Highly Illogical Behavior(6)

FIVE


    SOLOMON REED


By most people’s standards, Solomon was a pretty weird kid. There was the agoraphobic thing, sure, but there were other things, too. He had impossibly weird eating habits, refusing to eat anything green, without exception, and having a substantial fear of coconut. Most days, he walked around half-clothed with a persistent case of bed head and a red line across his stomach where he’d rested the edge of his laptop while he did his schoolwork or streamed movies online. And, despite being terrible at video games, he’d ask his dad to play them just so he could watch, for hours and hours.

Oh, and he said his thoughts aloud sometimes. Not all the time, but often enough so his parents expected to round a corner and hear him saying something that made no sense to anyone else. The day after his mom met Lisa Praytor, she walked into his room at just the right time.

“Antwerp,” he said, sitting at his desk and not realizing she was behind him.

“Who’re you calling a twerp, twerp?” she said.

He spun around slowly in his chair until he was facing her. His cheeks were a little red, but they’d be back to normal soon enough. He spent a lot of time with his parents, so there were few things left that could embarrass him.

“You know that new patient I was telling you about? The one from your school?”

“Lisa something?”

“Praytor,” she said. “She sure was asking a lot about you.”

“Well, it seems like she’s all you can talk about lately. Are you trying to say I don’t have perfect molars? Are you going to trade me in?”

“I haven’t ruled it out.”

“And she was asking a lot about me? That’s creepy, Mom.”

“She wasn’t creepy at all. A little nosy, I guess. But not creepy. It’s nice to know someone out there’s thinking about you, isn’t it?”

Solomon didn’t really know what to say. So someone out there had been thinking about him. Great. What was he supposed to do with that—invite her over for brunch?

“I guess.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to have a friend or two, you know?”

“We’re not friends? You’re saying we’re not friends?” he joked, raising his voice and using a mobster accent.

“I’m saying your only friends shouldn’t be middle aged and they certainly shouldn’t be your parents.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” he said.

“Oh my God.” She grabbed both sides of his face. “You’re as hopeless as your dad.”

Valerie Reed lived with older and younger versions of the same man—a minimalist introvert who never talked about his feelings and obsessed over ridiculous things. She managed to make it through their weekly viewings of old science fiction films and the in-depth conversations that would always follow. But she did like to joke that watching movies with them was “like pulling teeth.” Get it? Of course you do.

“You know, you could probably reconnect with some of your old school friends online,” she continued.

“Why would I want to do that, Mom?”

“For fun. I don’t know.”

“I have plenty of fun,” he said.

“Fine,” she raised one hand into the air and walked away. “I’ve got to go pay bills.”

Solomon wondered if he’d ever have his own bills to pay. He didn’t plan on leaving the house again. Ever. But even at sixteen he was starting to feel guilty for always being there—and for planning to always be there. His parents weren’t the type to sit around growing old. He knew they’d want to travel or maybe even move somewhere else after retirement. On some days, especially when his mom would hint at him getting better in even a small way, he felt like the biggest and only problem in their lives. And he didn’t want his cure to be their life sentence.

After his mom left the room, Solomon went back to his schoolwork. But, every now and then, he’d get online and do research. He didn’t miss much about the outside world—Target sometimes, with its organized shelves and relaxing department store music. Some of his favorite restaurants, sure. Oh, and he really missed the way it smelled outside when it was about to rain, and the way the heavy drops would feel on his skin. This, though, he’d been able to enjoy by sticking his arm out of a window from time to time. Water calmed him down. He didn’t know why, but it helped. He’d lie in the bath for an hour or more, his eyes closed, focusing his attention on the whirring of the bathroom vent. And that blocked it all out, anything that could make him worse, any thoughts that could start looping around and around in his mind. He knew that when it happened, he was supposed to close his eyes and count to ten and take slow, deep breaths. But that never worked like the water did.

So, for weeks, he’d been secretly working up the nerve to ask his parents for a pool. But how could he even mention the idea of it if he couldn’t promise to go outside? He thought maybe he’d be ready by the time they could have a pool put in since he wasn’t especially afraid of the outdoors anyway. It was the potential chaos that lay beyond their yard that scared him. Plus, he could damn sure use the exercise, because running on a treadmill had become mind-numbing. It’s just that when you’re afraid of dying, you’ll do whatever it takes to keep yourself pretty healthy and the pool would help. He’d been fantasizing for weeks about waking up every morning and starting the day with a long swim. And, as much as he hated to admit it even to himself, he would imagine the warm beams of sun heating up his skin and eventually helping him look less like a walking corpse. Even in his isolation, Solomon wasn’t completely immune to superficiality. He didn’t know why he cared about his looks, but he did. And, at the very least, he hoped it was one more sign to his parents that his life was sustainable and not some statement against civilization.