers update it. They are happy to talk to the property manager with us, and we are still doing brunch on Sunday. They were both very reluctant to talk about anything, and I am not going to push, so this will be my last update :) Hope all your llamas dont get tummyaches!!
Part 7:
Ok. So we,just finished our visit with the police. We don't have to do anything, she is being held,on all the chsrges, without our compalint, because the cops saw her. She stole her caretakers car, which was not reported until caretaker came back after a vacation, yesterday, I believe. Temp agency did not know about the car, as normal csretaker lives a block away and aunt only has the mental health person there part-time, a family member is supposed to be the rest of the time.
A cousin, actually, who accidentally left an address book lying around at some point, that's how aunt got the address. Said cousin has also not been checking up on aunt, apparently there is a meth use issue there.
Police left, after getting info for RO, advising us to call,if we see her. She will not be released, as she started threatening suicide and is now on watch in the local hospital. They will be sending her back to her previous mental healthcare facility, until lawyers figure it all out. Also advised me, in particular, to avoid her if I see her, as she made some pretty serious threats against me.
Ok, so here's where actual mama comes in. The cops left, they called NG mom, and told her what they were told. Mom was terrified for her 40+ year old son, and his partner. She asked to be out in speaker phone, she thanked me profusely, said that it was the first time any neighbors had ever stepped up. Other neighbor lady is getting a gift basket, we refused and just asked them to being the pastries on Sunday. Apparently aunt has "kidnapped" NG at least 12 times in his life, starting when he was 2 days old. She would disappear with him for a day or 2, then come back like nothing happened. It stopped once he was about 4 or 5, and able to say no, mean it, and run away from her.
Then mom dropped this bombshell: aunt did have a child, who was taken by the state. NG didn't know about this at all. Said cousin was being starved as an infant, because she refused to use formula, and breastfeeding wasn't enough. This happened when mom was 15 or so, and the birth was very botched, leading to being infertile. She begged me to protect my family, and hers, by calling the police whenever anything strange happened. So now we,are hoping to meet everyone for the 4th of July weekend or whatever.
And hopefully no,more updates!

Don't know who to vote for? Fear not, I've done some research so you don't have to. I ranked candidates based on my preferences with links to their platforms so you can make your final decision on your own.
Not making it easy for you to vote is like not telling you all the rules to the game. Ideally we would all know all the rules.
You might be interested in reading my platform on my site moisesschachtler.com
Here it is written in the third person:

Verbatim

Moises Schachtler for Mayor is a campaign that seeks to minimize future regret, maximize average expected happiness, trust, transparency, and accountability. It is ultimately a campaign that aims to radiate optimism in the face of uncertainty and a campaign that will leap forward at new experiences with energy and enthusiasm.
Together, we will create a capital city that is truly lively, upbeat, clean, vibrant, and full of health.

Platform: What We Can Achieve Together

Moises objectively ranked these items by their level of priority, by which ones affect our city the most. With your help, Moises will do a better job ranking them. If you can identify other issues the city needs to solve and learn from or you would rank these issues differently, don’t hesitate to let Moises know on any of his social media platforms if you want a quick reply or email him if you want a more thought out response for a slower reply (typically replies within 24 h to 2 weeks and appreciates simple yes/no/undecided inquiries).

1. Electoral Reform And Better Governance

Adopting The Preferable Alternative To First Past The Post Voting System

Imagine 3 candidates, A, B, and C. Now imagine candidate A gets 34% of the vote, B gets 33%, and C gets 33%. In this imagined scenario, Candidate A is elected, but the majority of voters preferred another candidate. As mayor, Moises will strongly advocate for the federal government to join the modern democracies on this earth who use The Alternative Voting System allowing their electorate to rank their candidates in order of most preferred to least preferred. Moises will strongly advocate for The Alternative Voting System to be nationally adopted until we find a better system. We are extremely deprived in our municipality due to our elections being decided by First Past The Post. Our incumbent, Mr. Watson voted against adopting ranked voting. This is unacceptable and Moises will not stand by it.
This voting system works so well that Moises intends on implementing it when voting on motions at city hall. As your mayor, Moises will have council rank at least two variations of each motion and any other previous or live motion related to it.

Eliminating Unlimited Terms of Office

Currently, our municipality and our government at large do not have limits on the number of terms one can serve. Public offices must have term limits of 2 like at the federal level in the US, or else we can get stuck in the past with very old ways of thinking and do not grow as fast as we wish we did. Without term limits, we remain open to a de facto dictatorship. As mayor, Moises will enact two 5-year term limits unless new facts suggest otherwise.

Ending Language Discrimination

About 17% of Canadians can communicate in two languages. Many jobs in Ottawa require you to communicate in both official languages including one of, if not the most important job in the country, Prime Minister. Why is that a bad thing you might ask?
Think about it this way. If Canada happened to have 3 official languages and it was a requirement for you to communicate in all 3 official languages to get the job, then less than 5% of you would be eligible to get these jobs, and if we happened to have 4 official languages, less than 1% of you would be eligible. How crazy is that?
Moises looks forward to working with our federal government to move a resolution ensuring that those seeking employment can work in the official language of their choice. This is especially important for elected positions where it is up to individual voters to decide what requirements the candidate must meet in order to earn their vote and ultimately get the position.

Balanced Representation And Increasing Voter Turnout

Ottawa has 23 wards, each with varying population sizes. Moises’ proposed change to this system is not any less subjective or arbitrary, but it’s significantly simpler to implement and would result in increased voter turnouts, decentralization of power, and increased levels of consensus.
There are many things that we can try. The first thing that Moises will propose is that we increase the number of voting council members from 23 to 100 and divide those seats up by population per ward every 5 years unless new facts suggest otherwise. Moises will propose that we decrease the number of wards from 23 to 16 evenly sized wards. Moises looks forward to working with Premier Ford in this regard.

Campaign Finance Reform

Moises believes that candidates should disclose of their campaign expenses live on their platforms. This will help those who are looking to run in future elections know how much money it takes to run a campaign. When elected, Moises will move a motion requiring candidates to disclose of their campaign expenses live on their platforms.

Helping Voters Make The Best Informed Decision By Compulsory Voting

International differences between turnout in elections vary by a country’s range in tendencies. Australia, Belgium, Luxembourg, Greece, Argentina, and Brazil implement different versions of compulsory voting. When elected, Moises intends to develop the best version of compulsory voting in the world.

2. Optimal Safety And Security

Eliminating Crime

The only way to truly be free of crime in Ottawa is to eradicate the pressures which cause individuals to commit crimes in the first place. As mayor, Moises will do whatever it takes to relieve Ottawa of these pressures.

Guaranteeing Public Safety And Security

Moises fundamentally believes that our long-term mission is best achieved when everyone is focused on creating and maintaining an environment where everyone can be and feel safe and secure. Moises will ensure that our law enforcement is up to date with the latest technologies that can help us work towards finding optimal patrolling and surveilling strategies. This will allow our families to have more security and peace of mind when our children go out and explore the physical and virtual world in today’s day and age. Moises knows that the best path forward is to think and execute based on long-term, forward-looking strategies. When elected, Moises intends to invest significantly in guaranteeing our safety and security moving forward in order to best achieve our long-term mission. Whatever we communally choose that mission to be.

