Highly Illogical Behavior

by John Corey Whaley

  Solomon hoped maybe if they thought it would help him, his parents would say yes to the pool. But, sitting there at his computer, thinking about what he’d be expected to do, his breathing starts to pick up. He didn’t want to waste their money, sure, but most of all, he didn’t want to give them hope and then let them down. He turned away from the computer, and bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his head down as low as he could.

  This is how it always started. Everything would be fine and then a sudden sinking feeling would come over him, like his chest was going to cave in. He could feel his heart bumping up against his rib cage, wanting out, quickening with every beat and then radiating down his arms and up to his temples. It vibrated him, making everything he saw bounce around like the world was just photographs being flipped in front of him. And with everything around him muffled, but still noisy, all he could do was focus on breathing and close his eyes tight and count.

  Every number had an image attached to it. He saw himself standing at the back door, looking out at a brand-new pool, his parents beside him. And then he saw the looks of disappointment on their faces when they realized he was frozen in place and that it had all been for nothing.

  When he got to one hundred, he sat back up and closed his laptop. He needed a break. He couldn’t think about the pool anymore. He couldn’t think about what the pool meant, to him or to them. He couldn’t do anything but go to the garage, lie on the cold cement floor, and close his eyes again. The panic attacks drained him, like he’d just run a marathon, so it always took a little while to recover. So he lay there in the dark without them ever knowing he wasn’t okay. Because he’d learned a long time ago that the better they thought he was, the longer he could live this way.

  SIX

  LISA PRAYTOR

  One week after her first appointment, Lisa was back in Dr. Reed’s office and waiting to get her cavity filled. She’d written a letter, which was sealed in a light blue envelope and tucked into the front pocket of her hoodie. She’d start with that, and if it didn’t get her closer to Solomon, she’d find another way. She was almost certain she could convince Dr. Reed that her son needed a friend, but she was hoping the letter would get her in sooner.

  It had been a long day at school, with three tests and a Student Council meeting, but Lisa still managed to exude a level of energy that no one in the small dental office could match. This wasn’t her usual demeanor. She was more of a pragmatic know-it-all with control issues, but she was smart enough to know that you catch more flies with honey, so this cheery, inquisitive version of herself seemed like the best way to charm Dr. Reed.

  Once seated in the exam chair, she chitchatted with the dental hygienist, Cathy, who was setting out some tools. But her eyes kept wandering over to the family photo hanging on the wall by the window—the photograph of Solomon Reed the way he was when she last saw him, only not soaking wet and hyperventilating. She wondered what he looked like now, having witnessed firsthand what three years in the life of a teenage boy can do. Three years before, Clark had been a chubby eighth grader with acne problems and now look at him.

  “Well, Lisa, you ready to get that cavity filled?” Dr. Reed asked, walking in and taking a seat next to the exam chair.

  “You know it,” Lisa answered. “How’s life?”

  “Life’s good. Same as last week. Very busy.”

  She didn’t give Lisa much opportunity to speak after that, quickly asking her to open wide and getting started on the anesthetic. Valerie Reed was a beautiful woman. She had laugh lines around her eyes and mouth, but the kind that make you envious of whatever put them there. Lisa had expected a hardened, maybe bitter person to be this troubled boy’s mother, but Valerie Reed seemed as happy as could be.

  “What’s he like?” Lisa asked, her face half numb.

  “Who? Solomon? Gosh. He’s just Solomon.”

  “Oh. Well, what does he like to do?”

  “He likes to watch TV and read books. He’s just like his dad.”

  “So how come that’s the most recent picture I see around here?” she said.

  “I don’t know, Lisa. We don’t take too many pictures just sitting around the house. And I think maybe I lucked out with the one teenager on earth who doesn’t constantly take selfies.”

  “It’s about insecurity,” Lisa said. “I don’t get it, either. Maybe Solomon and I are just mature for our ages?”

  “He has his moments.”

  “Can you give this to him?” Lisa pulled out the letter. “I know maybe it’s weird. But, I just thought he might like it. You can even read it first if you want.”

  Dr. Reed looked down at the envelope and smirked a little, like she wasn’t surprised at all that Lisa had written it.

  “No, no. I don’t need to do that. I’ll give it to him. I can’t promise you’ll ever hear back, but I can promise he’ll get it.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  As Dr. Reed filled the cavity in her lower right second bicuspid, Lisa closed her eyes and let her mind wander with the sound of the drill drowning out all the noise of the dental office. She thought about lonely Solomon Reed, sitting in a house all by himself with no clue that she was about to change his life. And even though there were a couple of fingers and a suction tube in her mouth, Lisa managed a smile.

  When she got home, Clark was waiting in her driveway with a milk shake in his hand. He did things like that all the time, and it still surprised her.

  “I can’t feel half my face,” she said, once out of her car.

  “Can you feel this?” He stepped forward and poked her cheek.

  “Nope.”

  “Weird. I’ve never had a cavity, so, you know, I wouldn’t really know.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Gimme my milk shake.”

  “Oh, this milk shake? No, this is my milk shake.”

