Jack Emerson

by Michael Brent Jones

  Chapter 7

  ¶

  A few days after meeting Beth at the diner was my weekly visit with Jack. I didn’t dare bring a chess board. He had some tea ready and I started my recorder.

  “So we’re not wasting any time I see?”

  “I don’t want to miss anything.”

  “Well alright then, what’s the first question?”

  I tried to ask it with a straight face but I couldn’t, “What do you get with one bull frog and three treble hooks?”

  “A bloody mess! But more of a screaming circus,” he said and laughed. “Who told you to ask about that?”

  “Beth told me there was a good story behind it.”

  “It started with my sister and me fishing on the dock of our neighbor’s pond. Beth has heard both sides of the story from me and her mom.”

  “I didn’t know she was your niece.”

  “Yes she is. I remember her when she was just a baby.”

  “Why would your sister’s side of the story be different?”

  “Because there was a lot going on, and only one thing we were both paying attention too.”

  “I like where this is going.”

  “You have to know one thing about my sister; regardless of the circumstance, what she may or may not lack in practice, she makes up in competitive spirit. I spent hours and hours fishing when I was young, especially from the dock. I found that with two hooks, I could catch one fish and then while that fish was swimming around, I could get another fish on the other hook.

  I quickly moved on to three hooks which was even more entertaining. I showed my older sister. She wasn’t as interested with the idea of three fish on one line as she was with a big bullfrog she saw sitting in the water.

  “Let me see that pole, I’m going to catch that frog.”

  I hadn’t seen her touch a fishing pole in a long time so I was impressed to see how well she handled it, first cast was perfectly placed. She quickly caught it and reeled it in. She then handed the pole to me so she could unhook the frog.

  She got ahold of the frog and started to pull out the hook… and then that frog did what frogs do, he jumped.

  Right out of her hands with the treble hooks following him. I heard her scream as the hook sank into her hand. I rushed to grab the frog to help her, all I remember next is feeling searing pain in my hand, and hearing my sister holler as I watched that stupid frog jump on the dock.

  We finally got the frog off and the hooks out of our hands. I don’t think I used treble hooks very much after that. I remember thinking I ought to be careful with all of those hooks, but I didn’t imagine losing in the complex game of three-way tug-of-war.”

  “That is a good story! So I’m assuming you are Mikey in Jacky’s dream?”

  “I would have to be every character in any story I tell. Where could the characters come than from my heart, or my mind?”

  “Oh, well that does make sense.”

  “Every person, could group different similar parts of their personality, into various more simple characters; those groups could also be broken down into different smaller groups or characters.”

  “I better hurry up with writing my zombie story, so I see what characters come out of me.”

  “I agree, and I think you should also get to know Beth better, she is a very good person, and so interesting,” Jack suggested.

  “She said the same about you.”

  “If solitary is nice and crazy is interesting then I would agree with both, but as far as sincerity, tenderness and depth of character, she is the paragon.”

  “I agree with the second part, she is a great person, I still don’t think a crazy person thinks they are crazy. In fact, I think that’s the definition of crazy, that they think they are normal.”

  “What else did you and Beth talk about?”

  “She told me to ask what the biggest bubble gum bubble you’ve ever blown is?”

  He laughed, “Well, about this big.” He held his hands to his face and made a circle the size of his head.”

  “So I’m guessing you got gum in your hair when it popped?”

  “That was the least of my worries. I was making a getaway on my sister’s bicycle when the legendary bubble was blown, which blew up in my face… covering my eyes… and my mouth!

  Frantic for air, and not able to see where I was going I crashed the bicycle.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I had to be about six or seven. I don’t remember it perfectly, I’m sure I hit my head.”

  We both laughed and he shook his head.

  “Is there a chance you would tell more about Jacky?”

  “hmmm… I won’t call her Jacky but yes.”

  “Ahhh I’m excited!”

  ¶

  Jack went right into story mode.

  ¶

  “The lady I had talked to a few times before, again sat across the aisle from me on the bus. She was quiet today, in a troubled sort of seriousness.

  I could see the wheels turning in her head; the mental sweating didn't seem to be greasing the wheels. She was trying to muster up the resolve to make a decision; well, that is my only guess. What though?

  I waited and waited in silence to see if the resolve would build up to a tipping point, but it didn't. Finally I asked, "What are you thinking about?"

  She paused, "just the things I have to do today," was her response.

  A list of errands perhaps, but it wasn't a minute later ‘till she picked up a piece of paper and started writing a letter. What exactly for was uncertain, but it was an apology, as far as I could tell.

  I sat there considering that event with my friend from the bus for quite a while. It wasn't till tonight though, now that I am writing in my journal that it makes more sense. I have just written what she said, "just the things I ‘have’ to do..." than it clicked.

  Once she admitted they were things she ‘had’ to do, she stopped wishing there was an option, and just acted.

  I have of late accustomed myself to asking others what they were thinking. Simple responses where usually what resulted, but I sense, that despite the awkwardness, there was still a suppressed sense of appreciation that I cared about what they thought.

  A consequent questioning however of the motives behind the curiosity usually followed my question. It wasn’t until tonight that I questioned my own motives in a different way.