Optimizing Taxes And Keeping Them Low

Our city has one of the lowest debt-per-capita of any city in Canada with a triple-A Moody’s rating, and while it was Moody’s Aaa ratings that partly caused our financial meltdown in 2008, one decade has passed and their stock is up, so Moises believes that their ratings have improved since then. That being said, Moises will ensure that our financial safety and security is maintained and improved in Ottawa. Moises commits to putting in work to find what the optimal tax rate should be at any given time. Moises won’t brag about keeping tax increases capped at 2%. Our yearly inflation rate is about 2%, there are many roads that need to be taken care of, and we can barely afford a higher education. Moises will work to find the optimal tax rate and then implement that tax rate, instead of reducing or increasing our tax rate for reasons other than to get to that magic tax rate. The magic tax rate being the tax rate that would on average make you indifferent about paying it.
Moises will ask each council member to submit two numbers, the minimum and the maximum tax rate that they believe will make residents of Ottawa indifferent about the tax rate and then average these numbers to get a tax rate that will be much closer to the optimal tax rate. Stating that tax rates should be capped at 2% is the statement of someone who is stereotypically set in their ways and someone who has given up on looking for what is truly best. Moises’ plan will be sure to lead us on the path to greater stability and accelerated growth, no question.

3. Eradicating Homelessness

Implementing A Guaranteed Basic Employment Program

The number of families sleeping in shelters has increased by 25% over the last years from 706 families in 2014 to 879 families in 2016 including 1,577 children under the age of 17! Moises will create and provide the homeless with the opportunity to find and practice meaningful work by connecting and equipping them with the proper tools and resources that they need in order to integrate back into a dignified lifestyle.
As your highest-ranking elected official in this city, Moises will do what it takes to get us to work together to create a jobs guarantee program so that those who were not given the opportunities that we neither deserved nor earned, can have their fair shot at generating an income and saving for their future. When given the honor to serve you, Moises will roll out his full vision of this program, which he is beyond confident will significantly outperform the programs that we have in place at the moment. Let’s drive the homeless rate down to 0. Moises knows that this isn’t just possible but it’s necessary for our collective growth as caring and understanding human beings.

A Path Towards Sustainable Housing Through Diversified Housing Strategies

Affordable housing is a phrase used too liberally today. Homeowners want prices to go up, landlords want to maximize their profits, and residents just want to minimize their expenses. What we need is a balanced approach to sustainable housing. When elected, Moises will get modern, high-quality capsule hotels and sleeping pods built in Ottawa. Moises will ensure that the housing gaps are filled by creating the opportunity for price ranges to get close to reaching $0 by encouraging diversified housing development in our city. The majority of people live in urban spaces, and for good reasons. There are more people around, more services to access, and more opportunities to socialize.
At a population density per square kilometer of 316, subject to four seasons, and being one of the most educated cities in the whole world, Ottawa, hovering at a population of about 1 million bright individuals, is a city of unlimited untapped potential. It is up to us to decide the type of city we want to become and the ways in which we want to approach the biggest issues facing our city. With 60% of voters choosing to not vote in our last elections in 2014, Ottawa has the room to grow. It has room to grow to the point where we can all come together as a community and decide what our long-term mission should be.
When elected, Moises will move a motion making it illegal in Ottawa to sleep on the streets or to beg for money. Like in Switzerland, this policy will take you to a high-quality emergency shelter where the proper tools and resources will be provided for you to help reintegrate you back into a dignified lifestyle and on a path towards finding meaningful work. Moises is beyond confident that the tools, resources, and programs he has in mind for this will not only match those of more advanced countries than ours but will outperform them as well.

4. Gun Legislation Reform and Suicide Prevention

Banning Firearms

Thought guns were already banned in Canada? Moises thought so as well until he was informed of Possession and Aquisition Licencing (PAL) and the Canadian Firearms Safety Course. Gun violence in Canada recently reached an all-time low which would help explain why some of us thought firearms were already banned, but this type of violence has been on the rise since then and Moises confidently predicts that we will not hit record lows until we ban these tools purposed to kill. In fact, as our population density inevitably increases, so will the rate of gun violence, unless we take action today! Moises will compel our federal government to adopt the premise that, “civilians must not possess firearms”. Countries who have already adopted this type of premise have the absolute lowest rate of gun violence.
Imagine any of your neighbors or roommates in Orleans, Innes, Barrhaven, Kanata North, West Carleton-March, Stittsville, Bay, College, Knoxdale-Merivale, Gloucester-Southgate, Beacon Hill-Cyrville, Rideau-Vanier, Rideau-Rockcliffe, Somerset, Kitchissippi, River, Capital, Alta Vista, Cumberland, Osgoode, Rideau-Gouldbourn, Gloucester-SouthNepean, or Kanata South being able to keep firearms with them. When Moises becomes mayor, you won’t have to. Moises will get firearms banned in this city by any means necessary.
Hunting and shooting sports will never go away and should never go away. Moises is confident that we can develop sensible policy, rules, and regulations for these thrilling activities that don’t involve individuals keeping firearms with them in our city. Moises looks forward to working with our federal government in this regard. Let’s beat the US to this!

5. Improved Accessibility Of Knowledge In Our Education Systems

Empowering Students, Youth, And Children To Shape Their Future Through Expanded Voting Rights

Our current education systems are a prime example of what being stuck in the past with old ways of thinking can get you. The primary objective and primary purpose of our education systems are to promote the advancement of learning and the dissemination of knowledge, so let’s actively work towards that end. We’re lucky here in Canada that our average student debt is lower than the average student debt in the US, but it is still significantly present as a barrier to the pursuit of knowledge. Why would we purposefully block members of our society from seeking and acquiring knowledge? Let’s lower the barrier to entry. In fact, let’s eliminate the barrier altogether. We can do it! Instead of having students pay for a higher education, Moises understands that we should consider it the most basic level of employment in Canada. That would be one smart country. Moises knows that we will be the smartest city on the planet once we are all fully connected to the internet regardless of where you are in the City of Ottawa. This is why when elected, Moises will invest aggressively in achieving complete high-speed internet connectivity across the entire City of Ottawa.
In a world where misinformation has been pervasive, we must take direct actions against it by investing aggressively in facilitating the acquisition of knowledge that is true. We need to do more. Moises looks forward to working closely with our Provincial government in finding new ways of combating misinformation.
One example of something else we could start doing is having classes and lectures recorded and made available to anyone anywhere. Just look at khanacademy.org. Teachers and professors would have more time to interact with students. Instead of recycling through the same lesson plans and lectures year after year, our educators could instead have more time to develop new lesson plans and new lectures for brand new courses! Students have a lot to gain from a wider course range selection as this would provide you as a student with more opportunities and a higher likelihood to stumble upon something that you find fascinating.
Moises believes that students should have much greater freedom when it comes to choosing what classes or courses they want to take. Moises thinks that students should be explicitly told that they are able to select about 85% of their courses entirely on their own and Moises thinks that students should be explicitly told that they are able to vote on what the other 15% of their courses should be prerequisites. Moises knows that students feel the chains of policy and ignorance, frustrated by masks and mischief, enslaved to standardized assessments, like a black hole absorbing everything, without ever allowing their light to escape. You can be 100% certain that Moises will stand up with all his might and fight with all of his heart, for all students, from pre-K on, Moises has got your back.

Facilitating The Acquisition Of Knowledge That Is True By Developing Our Libraries

Libraries return limitless amounts of value back in benefits not just to our city but our whole world. Knowledge that is true is the most valuable commodity on this earth. For this reason, when elected, Moises intends on doing what it takes to ensure that our library standards are second to none.

6. Women’s Rights And Increased Transparency

Addressing And Solving Gender-based Discrimination

All women deserve to be and feel safe and secure wherever they might be. New mothers should have adequate paid parental leave, access to quality childcare, and a wholesome environment in which they can care for, nurture, and raise their families. Moises strongly believes that women should have the right to choose, the right to fair pay, and especially the right to be and feel safe and secure from any form of discrimination or harassment.
Moises understands that women and girls have had enough with the boys club and are ready to break them up. Women are held back not only by overt sexism but by other subtler, more ambient forms of discrimination. As mayor, Moises will shine the brightest lights on these issues by proposing policies, rules, and regulations which will increase the level of transparency surrounding these problems.