  He took a sip and then held it high above his head where she couldn’t reach. He was tall anyway, about 6’1”, and with his long, apish arms in the air, Lisa was screwed. So she went for his biggest weakness and started for his underarms. Being tickled made him physically ill, something left over from having grown up with all those older brothers. He practically threw the milk shake at her to make her stop.

  “Mean,” he said. “You’re just stone-cold mean.”

  “Can we go inside now? I think the lidocaine’s making me woozy.”

  In her room, Lisa finished her homework while Clark flipped through a magazine and kept her company. He had homework, too, but he was more the kind of guy to say he’d wake up early the next morning and do it and then botch the whole plan and get the answers from one of his classmates instead. He was smart, but not as smart as he was handsome. And not near as smart as he was athletic. Water polo was his life, mostly, but the season was over now so he spent most of his free time with Lisa—so much of it that she was starting to wonder where the hell all of his friends were.

  “Where the hell are all of your friends?” she asked, slurring a little.

  “The guys from the team? I don’t know. Probably with their girlfriends.”

  “It just seems like you haven’t hung out with them lately.”

  “I’m sure I haven’t missed much,” he said. “They pretty much drink beer and talk about sex. It’s exactly what you’d imagine.”

  So, Clark was bored with his friends. That would make a lot of sense, seeing as most of them were fairly boring. Lisa was more of a one-close-friend type of person and had always had trouble fitting in with Clark’s teammates and their girlfriends. But this was her first time realizing that maybe Clark felt the same way.

  “How’s the college essay?” he asked.

  “Slow,” she said.

  “Are you still going to write about your cousin?”

  Lisa needed to tell him about Solomon. She knew she could keep lying, but she’d already cleared her spri
ng and summer to spend time helping Solomon get better, to make sure she’d actually have something to write about, something groundbreaking enough to get her that scholarship. Plus, Clark trusted Lisa and even if he did think her plan was unethical, he’d never try to talk her out of it. Or, at least, he’d never succeed at it.

  “Hey, do you remember me telling you about that kid who jumped in the fountain in eighth grade?” she asked.

  “I do,” he answered. “What about him?”

  “I found him.”

  “I didn’t know you were looking for him.”

  “I wasn’t. It’s the weirdest thing. My new dentist is his mom. I didn’t piece it together until I saw a picture of him in her office. Crazy, right?”

  “Totally. Where’s he been?”

  “Home.”

  “Oh. That’s kind of boring. I was hoping for something more dramatic.”

  “He’s only been home,” she says. “Nowhere else.”

  “Since eighth grade?”

  “Yep.”

  “Weird. What do you think’s wrong with him?”

  “Well, lots of things, probably. You don’t become homebound for no reason. His mom said he had panic attacks, like at the fountain, so I’m guessing they kept getting worse and worse. So, preliminarily, I’d say he’s got severe anxiety disorder that’s contributed to a very persistent case of agoraphobia. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got some obsessive compulsive tendencies as well.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “I’m going to ask you something and I want you to promise to be completely honest with me. Okay?”

  “Okay. . . .”

  “I want to meet Solomon Reed. I don’t know why I need to do it, but I do. And I think maybe I can make that happen.”

  “Okay.” He laughed. “This is . . . unexpected.”

  “It’s just . . . you know . . . I’ve thought about him so much and wondered if he was okay and maybe it sounds crazy, but I just need to see for myself.”

  “Lisa, you didn’t even know the guy.”

  “I know. But what if I can help him, Clark? This is what I want to do with my life and I feel like passing up an opportunity like this is . . .”

  “I’m not stupid,” he interrupted. “This is for the essay, right?”

  She didn’t say anything, but she nodded her head with her eyes lowered, afraid to see the disapproval on his face.

  “How long have you been planning this?” he asked.

  “Weeks,” she confessed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make it a big deal if it wasn’t going to come to anything. But his mom’s giving him a letter I wrote. Hopefully he’ll respond.”

  “A letter? You wrote him a letter? Who are you, Lisa? My God.”

  “It’s important to me, Clark. I can help him.”

  “You never wrote me a letter.”

  “Oh come on. You’re jealous? Lock yourself away inside a house for three years and I’ll write one up.”

  “That’s not funny,” he said.

  “It’s a little funny. I know it sounds awful, but I can help him. I need him and he needs me. It’s not just about the scholarship. But, say the word and I’ll stop.”

  He wasn’t going to stop Lisa from doing anything and she knew it. And she could hardly expect him to be jealous over Solomon, especially after she’d been so up front about it. She knew it was weird that she’d reached out to him the way she had. But she also knew that there were a lot of people in the world who regretted never doing the things they felt were right because they were afraid of seeming strange or crazy. Lisa wouldn’t settle for that sort of mediocre existence, one bound by invisible social cues. And she had a good feeling that someone like Solomon Reed would appreciate that.

  SEVEN

  SOLOMON REED

  Solomon had never gotten a letter before. Ever. It was 2015, after all, and even if he had been more social, or perhaps not been a shut-in for almost a fifth of his life, he still could’ve probably gone on forever without getting one. So, when his mom handed him the blue envelope with his name scribbled on the front, he looked at her like she’d just handed him a rotary telephone or something.

