Spring Fevers

by Matt Sinclair

  So Monday after school, Peter headed to the Idea Exchange. "There's nothing new under the sun," read the logo on the door. The little shop seemed to take this as a design concept. It was a mess packed inside the brick walls of a two story boxcar apartment. With the nooks and crannies, shelves, drawers, and cabinets all full of junk of every description, Peter could spend a lifetime of looking in here and never find the same thing twice. There seemed to be no order to the way things were stored, but George, the old man who ran the place, could always get his hands on what he wanted. That is, what George wanted.

  That was the problem. Peter had been coming to the store for years, and the old man never gave him what he was looking for. When Peter was very small, he came in to buy an idea to help keep his friends from using his toys all the time. Little Peter wanted "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." He figured a black eye and a loose tooth would teach his friends a lesson. But the old guy would only sell him, "When you share you own the world." Peter was mad for a week, until one of his friends got a new kite and let him borrow it. That's the way it had always been with him and George. Over time, Peter had come to trust him.

  When Peter opened the door on this Monday, the familiar bell rang throughout the shop. It wasn't one of those tinkling bells that hang over doors. This one had a sharp, singular tone and seemed to come more from inside your head than the store.

  The proprietor was at his desk, as usual, hunched over some books and papers. A bare light bulb hanging over his head gave the illusion that he was a cartoon character that had just had a bright idea. Peter always thought George was like Mr. Scrooge might have been after his Christmas Eve nightmare, and seeing him scribbling and happily mumbling to himself only reinforced the image.

  "To the Kilimanjaro Corporation," he said as he addressed a package, "Sherman Oaks, California." Then, without looking up, he asked, "What can I do for you, Peter?"

  "What's the package?"

  "It's a six pack of new ideas for a writer in California. He's written so much he ran out of his own years ago, so he orders them from me."

  "I thought you said there were no new ideas."

  "There aren't. That's why God invented marketing." He set the package aside to give the boy is full attention. "What can I do for you?"

  "Well … I thought … I thought, maybe … I'm uh, sort of looking for—"

  "Help with a girl?"

  "Yeah." Peter lost most of the bravado he had come in with, and was presently studying the condition of his shoes.

  The old man smiled. "I think I've got just the thing for you."

  Peter followed him to a section of the store the boy never noticed before. It seemed to be a combination of the children's section of the library and the editorial cartoons in the paper, a strange mix of childishness created by adults, and the adult world interpreted by the honesty of a child's mind.

  Out of the mess, the man pulled out a bound copy of THE ADVENTURES OF CHARLIE BROWN AND THE LITTLE RED-HAIRED GIRL. "This might be a little young for you," he said, "but look it over while I see to my other customer."

  Peter hadn't heard the bell ring, but when he looked to the counter, a man waited without much patience. He was obviously someone important because he had that "don't you recognize me, I'm someone important" look on his face.

  Peter flipped through the Peanuts cartoons, but his attention kept floating to the conversation up front.

  "Afternoon," said the store owner.

  "God bless," said the stranger.

  "What can I do for you today?"

  "Do you have an order for the Reverend Dowell?"

  The old man fumbled through the piles on his desk. "Dawell? Dowul? Douwal?"

  "It's Dowell."

  "Yeah, that. Let me see. Can't seem to find things around here when I need them."

  Peter thought that was strange. The old man was never at a loss for an order, or a name.

  "What sort of order was it?"

  "A hundred and fifty thousand copies of the Ten Commandments, and the same number of 'There are only two things in the world: Right and Wrong.'"

  At the mention of the second part of the order, the shopkeeper began to show his age. His eyes wrinkled with a wince of sadness.

  "You're one of those TV preachers, aren't you?"

  "Is there something wrong with that?"

  "I guess it's either all right or all wrong according to your idea. Can't just be something wrong."

  "There is nothing wrong with the word of God."