Support For LGBTQIA+

We all walk around with delusions we aren’t even aware of, some with more than others. Some are stereotypically set in their ways unwilling to put themselves in the shoes of others and lack sympathy. Clearly, racism and blatant discrimination are still present today and threaten our peace, safety, and security. Moises believes that to achieve harmony between our diverse communities we must create a society that is free of misconceptions. When elected, Moises will be your strongest support in the fight against misbelief and fallacy, make no mistake about it.

7. Meaningfully Transforming Rideau Street and Wellington Street

Implementing Aesthetic Standards For Storefronts And Connecting Ottawa To The Internet Of Things

The street that our parliament is on defines the tone for how things will be carried out inside those doors. It’s difficult to express your full joy walking outside of the mall or The Bay on Rideau Street when there are less fortunate humans without a home, begging you for money. As mayor, Moises will invest significantly into the future of this road and the roads of city hall. First, by reducing the number of homeless living in Ottawa to 0 and then by getting truly free and open high-speed wifi set up along these streets. Moises will implement aesthetic standards for storefronts and encourage public art competitions to make our city as beautiful as it can be. Moises assures you that when you vote for him, you are voting for policy, rules, and regulations that will meaningfully transform the face of Ottawa.

Developing A True Cultural District In The ByWard Market

It’s time to strategize accordingly in order to minimize the use of cars in the ByWard Market. Moises envisions a ByWard Market that is free of cars and full of life. A market that buzzes with life from sunrise to sunset and from sunset to sunrise. A market that offers a much, much wider range of entertainment options. Moises is the only candidate with the vision, drive, passion, and commitment to make this a reality. You can be assured that Moises is not just the right person to realize this but the only person who can achieve this. Don’t let Moises’ youthfulness and optimism fool you, he is a blank slate, capable, willing, and able to push the boundaries of what is believed to be possible.
It has now become extremely rare to come across young fearless individuals who exhibit a strong eagerness to preserve and better the fundamental fabrics of society for the benefit of all. Ottawa has been gifted with one of those lads. Moises, a natural-born leader with a passion.

8. Revitalizing Vanier and Saving Its Soul Once And For All

Vanier needs extra special attention on its own. Moises walked there from Rideau Street today and twice he was told to be careful! This should not be a thing that happens in Ottawa. When Moises becomes mayor, this will not be a thing that happens in Ottawa any longer! Moises will invest significantly in transforming Vanier into one of the nicest wards of the City. This includes Montreal Road and St. Joseph Boulevard. Moises will get high-speed wifi set up everywhere. These streets are on the same road as our parliament, they reflect the type of parliament we have.

Opposing Mega Shelters and Supporting Dominant Strategies

Building shelters to accommodate those raised under unfortunate circumstances is a weak strategy at best. At the municipal level, we will only be able to slightly alleviate the pressures that come as a result of weak strategies at the Provincial and Federal levels. As your mayor, Moises will strongly oppose the development of these mega-shelters. Moises will support high-quality underground and above ground emergency shelters for the cases of natural disasters but will direct most of his efforts in getting to the root of our homelessness problem. Moises will get to the root and yank it until there are no traces of roots left.
Moises will advocate for stronger national borders and policies to match or better those of places like Switzerland, Hong Kong, and Japan.

9. Developing Transit, Transportation, and Parking Optimization Frameworks

Many of the headaches of our transit, transportation, and parking come from our city adopting policies that result in unpredictable wait times, less than ideal road designs, and extremely high occupancy rates.

Making OC Transpo Fare Free For Anyone

Moises will get us to reduce the use of vehicles by creating more bike-friendly lanes to make the city a much more pedestrian, and eco-friendly place to travel around. Moises will help our public transportation system transition its bus fleet towards fully electric powered vehicles and towards fare-free transportation. Public transportation in our city must be fare-free for the public and paid for by our taxes.
Moises assures you that he will introduce policies for digital adaptive parking meters who’s price rise with demand, to help pay for these things. That will help keep our taxes low. These are already implemented in cities like San Francisco. Parking is not as simple as having a resource, spots, and maximizing its utilization, occupancy. Parking is also a process. It’s one that consumes time, attention, and generates both pollution and congestion. The right policies address the whole problem.

Making The Best Of Light Rail Transit

It is no secret that LRT will shorten commuting times for some who will no longer have to rely solely on OC Transpo to get across the city. LRT will also reduce the number of vehicles on the road. Moises commits to making the most of light rail transit by ensuring that further development plans are strategically sound and very forward-looking. This project, with its momentum, will continue regardless of the composition of the council and will fundamentally shape the face of the city for centuries to come. Moises believes that plans of this magnitude should be coupled with other creative projects to ensure the maximum value is being derived. When elected, Moises will ensure that the proper ratio of green spaces, housing, roads, and bicycle paths be considered and implemented to guarantee that complete development remains the ultimate target.

10. Combating Obesity Through Sports And Healthy Competition

Building New, Modern, And Diverse Community Centers

It’s time for a change and time to get active! People’s physical, mental, and overall well-being depends on being actively engaged and being part of a welcoming social community. When elected, Moises plans to revitalize the city’s public athletic spaces like our basketball, tennis, and volleyball courts, baseball fields, and parks. Moises will move a motion directing the construction of new modern outdoor gyms, outdoor ball hockey rinks, arenas, soccer, baseball, rugby, lacrosse, paintball, cricket, and football fields giving everyone in Ottawa significantly more opportunities to engage in healthy activities. Moises will be sure that splash parks are built by these spaces so players of all ages can cool down after their games. This will make it considerably simpler for new communities to form, for new leaders to develop, for new meaningful friendships to form, and most importantly, for like-minded people to come together and make the most out of what the fresh new life in Ottawa has to offer.
Moises considers himself a bit of a gym monkey and even he finds it a little difficult to stay in shape. About 30% of the world is overweight. In Canada, about 40% of individuals are overweight Moises will get us to open fewer doughnut shops, fewer McDonald's and open more modern public athletic spaces to make a physically active lifestyle more accessible instead. Moises takes recreational space development very seriously and when given the honor to serve you in this regard, Moises will not waver. You can bet your bottom dollar on it.

Supporting Non-profits The Way To Minimizing Isolation And Maximizing Socialization

Moises believes that non-profits are the heartbeat of this city and the fabric that brings us all together. Clubs and organizations like these are where strong communities are formed and where lifelong relationships have the opportunity to begin to develop. What makes non-profits great are its members, because of this, Moises will support non-profits by maximizing their exposure in the city through strategic advertising so that interested individuals can more easily find the communities that suit them best.

11. Responsible Consumption, Waste Management, and Recycling

Ottawa is a beautiful place, so let’s take good care of it. For starters, we could get more waste and recycling bins with roofs set up around the city. Where there are benches, nearby there should be waste and recycling bins.

12. A Path Towards Sustainable Costs Of Living

It’s time to make a bold effort to reduce the stress families undergo to support themselves. Moises endorses inviting companies to build and remodel modern, energy efficient designs with the target to lower the average cost of living and facilitate an independent lifestyle, particularly for children and elders.

13. Creating Opportunities For Meaningful Entertainment

Let’s face it unless you’re a political junkie, Ottawa itself is a pretty dull place. We’ve got a couple of festivals, some races, and some markets, but not as many permanent and open forms of meaningful entertainment as we could have. We need to think more boldly and stack up with other more vibrant cities around the world. When elected, you can count on Moises to match the vibrant and lively cultural life of other cities. Moises will extend the possible operating hours of bars to 4:20 AM and will look to allow them to operate 24h on Fridays and Saturdays. You can be confident that Moises will set this city up to be buzzing with life.
*14. - 16. Are on the website because of Reddit's 4,000 word limit.