  “What do I do with this?” he asked.

  “Read it, dummy,” she said, rolling her eyes as she walked away.

  Solomon ripped it open at one end, slid the letter out, and unfolded it, looking around the kitchen like maybe he was being pranked or something.

  It read:

  Dear Solomon,

  You don’t know me and I doubt you’ve ever even heard of me, but my name is Lisa Praytor and I want to be your friend. I know that sounds ridiculous. Of course it does! But I also know that you can’t go through life never pursuing what it is you really want, and, for whatever reason, at this time in my life, right now, I want to be your friend. I saw you that last day you went to school. I saw you and I was so scared for you. And, if you’re still even reading this, I want you to know that I’ve spent years trying to figure out just why that boy jumped into the fountain that morning at Upland Junior High. Then, by some act of God herself, my new dentist turns out to be your MOTHER. This universe sends us signs sometimes and whatever you believe or don’t believe, this means something. I know your situation is different from mine; I know you have chosen to live a certain way and I respect that. So, I hope you’ll at least give some thought into having a friend out here. I could sure use one and I bet, at the very least, you could use a little conversation from someone who doesn’t know what the word “escrow” means.

  Sincerely,

  Lisa Praytor

  909-555-8010

  “I don’t need a friend,” he said aloud to himself.

  “Are you hearing voices, Sol?” his mom teased from the other room.

  Solomon walked out with the letter in his hand and stared right at her. She shook her head a little, and he could tell she was trying to keep her smile as best she could.

  “It’ll turn out just like Grant,” he said. “Why bother?”

  “Honey, Grant was a jerk.”

  “He was just normal,” Solomon defended. “I don’t know how to be around people like that.”

  “Are you saying I’m weird? Your dad’s weird?”

  “I’m serious, Mom,” he said. “What am I supposed to say to her? What’ll we talk about? I don’t go to school. I don’t go anywhere.”

  “Your problem is that you’ve never had a real friend, Sol,” she said. “Give it a try, why don’t you?”

  “No way,” he said, setting the letter down and walking back to his bedroom.

  An hour later, Solomon was still lying on his floor staring up at the ceiling. Their house was built in the seventies, so it had that weird gold glitter mixed in the white popcorn plaster on its ceilings. Solomon liked to count the little shiny flecks, but never made it past a hundred before his eyes starting going blurry and they all seemed to blink and glow like they were real stars, like the roof had been ripped off his house and he could see them again.

  He didn’t really know if he wanted a friend. Some days were lonely, sure. Always quiet, but that was something he’d gotten used to a long time ago. And, like his mom said, he hadn’t had a real friend in a long time, so what did he know about being one? Jack squat. That’s what. He didn’t fit in when he was in school, so how would he feel now, around someone whose life is out there where he’s nothing but an alien? What he feared most was that all this hiding had made it impossible for him to ever be found again.

  On top of that, Solomon was a little weirded out by the whole thing. He’d basically gotten a letter from his stalker and his mom was acting like they should be throwing a party over it. He didn’t know if he could trust her on matters like this—when she could just be trying to push him closer to leaving the house again. His dad, though, always knew what to say.

 
“Dad,” Solomon said, walking into the living room.

  “There he is. Han Solo himself. Rebel without a cause.”

  “Mom tell you about the letter?”

  “She read it to me.”

  “Sounds about right,” Solomon said.

  “Weird, huh?”

  “So weird.”

  Solomon took a seat on the couch and picked the letter up off the coffee table. He read back over the first few lines before looking up at his dad with worry in his eyes.

  “It’s a quandary,” his dad said. “On the one hand, she seems pretty genuine. On the other hand . . .”

  “You shouldn’t trust people who send letters to complete strangers asking to be their friends?”

  “Exactly. But, your mom says you’ve got nothing to lose.”

  “Yeah, but, that’s not true. I have a lot to lose. I like it here, Dad. The way it is. I get that I’m the only one who sees it that way, but can you guys at least try to understand that bringing someone else in here—changing everything—that it could make me go crazy again.”

  “You were never crazy. Don’t say that.”

  Solomon knew very well that saying “crazy” was a sure way to make his dad get serious. Jason could insert a bad punch line into any conversation. Most of the time, Solomon loved this about his dad, but not when he was desperate for help.

  “Tell me what to do, Dad. Please.”

  “Sleep on it,” he said.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to.”

  “I don’t know then, Sol. What would the robot do?”

  “He’s an android, but you’re a genius, Dad,” he said, getting up from his seat.

  “You thought you got it from your mom?”

  That android wasn’t real, of course, but was the character Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation (or, STTNG). Solomon had seen every good episode of STTNG at least nine times, and every not-so-good episode three times or more, depending on how not-so-good it was. So he had a few ideas about where he could find some answers. And, yes, he got answers to a lot of life’s questions from the show. When you only have your parents and your grandma to talk to, you figure out ways to learn about the world—and Solomon, for reasons that made terrific sense to him, had chosen a nineties space drama to forever be his compass.