  "I see." George considered this for a second. Peter watched as the grizzly old salesman worked up the energy for a pitch that would put the best flimflammer to shame. "Reverend," he said like he was about to show him a used car, "I can't seem to put my hands on your order just yet, so while my brain is working on that, let me show you this little ditty. You'll like this, I think."

  With great care, he pulled out an old, yellow parchment from his desk. On it was a hand-drawn circle that had been bisected with an S-shape. One side of the circle was almost completely filled in with scribbles—only a small space was left untouched. The other side was the opposite, most of it was left empty, except for a small dot in the middle.

  "Look at this," said the man with a touch of mystery in his voice. "It's an antique from the Orient."

  "I'm sorry. I'm not interested in pagan Easternisms. I would just like my order, please."

  The old man tapped at his head in an attempt to look absent-minded. "I'm working on that, but in the meantime take a closer look at this. Good craftsmanship on this idea. Holistic structure."

  The reverend was hesitant to inspect the parchment.

  "What's it going to do, bite you? All right, you don't have to look. I can just explain it to you."

  "You're not going to even look for my order until you pitch this nonsense, are you?"

  "That's a possibility, but I tell you what …" He put the Yin and Yang symbol aside and pointed up to the light bulb over his head. "You see that?"

  "It's a light bulb, what about it?"

  "What does it make?"

  The preacher sighed, sifted his weight to show his impatience and said, "The light bulb makes light."

  He pointed to his customer's shadow on the floor. "But it also makes darkness." He then took up the ancient icon again. "Can't have one without the other."

  Not only did the reverend not understand, he also didn't care.

  "You get it?" said George like he was explaining a bad joke. "The light makes the shadow. Without the light, there's no shadow."

  "Are you done?"

  "Yeah, I'm done." With one finger he slid the parchment across the desk toward the reverend. "So what do you say?"

  "I say that I would like you to stop pushing pagan Buddhisms that aren't worth the price of tea in China, and find my order."

  "For free, I'll give you this idea." No response. "With your order, I'll throw this in for free. That's my final offer."

  "Just my order, please."

  The old man got up from his stool and removed a box he was sitting on. "Here."

  "Thank you. How much will this cost me?"

  "A vow of poverty?"

  "There's nothing in the scripture that says one should not be paid an honest wage for an honest job, and what can be more honest than selling the word of God?"

  "Giving it away for free, I think."

  The reverend glared. "How much do you want for these ideas?"

  "What I want, you can't pay. Take them. Out of your darkness some light must come."

  "God bless a man who knows how to give," said the reverend as he beat a hasty retreat.

  "If that's the only people God blesses," the shopkeeper mumbled to himself, "then I'll see you in Hell."

  The conversation had tired the old man, but he turned to Peter with as much energy as he could muster, "So. What do you think of Charlie Brown's attempts to impress the little redheaded girl?"

  "Well," Peter had to improvise since he'd spent most
of the time eavesdropping. "He doesn't seem to ever get around to talking with her."

  "Very good. You just got yourself a free idea."

  "What idea? I already can't seem to get around to talking with her."

  "In that, there is an idea. You just have to unwrap it."

  Peter saw the gleam in George's eye that had faded during his last transaction return to its usual place. George popped up from his desk and retrieved a thick, worn book from a nearby shelf. It looked hundreds of years old—almost as old as the shopkeeper himself, who opened it and pointed to a line of text. "Here," he said to Peter, "read this."

  "'For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.' Newton. I know that one. You showed it to me years ago when I first came in here."

  "Good. Now, here's the idea you're looking for: 'The Laws of Nature very often apply to the Laws of Man' …" then as an afterthought, "… and women," and then in a babbling mumble, "I should say 'people,' I suppose, but it just doesn't meter right. Call me old-fashioned, I guess, I don't know."

  "That's it? I'm trying to get a date with the girl of my dreams and you show me Newton? What am I supposed to do with this?"