My Preliminary Preferences Ranked

Mayor

1. Moises Schachtler
2. Joey Drouin
3. Bruce McConville
4. Clive Doucet
5. Craig MacAulay
6. Jim Watson
7. Michael Pastien
8. Hamid Alakozai
9. Ahmed Bouragba
10. Bernard Couchman
11. Ryan Lythall
12. James T. Sheahan

Orleans – Ward 1

1. Catherine Kitts
2. Kevin Tetreault
3. Diego Elizondo
4. Jarrod Goldsmith
5. Matthew Luloff
6. Mireille Brownhill
7. Toby Bossert
8. Shannon Kramer
9. Guy Desroches
10. Don Yetman
11. Qamar Masood
12. Miranda Gray
13. Dina Epale
14. Rick Bedard
15. Louise Soyez
16. Geoffrey Nicholas Griplas
17. Doug Feltmate

Innes – Ward 2

1. Laura Dudas
2. Tammy Lynch
3. Donna Leith-Gudbranson
4. Francois Trepanier

Barrhaven – Ward 3

1. Atiq Qureshi
2. Jan Harder
3. Hadi Wess
4. Franklin Epape
5. Ahmad Malgarai

Kanata North – Ward 4

1. Jenna Sudds
2. Matt Muirhead
3. Lorne Neufeldt
4. David Gourlay
5. Philip Bloedow

West Carleton-March – Ward 5

1. Judi Varga-Toth
2. Eli El-Chantiry
3. James Parsons

Stittsville – Ward 6

1. Glen Gower
2. Shad Qadri

Bay – Ward 7

1. Erica Dath
2. Theresa Kavanagh
3. Don Dransfield
4. Marc Lugert
5. Trevor Robinson

College – Ward 8

1. Ryan Kennery
2. Emilie Coyle
3. Rick Chiarelli

Knoxdale-Mervale – Ward 9

1. Keith Egli
2. James Dean
3. Luigi Mangone
4. Warren Arshinoff
5. Weber

Gloucester-Southgate – Ward 10

1. Sam Soucy
2. Diane Deans
3. Alek Golijanin
4. Robert Swaita
5. Perry Saubourin

Beacon Hill-Cyrville – Ward 11

1. Michael Schurter
2. Tim Tierney

Rideau Vanier – Ward 12

1. Mathieu Fleury
2. Thierry Harris
3. Matt Lowe

Rideau Rockcliffe – Ward 13

1. Peter Heyck
2. Tobi Nussbaum

Somerset – Ward 14

1. Arthur David
2. Merdod Zopyrus
3. Jerry Kovacs
4. Catherine McKenny

Kitchissippi – Ward 15

1. Jeff Leiper
2. Daniel Stringer

River – Ward 16

1. Fabien Kalala Cimankinda
2. Hassib Reda
3. Riley Brockington
4. Kerri Keith

Capital – Ward 17

1. Shawn Menard
2. Anthony Carricato
3. Christine McAllister
4. David Chernushenko
5. Jide Afolabi

Alta Vista – Ward 18

1. Raylene Lang-Dion
2. Mike McHarg
3. Kevin Kit
4. Clinton Cowan
5. Jean Cloutier
6. John Redins

Cumberland – Ward 19

1. Stephen Blais
2. Cameron Rose Jette
3. Jensen Boire

Osgoode – Ward 20

1. George Darouze
2. Kim Sheldrick
3. Mark Scharfe
4. Jay Tysick

Rideau Gouldbourn – Ward 21

1. Scott Moffatt
2. David Brown

Gloucester-South Nepean – Ward 22

1. Carol Anne Meehan
2. Harpreet Singh
3. Michael Qaqish
4. Zaff Ansari
5. Irene Mei

Kanata South – Ward 23

1. Steve Anderson
2. Mike Brown
3. Allan Hubley
4. Doug Large

#FEELTHECHANGE
#OTTAWAVOTES

My Preliminary Preferences For Mayor of Toronto 2018

1. Saron Gebresellassi
2. Brian Graff
3. John Tory
4. Michael Nicula
5. Sarah Climenhaga
6. Jenniffer Keesmat
7. Faith Goldy
8. Thomas O’Neill
9. Knia Singh
10. James Sears
11. Mike Gallay
12. Guatam Nath
13. Joseph Pampena
14. Kris Langenfel
15. Chai Calevar