  Was it because I wanted others to care what I thought? Or was it simply a psychological survey? Either way, there was a definite hesitancy, and my suspicions were added to. My question now is why they never seemed to then ask me in return what I was thinking.

  Is there a social boundary I pass in asking? Or am I the doctor pushing on a broken bone?

  If I wasn’t myself, but knowing myself well, I would guess I did it as a psychological survey.

  I don’t feel like my motives are wrong, I really want to know, because I care. I feel that what someone says has more meaning if you know what they really think or really feel.

  I think as a whole we all are too scared to say what we really think, or how we truly feel. Of course always being trapped in my own head, I have thought about this before; it also wasn’t the first experiment that could be looked at as a psychological survey.

  A friend from a foreign country was learning English, and she told me that people would ask how she was as they were passing by, but before she could form the right words they were gone.

  I too have felt this way; it was just different to hear it from a guest to our country that had only been here a few days. It is obviously a problem, and not one anybody could fix over night, but I figure I can at least try to understand it a little better.

  My goal was to care more about what other’s said, pay closer attention and ask questions about what they say. This is a challenge for me, due to social anxiety and just plain social awkwardness.

  What I found out s
o far is: If you care about what someone says, they will start saying things you care about.

  Society instills in us, the mentality of conditioned responses. We ready a response with what we are familiar with, and go to limitless ends to keep conversation there, consciously and subconsciously of course.

  Sometimes I wonder how free we are from the captivity of our lack of creativity. It’s not as if every word or question is a pass or fail. I don’t think there is such a thing as a safe response either.

  A politically correct response maybe could exist, but then again, we have to ask ourselves, ‘safe, from what? ‘Good, for what?’ ‘Right, for what?’ ‘Acceptable to whom?’ I think the idea of politically correct, was just a scam to make people think there was some other way to look at things other than either being true, or a lie.

  It’s been a few months now since that night when I laid down and looked at the stars. I don’t know what it did to me, I still feel crazy, anxious and awkward. I’m also still not sure what to think about my little ‘psychological surveys,’ but I feel like I’m getting somewhere.

  Why do I always have epiphanies when I am writing? I just realized, probably the best person I could do a psychology experiment on would be myself, because then I would know the effects.

  I want to see what the full weight of distraction and convenience does in my life. This ought to be fun!

  ¶

  Jack stopped speaking. I wanted to hear more,

  “Wait, that’s just it?”

  “For today.”

  Can’t you just tell a little bit more about Jacky? I want to know what distraction and convenience do,” I pleaded.

  “So would I. All I know is the full weight of distraction and convenience I never realize until I find that it has once again made a fool of me. And even then, I don’t really know why or how, all I know is it got the best of me again,” Jack said shaking his head.

  “You don’t seem like you get distracted very much, or lean to convenience.”

  Jack laughed, “It’s not something anyone grows out of with time. Even though I have been around for a while, doesn’t mean I am immune to any distractions or temptations.”

  “Well I don’t know, you seem a lot more mature than me, or most people I know,” I told him.

  “Do you know why I like chess?” Jack asked.

  “No, why?”

  “To win, you force the opponent’s hand until you get them where you want them. I sacrifice a pawn or even a queen, and number of moves later, there’s nothing you can do to stop a checkmate. At a certain point everything seems fine, but there might no longer be any combination of moves that will save you from losing.”

  “That’s… an interesting way to look at it.”

  “You don’t like to manipulate others?”

  “…No.”

  “I’m just kidding! Me neither. I don’t like being manipulated, and I also don’t like anyone getting manipulated. That’s why I try to figure out how it works.”

  “…and?”

  “The famous chess champion Paul Morphy, would tell his opponent at some point in the game, in how many moves, and where they would be checkmated. I don’t know if they didn’t believe him or didn’t care, but he was always right.”

  “Wow, that’s impressive.”

  “It was, but I think life is similar, and we all can see pretty well how other’s opponents are trying to check them. The man down the hall, who drinks more and more every day, will continue to be checked by his kidneys on one side and the liver on the other and then mated in a few more moves.

  The lady across the hall will be checked repeated by her husband who will very likely never change. Her friend that comes over will be checked by a different guy every week until she has lost all her pawns and eventually emotionally at a stalemate with reality.”

  I saw tears welling up in Jack’s eyes, his voice cracked as he was trying to keep his lip from shaking, “And there’s nothing I can do…”

  I didn’t know what to do or say. Sitting across the coffee table from him, I didn’t know how to give him a hug without it being awkward, so I just sat there solemnly, all I could say was, “it’s okay.”

  He nodded. It was a minute or two before he kind of shook it off and with a forced laugh, “well how about we end on a happy note; what do you say for your next visit we visit some of my neighbors?”

  “That would be great!” We both stood up and shook hands to say goodbye.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t want the answer to the riddle, or did you figure it out on you own?”

  “I didn’t actually. I completely forgot to ask you. So how can you make two piles with the same number of coins facing heads up?”

  “Set apart a pile of ten coins, and then flip them all over.”

  It took me a while to make sense of how that would work, but if there was only one heads up in the pile of ten, then there would be nine in the other pile, so then flipping them over there would be nine in both.

  “Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah, I just had to think it through.”

  “You want another puzzle?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, what is a formula that will tell me how many rounds of a single elimination tournament there will be, only knowing how many people there are?”

  ¶