  The man pointed to the book. "Every action …"

  The boy didn't catch on, but he knew from experience that the shopkeeper never spelled out the complete idea for anyone. He always said that figuring out the easy parts was the hardest thing to do, so he left that up to the customer.

  A moment passed while Peter looked around the shop. He had come here every now and then, about twice a year, until he turned thirteen or so. Lately, he'd been coming in more often because there seemed to be new ideas each day. George said they had always been there, but that Peter had never noticed them before. "It's like learning a new word," he said. "First you've never heard it. Once you know it, you hear it all the time."

  This silence was a new thing between customer and salesman. Peter had known the man all his life, but not enough to be so quiet around him. Strangers and acquaintances talk—good friends don't have to.

  A new question derailed Peter's train of thought. "Can I ask you something?"

  "That's what keeps me in business."

  "Why did you give that 'Right and Wrong' idea to the reverend? Isn't that one of those … what are they, again?"

  "Philosophical absolutes?"

  "Yeah. You told me they are dangerous."

  "Some of them are," said the old man with a smile at the subtle irony.

  "So why did you did you give it to him if you think it might be dangerous?"

  The man thought for a second. The boy had asked a harder question than he knew. Finally, "Come with me."

  The boy followed him down a narrow hall and stopped in front of two doorways across from each other. Each open passage led to a space about the size of a small bedroom.

  The man pointed to one on his right. "You see this?"

  Peter looked inside. The place was filled with books, paintings, thoughts written down on bar napkins, little statues, CDs, laptop computers, silk screen T-shirts, buttons with slogans, etc. "Yeah, I see it."

  "All of this stuff says in its own way that you shouldn't judge your fellow man. You should respect other cultures, other people, and try not to get in the way of their lives. It's a good room." He then pointed across the hall. "You see that?"

  Peter looked. It was a similar hodgepodge of stuff. "Yeah, so?"

  "That is full of thoughts that warn of the dangers of indifference, of allowing power-hungry tyrants and evil influences to thrive in a free society. It's a good room, too. So. Do you see the problem?"

  "How do you take actions against tyranny," Peter asked, indicating the second room, "without first passing judgment?"

  "How do you limit hate-speech, without ending free speech?"

  "And which would be worse?"

  "You're a very smart boy," said George. "I'll let you in on a question I've been wrestling with." From his back pocket, he pulled a small leather-bound journal. The pages were full of doodles, quotes, and math equations. He opened it with a string bookmark and read, "'How can a tolerant society tolerate intolerance?'" He closed the little book and tapped it a couple of times against the back of his hand. "I've been struggling with that paradox a lot lately. I tell you, you answer that question, I'll exchange it for all the ideas in my shop."

  "Yeah, right," was the boy's first thought, but he didn't voice it. Actually, he'd lost interest in most of this philosophy stuff. Right then, he just wanted to figure out how to get the girl.

  II

  All night he wrestled with his new idea. 'The Laws of Nature very often apply to the Laws of Man.' What the hell was that supposed to mean? "For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction." That wasn't a new idea for him, but he knew that a lot of what he got from the Exchange depended on previous acquisitions. "You can't start a pyramid in the middle."

  Action/Reaction; equal and opposite. He loves her, so she hates him? No, that can't be right, though the thought had crossed his mind on more than one occasion. He is attracted to her, so she is repelled by him? No, the Laws of Nature say that two heavenly bodies will attract each other—and Linda certainly had a heavenly body. He liked this one. He liked it so much that he was soon drifting off to sleep with fantasies of attraction and a tender heart.

  The next day at school, Peter noticed something about Linda. Her teeth were not perfect. This was a good thing. Peter came to realize that one of the physical things he liked about her was her odd little smile. A smile that was not perfect. All day, Peter noticed things about Linda that were—for lack of a better word—human.