#TORONTOVOTESTOO

My Preliminary Preferences For Prime Minister 2019

1. Justin Trudeau
2. Jagmeet Singh
3. Elizabeth May
4. Maxime Bernier
5. Andrew Scheer
6. Mario Beaulieu

#CANADAVOTESTOO

THE SEASON'S DYING
HE SAW THE diner while it was yet a good distance away, set boxlike beside the highway upon the harsh open land. Thank God," he said. He spoke to himself, the car filled only with the cartons of stock for which there was no room in the trunk. At the beginning of each trip he had to pile the extra stock on the floor and on the back seat almost up to the windows, through which could be read the names of the various drugs the cartons held. He had been driving for four hours without pause. He was hungry. He had been hungry for the past hour but there had been no suitable place at which to eat, no town or city large enough. Now he could wait no longer. Til get something at the next joint I come to, the heck with what it looks like," he had promised himself. Then he had seen the diner. The land fled past, the rock-studded earth, the scrub flattened by wind, shriveled by violent sun. Way off in the distance, as ominous as mounting clouds, a line of mountains stood darkly along the horizon.
It took him a full five minutes to reach the diner after he first saw it. Adjacent to the diner stood a filling station, also boxlike, also with a quality transitory and inconsequential. Before the diner stood two cars, a new and an old, and a trailer truck. The truck was parked broadside to the sun, casting an
67
THE SEASON S DYING
immense shadow. He turned off the engine and got out of the car, already thinking of what he would eat. It was Thursday. Thursday at home his wife prepared dinners he particularly liked; trout, ham steak, fried chicken. He thought of that, of himself sitting at his own table with his family, of the sunlight across the table. Ahh, he thought.
But he ordered only a hamburger and coffee. That'll have to do, he thought. He thought of all the times he had gottten indigestion from meals eaten at roadside diners. He went to the washroom, past the strong odor of frying which blew hot and close from the small kitchen in back. He washed his hands and face, studying himself for a moment in the small mirror above the sink. He was a man in his early fifties, with the flaccid waistline of a sedentary man; he had the sallow urban com- plexion of a bookkeeper. Actually he had been a furrier. When he had become ill five years ago his doctor had advised him to live in Arizona. He lived now in Salt Lake City, still with the urban cast of the east, still a stranger among mountains, among scrub and desert.
His food was already at his place when he returned. Before he began to eat he removed his hat in a grave, formal gesture and placed it on the seat beside him. The diner was almost empty. It was now all over that way, now that the season was past and it was the second week in September. In a matter of weeks winter would fasten upon the land, the fierce snows and iron cold. He ate slowly, in the meantime glancing around at those who had been there before him. In one booth sat a well- dressed man and woman, and a man in a worn cloth jacket in another. The truckdriver sat at the counter, picking his teeth and reading a newspaper from over the clutter of his soiled dishes. The salesman noticed the boy last, seated alone in a
68
THE SEASON S DYING
corner booth, the table empty before him, staring out the window, his eyes squinted against the fierce, late afternoon sun.
The truckdriver was the first to leave. He paid his check and said to the boy on his way out, "Good Luck, kid." The boy made no acknowledgment, seated with his face against the window, staring out at the highway along which few cars came now though in summer, traffic ran in a long constant file like a procession of ants, up into the distant mountains. What sur- prised the salesman most about the boy was his age. He is just a kid, the salesman thought. He sat half-turned upon his stool, chewing slowly, his coffee in one hand. He thought, Imagine a kid like that being out here alone. Outside the truck's start- ing shattered the silence; its engine throbbed within the after- noon's sunny void and through the window the salesman saw its shadow lift from across the lot. Presently the throbbing began to diminish, then it died away.
By then the salesman had turned back to the counter, though he continued to think about the boy. He knew what it was that troubled him. By nature he was a domestic man, and his oldest son was about the same age as the boy. He sat straight upon the backless seat, almost formal in his suit and tie, finish- ing his meager and disappointing food. But he could put into words what he felt: A boy that age has no business out here by himself, he ought to be at home playing with friends or doing something around the house.
He was turned to the counter when the man and woman rose and left, and so he did not see the woman. There only blew by the strong, sweet gust of perfume when she passed, fading quickly upon the thin air. So he did not know at first hand that the woman was particularly attractive. Nor would he have cared. But no sooner had she left the diner than the counterman
69
THE SEASON S DYING
began to comment upon her, speaking in the slow, lewd tones heard among men in hotel lobbies, on street corners. When the counterman stopped talking all at once, the salesman looked up to see him watching beyond the window. The salesman turned and watched too: the new car in the lot had been a Chrysler and the salesman saw it back smoothly away from the diner and make a wide arc onto the highway, glinting and glaring the sunlight from its roof.
When the car was gone the counterman said, "Boy, you could really enjoy life with a babe like that, traveling around, stopping at all those fancy hotels. All it takes is a fat bankroll." He spoke to the man in the cloth jacket, who made a rejoinder. There was no longer in the air the small undercurrent of eating sounds, the tremor of silver upon dishware, upon silver. Across the sunny emptiness of late afternoon their voices came in clear, measured tones. They spoke generally of new cars and women and of making money. But in their voices was the in- veterate cynicism of men who feel they have not had their share of the emoluments of life.
"No sir. Putting in a day's work for a day's pay is no way to make money," the counterman said.
"You can say that again/'
"You spend your life working hard and not doing anything dishonest, and what've you got to show for it?"
"You mean you ain't got a new Chrysler back there in the shed?"
"Sure I have," the counterman said. "Hell, ain't honesty the best policy?"
The counterman was a small, lean man, with the knotted aspect of a tree root. He wore a soiled apron about his waist. In his eyes burned a fierce, convinced light, almost prophet-
70
THE SEASON S DYING
like. When the man in the cloth jacket rose and went to the cash register to pay his check, the counterman bent across the counter and spoke suddenly to him, his voice swift and pas- sionate with resentment. "I am forty-three years old," he said, "and I have never taken a cent that didn't belong to me or that I didn't have to work for. And all I have to show for it is a beatup Chewy and ninety dollars in the bank while there are those who ride around in Cadillacs and smoke dollar cigars. And I know how they do it too. There ain't a man worth money who hasn't done his share of shady dealing, I don't care what he does for a living. Lawyers, doctors, congressmen. All of them, the ones who talk polite and wear white shirts and get their pictures in the paper. So why the hell should a man worry about being honest and doing the right thing when all around there are those who are working every dirty trick under the sun and getting rich at it? You tell me."
The man in the cloth jacket could not, and when he left the counterman came to where the salesman sat, a residue of bit- terness in his face. In one hand he carried a rag which he used to wipe the counter. "It's dog eat dog today," he said abruptly, harshly. His voice was deep, as though it should have come from a man bigger than he. "Nobody gives a damn for nobody else."
He mentioned the boy in the corner booth as a case in point.
"You mean he's been here trying to get a lift since yesterday morning?" the salesman said.
"That's right," the counterman said. "And no dough. He ain't got a red cent." He began to remove the truckdriver's soiled dishes which still remained upon the counter, and placed them with a good deal of motion and noise in the small sink behind the counter.
71
THE SEASON S DYING
"What did he do during the night?" the salesman said.
The counterman looked at him. "What do you mean, what did he do?"
"I mean, where did he sleep? It gets awful cold, nights."
The counterman clattered some dishes. "How the hell do I know?" he said. He glared at the salesman.
"Didn't you have a place where you could put him up? Any place?" the salesman said.
"Put him up?" the counterman said. "You think I'm crazy? I don't know him from a hole in the wall."
For a moment the salesman looked at the other in astonish- ment. At the far end of the diner the boy sat motionless, bent into the window. He did not appear to hear what was being said. "You didn't let him stay out there all night, did you? Out in the cold?"
"I didn't let him anything," the counterman said harshly. "I didn't ask him out here. He didn't get any invitations from me."
"Yes. But you must have a shed he could have slept in. Or inside here."
The counterman ceased among the dishes. "What do you mean, inside here? I don't know who the hell he is or where he comes from. You think I'm looking to get my throat cut? I read the papers. I could get up the next morning and find the whole place gone. If I'm lucky enough to get up."
"But to let him spend the ."
"Listen here," the counterman said angrily. "I'm as sorry for him as you are but I don't see why the hell it's up to me to feed and bed him just because some of those bastards are too ."
"Of course. Feed/' the salesman said.
"Yeah. Feed," the counterman said. He came away from the
72
THE SEASON S DYING
sink, wiping his hands on his apron. "I let him have a sandwich and coffee yesterday, too."
"Yesterday?" the salesman said.
"What the hell do you expect?" the counterman said. "Free meals too? This ain't the Salvation Army."
For a moment the salesman did no more than sit and look at the other. Then he expelled his breath slowly and deeply. "When did the boy eat last?" he asked quietly.
"I let him have coffee and a doughnut this morning," the counterman said.
"And he hasn't eaten since?"
"How the hell should I know?" the counterman said. He ceased. "Say, who the hell do you think ?"
"I want a steak dinner for the boy," the salesman said. When the counterman didn't move he said, "Don't worry. I'm paying for it." Then he got off the stool and went to the boy.
The first thing the salesman remarked about the boy was that he appeared younger than he had thought. Why, he can't be more than sixteen, he said to himself upon getting his first close look at him. This was even younger than his son, and for a moment he thought of his son in such a situation, in such a place. This only increased his outrage at the counterman. The boy was dressed in a clean workshirt and clean, faded jeans. A thin cloth jacket was folded neatly over the seatback. Beside him, on the floor, was a cheap canvas suitcase, such as service- men used at one time. The suitcase alone was not immaculate; the handle and the leather edging were frayed, the canvas blotched.
The boy was from Nebraska.
"You're a long way from home," the salesman said.
"Yes sir," the boy said. He spoke in a polite, quiet voice, a
73
THE SEASON'S DYING
little nasal. He was slender, almost handsome in a weak, un- matured way. His eyes were a pale blue. All the while he spoke he glanced continually out at the highway, his eyes shifting from the salesman to the window and back again. "I'm hoping to be able to get to San Francisco."
"I know/' the salesman said. "I heard. You know someone there?"
"I've got a cousin lives there," die boy said.
"What do your parents say to your traveling around like this, all by yourself?" the salesman said.
The boy's glance shifted; it seemed to the salesman his eyes moved instantly, with the suddenness of small fish changing course. But his face didn't change. "They don't care/' he said quietly.
"Don't care?" the salesman said.
"Well, Ma's dead," the boy said talking into the window, not looking at the salesman, intent upon the highway, the land treeless and desolate stretching away to the horizon. "Pa's always drunk or he's in town. He don't care."
The salesman could think of nothing to say. The counterman brought the food and set it before the boy who glanced once at it and then up at the counterman and said, "But I ."
"It's all right," the salesman said, putting his hand lightly upon the boy's arm. "It's my treat. I've got a boy your age. I wouldn't want him to go hungry if he was alone."
The boy ate in silence. He ate without hurrying, steadily and methodically and with even something of decorum, while the salesman looked on in surprise. It's as if he hasn't even missed a meal, the salesman thought. But the boy finished everything, leaving nothing in his plate. When the boy paused between courses the salesman told him that he was going west for a
74
THE SEASON S DYING
hundred miles or so. "It's not very far, but at least you won't have to spend another night out here," he said.
When the boy finished they left. He paid both checks. The boy waited for him at the door, wearing his jacket now, the suitcase in one hand. Waiting at the cash register for his change, the salesman did not speak to the counterman, turning upon him a countenance remote and cold, thinking of what the other had said, of the boy spending the night outside. At that moment he would have believed of the counterman the most heinous of crimes. They left the diner, the boy a step behind, hurrying awkwardly to keep up while the suitcase bumped his legs. Sitting behind the wheel while the boy got into the car and arranged the suitcase on the floor before him, the salesman contemplated the diner, shaking his head and saying, "Some people," over and over. When the boy was settled at lat, he started the car and drove it on to the highway, into the west.
For a while he drove in silence. As he had spoken of the counterman, so might he have of the boy's father himself. He thought that, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the boy, the thin slumped figure within the neat clothing, the profile upon which sunlight glared; childlike and fixed directly ahead as if in contemplation of its own solitariness. Yes, he thought. He must be something too. To let a kid run around like that, all alone. He drove holding the wheel with both hands, steadying the car against a wind which had begun to blow out of the north. He drove slowly, warily. Even so the car continued to weave and sway. In the distance tall curtains of dust rose from among the scrub and trailed themselves over the land, spread- ing over the sky. From over the mountains the sun threw a deepening, orange light. He slowed the car even more, the
75
THE SEASON S DYING
taste of dust suddenly upon his tongue. He was afraid of having an accident. After five years of crossing desert and mountain, traveling from city to distant city, he still felt a vague distrust, fear even, of the land about him; that expanse beginning at the road's edge and extending as far as eye could see, upon which no lights shone, no human moved. In the car, in motion along the highway, he felt safe enough, as remote from the land as in an airplane. His great dread was that one day the car would break down, stranding him within that expanse, remote from town or habitation.
When the wind lessened at sunset, he felt relieved. The land had begun to rise toward the mountains which now loomed before them. They spoke little, though from time to time the salesman tried to draw the boy out, making tentative begin- nings with such subjects as his own boyhood, the west, the baseball pennant race. But the boy did not respond. He spoke in single words or not at all, sitting there looking neither right nor left, his suitcase between his legs; uncommunicative, be- mused. The highway now ran directly at the mountain before them, stark against the fading light, so that it seemed that if they continued on they must crash into it. But the salesman knew that some distance ahead the highway forked, a narrow road ascending abruptly while the broader lane turned and skirted the mountain's periphery for a distance, to rise ulti- mately in gentle spirals.
"It kind of worries you the first time," the salesman said. "It looks like it's a dead end."
The boy said nothing.
"The old highway goes straight up," the salesman said. "But no one uses it now, except if you're going hunting or camping up there. All the through traffic uses the new highway."
Silent, the boy looked straight ahead, though after a moment
76
THE SEASON S DYING
he bent and rummaged briefly in his suitcase. The salesman leaned forward and peered over the wheel out into the dying light, watching for the signpost which marked the fork. The boy must have been watching for it too because the instant it appeared he said, "Take the one on the right."
"No, that's the wrong one," the salesman said. "I told you. That's the one that goes straight up."
"That's right," the boy said, and his voice had a flat, per- emptory quality now which had not been there before. "That's the one I want you to take."
Surprised at the boy's presumption, the salesman turned and looked at the boy and saw, in turn, the boy looking intently at him. The boy sat half turned in his seat, his right hand ex- tended and balanced on his thigh, and the salesman saw in the wan evening light the glint of the curved surfaces of the revolver the boy held.
He was so astonished at what he saw, he took his hands from the wheel. At once the car began to slant across the highway into the oncoming lane, only to be snared back by the boy who without hesitation reached over and caught and held the wheel with his free hand. "Stop the car," he commanded.
The salesman did so, not taking his eyes from the boy. He still did not believe what was happening, even when, still holding the revolver on him, the boy reached down and heaved the suitcase out of his way, into the back seat atop the cartons of drugs which tumbled and tinkled under its weight; as if of all the things that he had conjectured could possibly happen to him, this was the last. "Don't look so surprised," the boy said in a hard, faintly scornful voice. "Didn't you ever see a gun before?"
The salesman had not, not at such close range and directed so at him. In his disbelief he had not yet begun to realize the
77
THE SEASON S DYING
threat implicit in the leveled gun, the boy. It was suddenly full dark. From out of the desert the wind blew upon the car. Above the mountains clusters of stars glittered and winked, in their pallid light the car motionless upon the highway, the highway motionless, stretching invisibly away. The salesman could barely see the boy now, though his presence was un- mistakable. In the darkness the salesman could hear only his own breathing.
"All right," the boy said. "Now drive. And take the road on the right."
The salesman did as he was told. Beyond the signpost the old highway began its immediate ascent, the car advancing against the sheer obliquity of the mountain face, its engine laboring. He drove for almost a full minute before he realized that his headlights were not turned on. It was as though the boy could see him as clearly as in daylight: when he reached toward the dash the boy said immediately, "Leave that. No lights."
"But /' he said. Then it was as if he could see the other.
His voice trailed off: at his side the boy made no sound, no move. He drove slowly, peering into the darkness he could not penetrate, along a road he couldn't see. It was when he became aware that they had seen no other cars for some time now that he realized the full ominousness of his situation. My God, we're all alone up here, he thought; and as if in reflex to his thinking he looked frantically into the rear view mirror and out at both sides of the road. But there were no lights, no sound except that of the wind and the car's laboring. All at once he became terrified.
"Listen," he said, turning to the boy. "I don't know what you want. I don't have much money and that stuff in back isn't
78
THE SEASON S DYING
worth anything to you. But you're welcome to it. You take all of it. The money, the car. Everything. Only let's go back. Let's go down to the highway." All the while he spoke his voice had been getting thinner, higher; desperate and abased with fear. Had he listened to it, he would not have recognized it as his own. When the boy made no reply he cried, "For God's sake, have a heart. I've got a wife and kids. I've got a boy your age."
"I know," the boy said quietly. But he did not move, the gun did not waver. "Now just keep your eyes on the road."
The car had slanted again into the other lane of the road, which the salesman could see more plainly now that the moon had risen. In the moonlight the road lay like a silver thread. Above wheeled the constellations which, on cloudless nights, he and his son would sometimes stroll beneath and name, each in its particular place. He thought of his son, his wife, of what they were doing at that very moment, oblivious of his peril. My God, he thought. My God, my God, my God. He was unaware that his breathing was now coming more rapidly, deeply, and when his voice began in the darkness, with the drawn out and syllableless quality of a moan, he had as little control over it as the boy. He sat forlorn as a child. "Please," he said, slumped upon the wheel and looking in no direction in particular, his face sweating, his eyes imploring and wide. "Please, please, please."
"Just take it easy," the boy said quietly. His voice was not unkind, almost gentle. "Take it easy and watch the road."
Gradually the salesman calmed. For ten minutes they rode in silence, during which time the salesman told himself over and over, Now take it easy. You're not going to do yourself any good by getting upset. Try thinking of something, he told himself. Think of something else. So he thought of how he
79
THE SEASON S DYING
would put up the shelves in the foyer closet which he had promised his wife, and this brought to mind his son who had offered to help and his son reminded him again of the boy. He thought of the boy, of how easily he had been taken in. He must be laughing up his sleeve all right, he thought. He began to get angry at himself. "Damn fool," he said. He still spoke to himself, but audibly now, so that he almost started at the sudden sound of his own voice. But he did not stop. "That's what I am. To fall for something like that. Talk about suckers and having something put over on you. I ought to have my head examined,"
He had straightened and he sat erect now, his hat awry upon his head, glaring past the windshield. The road was now plainly visible for some distance ahead. The moon had mounted higher into the sky; it shone upon the mountains, the road, the in- creasing tree and brake.
"What?" the boy said.
"Yes," the salesman said, becoming angrier the more he thought of it. "You. Talk about playing someone for a sucker. With that cock and bull story about how your old man's a drunk and your mother dead and you haven't a cent. I'll bet the reason you can't carry that suitcase is it's so full of dough from holding up suckers like me."
"That's not true," the boy said quietly.
"No? You mean it's only half full of dough? The other half's rings and watches and things?"
"It's no cock and bull story," the boy said in an even, dogged voice. "I'm no liar."
"No," the salesman said immediately, harshly. "You are every- thing but." Though an instant later he asked incredulously, "You mean to sit there and tell me it's the truth, about your father and mother?"
80
THE SEASON S DYING
"I said so, didn't I?" the boy said.
"Then what are you doing pulling a gun on people?" the salesman said.
"What's that got to with it?" the boy said.
The salesman could not say at once. Yet at the back of his mind was the belief it was indivisible from the injustice he felt was being perpetrated against him and as the car leveled over the crest toward which it had been laboring and from which it would then descend into the valley beyond, he saw clearly that he had precipitated by his own actions the disaster he was now attempting to circumvent. Sure, he thought. I had to be a big sport. I had to be sorry for him. I couldn't leave him there in the diner. Therefore when he spoke to the boy it was in a voice paradoxical with despair at what he had done, and hope in the boy's gratefulness for it. "That's a fine thing," he said. "Here I try to treat you decent and this is what I get for it."
Then he looked at the boy. And though the expression upon the boy's face altered, it was not one of gratitude. The sales- man could not tell what it was. Between them the revolver glinted in the moonlight; leveled, unmoving, as though inde- pendent of them both. The boy leaned over the revolver toward him. "Nobody told you to," he said quietly.
"Nobody ? Nobody ?" The salesman broke off, so
full of astonishment he could not speak. Whatever rejoinder he had expected, it had not been this. "You mean you'd have liked it better if I left you back there to freeze outside and get pneumonia and not have anything to eat?" he said. "That would have been better?"
"I didn't say that," the boy said.
"Then what did you say?" the salesman said, and he was almost shouting. They were upon the crest now and on either
81
THE SEASON S DYING
side the land fell gently away from the road, to loom ghost- like in crest beyond crest in the distance.
"Mister," the boy said. "If you want to play good Samaritan, that's your business. I didn't ask you."
"Didn't you ever hear of such a thing as kindness?" the sales- man cried, so worked up he forgot about the revolver and turned full upon the boy, glaring angrily. "Didn't you ever hear of helping someone out?"
The car had once more slanted into the oncoming lane but this time the boy did not tell him; neither of them was even aware of it. They were looking at each other. They sat but two feet apart yet it was as though they looked at one another from two separate worlds, planets; the broad, slack face of the sales- man too astonished to be even desperate, and the boy's almost calm, almost cold countenance. For a moment they were both silent, while about them the distant crests moved in slow, ghostly retrograde, though as the car tilted forward on the start of its slow descent into the valley the boy spoke in a voice as abrupt and flat as pistol shots. "Mister," he said. "You are a grown man and if you are fool enough to want to in- convenience yourself and deprive yourself for someone you haven't ever laid eyes on before, and with nothing in it for you, I ain't going to stop you." And before the salesman could make a rejoinder the boy said with no change at all in the tone or inflection of his voice: "Now just put on your lights and drive slow."
Out of sheer surprise the salesman obeyed immediately. For a moment he could not understand what had prompted the boy to change his mind about the lights. But when they came to an area beside the road which they could see in the pale glare of the headlights was level and fairly clear of scrub and
82
THE SEASON S DYING
brake, and the boy said quietly, "Now just take her off the road gentle like and stop her over there"; he knew at once.
He knew at once and as surely as if he had been told, that the boy was now going to kill him. I am dead, he thought. He began to breathe heavily, his heart thudding. And though his first impulse was to cry out and slump upon the wheel in despair, he continued to sit erect, looking straight ahead and guiding the car carefully off the road. The car jounced as they came over the shoulder and into the clearing; the headlights wavered, shooting off into the air, dwindling in the ultimate darkness beyond.
He contemplated his murder in disbelief, imagining his body inert and crumpled like a sack, thrown hugger-mugger into the scrub, upon the bare earth, to rot unseen beneath the stars, the fierce sun. He had always believed he would die in bed, in his own home, venerable, surrounded by his family; as though death were gentle as sleep. He succumbed to regret, and with the fury and despair born of it he thought how easily he could have circumvented this moment at the start. All I had to do he thought. All I had
He ceased. Because even then he knew he could not have turned his back upon the boy. Without putting it into words he was aware that had he that moment in the diner to live over again, he would not have acted otherwise. Had he put it into words he would have thought: Because there is a price you have to pay even for being good. As it was all he thought was, God, God, God. He breathed heavily, deeply, as though there were no longer air for his lungs, his blood. Yet even then he plotted one last desperate essay at escape, as he brought the car to a halt, the boxes in back shifting and bumping. So pre- 83
THE SEASON S DYING
occupied was he with plotting, he didn't hear the boy until he spoke a second time. "Cut the lights, damn it," the boy said.
He did not look at the boy. He bent toward the dash and fumbled for the switch, determined to spring upon the boy in that instant between light and dark, before sight is fully ad- justed to either. But in this too the boy seemed to have antic- ipated him, to have at the outset assessed his advantage and then fully used it, as he had at the very beginning back there at the diner. When the salesman turned upon him in the in- stant of full dark, moving with surprising quickness for a man of his age and bulk, the boy immediately fired three shots into him.
The gun made a terrible noise inside the close confines of the car. The salesman halted in mid-spring, in an attitude which might be construed as one of simple surprise, his hat tumbling slowly from him, the sudden harsh sound of his breathing filling the car. Yet even as his life spurted from him, out over the wheel and the seat and upon his clothing, he glared upon the boy, devoid of fear, full of terrible and scathing contempt.