  But how did this new observation relate to his idea? He struggled with this for a while, but soon came to realize that he had Linda on a pedestal. In his mind and heart, he'd raised her up to be something more than anyone could ever be. In lifting her up, the equal and opposite reaction had pushed him down. Only by seeing her as a real person could he ever hope to get close to her.

  She happened to walk by when Peter had his epiphany in the hallway.

  "Peter? You okay?"

  "Yeah, why?"

  "You've got a funny look on your face."

  "Oh, well. I just realized something."

  "Must have been a big something."

  "Actually, it was a little something, but sometimes those are the biggest kind."

  "Yeah, okay, whatever." She continued on her way.

  Normally, Peter would have continued on his, but this time he stopped her. "Linda?"

  That weekend Linda went to the movies with Peter. The film was not memorable—none of them seem to be anymore—but holding her hand was. At the restaurant afterwards, he noticed she'd touch his arm or hand as they talked. It seemed quite natural, but he noticed, and she noticed he noticed.

  Finally, there came the front door. Peter hadn't been on many dates—actually, none—but he knew that the front door was where it all came together. To say he was nervous wouldn't do his emotions justice.

  She stopped at the door and turned. The light was perfect. She was an angel, and the Laws of Nature do very often apply to the Laws of Man. Heavenly bodies attract each other. He got the kiss he had dreamed of and learned that his dreams had set the bar way too low.

  III

  The next day was Sunday. Peter's phone rang him out of a daydream. It was Linda's father. Peter was not to see her anymore. It was "wrong." No further explanation was made.

  Peter was crushed. So many emotions hit him at once that he could act on none of them. He went for an aimless walk and after about an hour found himself in front of Richard's house. Richard was his best friend, as only high school friends can be.

  "Man, were you the item at church this morning," Richard said before hello.

  "What?"

  "You and Linda?"

  "What happened?"

  "You tell me."

  "Nothing," said Peter which was both true and a lie of omission, which he corrected. "I mean, we kissed good n
ight and that wasn't nothing. It was great! But that was it. It was harmless. What's the big deal?"

  "The big deal is the neighbors saw you."

  "So?"

  "So, her father is a deacon."

  "So?"

  "So, the sermon was on Right and Wrong."

  Peter could see it coming.

  Richard continued, "Mrs. Hearting raised a big stink, asking if it was right for a deacon's daughter to be acting like a hussy."

  "'Hussy?' What kind of word is that?"

  "It means—"

  "I know what it means." Peter now had a focus for his pent-up feelings. "I gotta go."

  "But you haven't heard the rest."

  "I know the rest. Do me a favor. Linda's Dad is bound to check her e-mail and screen her calls, so can you call her and tell her …" Tell her what? Peter had no words.

  "You're thinking about her."

  "Yeah. Thanks, man."

  Peter ran out the door toward the Exchange.

  He would see Linda in school. If the Laws of Nature did apply, it would take more than the force of her father and a snooty old neighbor to break their attraction, so he wasn't exactly worried about that. He was just angry. He was mad that a cheap idea was getting in the way of his life.

  By the time he got to the Idea Exchange his anger peaked. It was late, but he banged on the door with his fists, then his feet. "Wake up, old man. It's me, Peter."

  A light clicked on in an upstairs window and Peter heard movement inside. When George opened the door, Peter blurted out, "I've got the answer."

  "Really?" He was as calm as Peter was excited. "Come back when you've got the question to go with it."

  "No, it's the answer to your question about judging and good and evil. I think I've figured it out."

  George leaned on the doorjamb. "I'm listening."

  "Judging is not evil. We all judge everything we see every day. We decide if it's good or bad, something we like or don't like. We must judge things, otherwise we'd have no opinions." Peter was babbling, barely aware of the words coming out of his mouth. "Judging is not evil, but acting on those judgments is—or, it can be. Particularly when the person making the judgment, or taking actions, has not been affected … or … or bothered by those he's acting against. Or in this case, she's acting against."