J.M.J.: Hello everyone. Please read 100% of this post slowly and carefully. Don't read the first part, then skim, and then jump down to the comments! Read it through completely, and if you think I've got something to add to the discussion, please upvote so others can read. There is no TL;DR. Thanks!
A quick summary of what I'd like to say, and why I'm saying it: first, let me say that I'm not leaving Catholicism, I'm just leaving /catholicism, for a few straightforward reasons, which I will get to. Just for some background information, I've been a pretty ordinary Reddit user in the past few years, subscribing to various subreddits, but I've noticed that in recent months, I've narrowed my usage down to 2-3 subs, /catholicism among them. The reason for this is that Reddit as a whole is generally a waste of time, and by the very nature of upvoting and downvoting, the Reddit platform encourages what people want to hear, and very rarely what they need to hear. After a while, I've noticed this, and hence my Reddit usage has cut down, but I've also noticed that /Catholicism is no exception to this rule. Why does this matter? I will invoke Pope Francis, directly from his most recent encyclical, Laudato Si' (emphasis mine on last sentence):

47. Furthermore, when media and the digital world become omnipresent, their influence can stop people from learning how to live wisely, to think deeply and to love generously. In this context, the great sages of the past run the risk of going unheard amid the noise and distractions of an information overload. Efforts need to be made to help these media become sources of new cultural progress for humanity and not a threat to our deepest riches. True wisdom, as the fruit of self-examination, dialogue and generous encounter between persons, is not acquired by a mere accumulation of data which eventually leads to overload and confusion, a sort of mental pollution. Real relationships with others, with all the challenges they entail, now tend to be replaced by a type of internet communication which enables us to choose or eliminate relationships at whim, thus giving rise to a new type of contrived emotion which has more to do with devices and displays than with other people and with nature. Today’s media do enable us to communicate and to share our knowledge and affections. Yet at times they also shield us from direct contact with the pain, the fears and the joys of others and the complexity of their personal experiences. For this reason, we should be concerned that, alongside the exciting possibilities offered by these media, a deep and melancholic dissatisfaction with interpersonal relations, or a harmful sense of isolation, can also arise.

This "deep and melancholic dissatisfaction with interpersonal relations" is precisely what the people of this subreddit should be concerned about. We ought to pay attention to what's going on. People, especially younger people (such as myself), are tuned into the internet now more than ever, and that makes a difference if the moderators and other users of this sub want to play an active role in making sure this online community represents what it should. In fact, I would even say that "Catholicism" is misnomer for the functions and themes of this community: "Marxism", "capitalism", "nihilism", and "feminism" all describe schools of thought, and likewise there is plenty of dialogue on the internet to discuss them (e.g. /marxism, /capitalism, /nihilism, /feminism). Alongside them is /Catholicism, which does not discuss a school of thought as much as it does profess the teachings of and promote an exploration of the Roman Catholic Church to online passers-by. People make first impressions here. If you believe that the Roman Catholic Church is the mystical body of Christ, the City of God, the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic church, then it would be a grave and foolish mistake to think that the message this community sends is unimportant. Whether you like it or not, whether it is rational or irrational, this community as it is currently, represents the Roman Catholic Church to people unfamiliar with it, if not already biased against it.
You might be asking: are we facing any challenges in the future? Could any significant number of people already be biased against the Roman Catholic Church? Well, take note of some statistics. Just to give a clue, /Catholicism has a total number of subscribers less than one percent of /atheism. Less than one percent. Now....a half? "Eh...." some of us young people might think, "those other young folks on the World Wide Web will come around once they get past pop-philosophy". A third? "Rightfully so, we shouldn't put too much faith in what the subscriber count tells us"....and I would agree if it were as such. But less than one percent? This is nothing to sneeze at. You/we have work to do if you guys are interested in evangelism.
That said, let me take a moment and say that I'm not even Catholic; not yet at least. So it's important that I go back to my own personal story which can only be indicative on what is taking place on a far larger scale than we might be tempted to think. I have been interested in joining the Roman Catholic Church for roughly the past 10 months. During most of that time, I have been going to mass on a weekly basis, have received the sacrament of reconciliation (I was baptized as a non-Catholic years ago), and what's interesting is my main point of contact with the Catholic Community. Is it other parishioners? Not really. Is it the priest? To a larger extent, but still not really. It's Catholics on the internet, and namely, this subreddit.
So, I was just scrolling through here like I'll do a few times a week, and I noticed this post. The first sentence summed up my own sentiments exactly. As it is, the subreddit of /Catholicism often puts forward a message to opposition that is uncharitable, judgmental, and above all, proud. I could have bet dollars to doughnuts before clicking on this thread that the users who responded to the post would not have said anything along the lines of "what kind of message are we sending, and what can we do to improve it?". Far from it. Read the responses. As with any circlejerk that pops up here (or anywhere else on Reddit), much of this is pretty mediocre evangelization, and just plain awful organization in terms of real room for improvement: everyone bands together and confronts the person and makes him change his mind. This is the Reddit mentality: you're popular or you're out. Whatever is popular is true! Seriously, what the hell is with an *alleged* priest posting this with this title??? Not but a month or two ago, I read the complete Catholic's Guide to Why Drone Strikes are Charitable™, complete with an "I'm Thomas Aquinas and I approve this message". The conceit on this sub surprises me sometimes.
All right, so granted, this isn't /atheism, though this is not really a good defense, since the problem of the hivemind is more of a fault of Reddit itself (more to follow). But strikingly, people often note that the Pope said the wrong thing because some wing-nut Protestant will get the wrong idea about the new world order of the statue-worshipers or whatever, and yet I have never seen such a concern for the message this subreddit is sending.
So two things should be pointed out: first, we should all acknowledge our own personal lack of charity, lack of humility, and lack of gentleness on a day-to-day basis (I am by no means an exception). No one is perfect, and I'm not expecting anyone to be. Maybe my standards are higher than the average bear; which leads to No. 2. Second, and this is the crux of the problem, the platform of Reddit itself is most responsible for the flaws of /catholicism, not any personal fault of its users. I will go back to Pope Francis:

[These means of communication] also shield us from direct contact with the pain, the fears and the joys of others and the complexity of their personal experiences. For this reason, we should be concerned that, alongside the exciting possibilities offered by these media, a deep and melancholic dissatisfaction with interpersonal relations, or a harmful sense of isolation, can also arise.

Here's what I'm saying: I don't care if you agree or disagree. What concerns me is the lack of dialogue. I would urge the participants of this sub to seriously ask what harm and what good is being done by the community. I'm some guy who is converting (and probably will convert), and doesn't particularly enjoy spending my time on this sub that much, whether you have anything to say about it or not. I am a real person, I have a job and drive a car, and I don't really get much out of using this sub anymore, and yet more and more people will join on. If that's me, then what are the implications for the millions upon millions of atheists out there, who might be open to exploring a different worldview? How can you make a difference with the tools we all have at our disposal to evangelize and not turn people away? In the real world, people are respectful, and the sense of responsibility to the greater community is put right before our eyes, so we will patiently discern what this means for other people. Or as Pope Francis says, we have "direct contact" with their humanity. In front of a computer screen, the game has changed. Since we're looking at anonymous usernames instead of the real person, the majority of Catholics automatically click an up arrow that confirms whatever conceited idea is in the back of all our minds, if we aren't the ones to right it. This is not communion with others. It is not an act of communal act of prayer or thanksgiving to God, which is ultimately what this community should be. This new type of communication indirectly has led to sins against humility, and aggrandizes the capital sin of pride, which is why I am concerned.
Here's what I would propose as possible solutions:

1. Immediately and ultimately, in light of the Holy Father's concerns about the widely popular usage of mass internet communication in the 21st Century, the wide-reaching audience of /Catholicism, and its representation of the Holy Roman Catholic Church, my hope is simply to incite transparent, democratic conversation about the messages this community sends, the messages it doesn't send, the goals and aspirations of this community, whether they are being accomplished, and if not, how they can be met effectively.
   
2. I would like to see some sort of regular (but not too regular) transparent discussion instituted by the moderators to make sure that No. 1 is followed.
   
3. Insofar as Reddit is an inadequate, if not less-than-democratic means of communication, provides a built-in occasion of any manifestation of sin to its users when gone unchecked, encourages the promotion of hasty, impersonally expressed, and often poor opinions, and demeans, discourages, if not completely censors outright, minority opinions which are always consumed and understood with respect to the community approval (or disapproval) in the form of a positive or negative score, irrespective of the person saying it or his/her reasons for doing so, my third hope is to start a parallel mailing list alongside the Reddit community, which should be advertised prominently on the /catholicism front page as a sister community. This mailing list could be operated by a handful of people (I would be happy to volunteer) on a platform such as Google Groups. Messages are identified by the author with a personal name (whether it is a full name or just a first name), and are not voted on. In my experience, the original mailing list dating back to the early days of the internet is the most fun, and most personal way of communication, and solves many of the flaws of Reddit. Furthermore, we could also have sub-fora on the mailing list (for prayer requests for example) or other uses.
   

I will not expect everyone to agree with me 100%, but I think I've at least made at least a few good points that should be mentioned, and I at least think the ideas I've mentioned at the end are completely reasonable and should be pursued. I will copy the moderators with the link to this post.
Thank you.