I'm Thinking of Ending Things(12)

I’m not sure what to say right then. I’m not sure how to respond.

For a while he doesn’t say anything else. He just plays with his hair, curling a piece at the back of his head around his index finger the way he does, the way I like. And then, after a while, he looks at me.

“What would you say if I told you I’m the smartest human on earth?”

“Pardon?”

“I’m serious. And this is relevant to your story. Just answer.”

I’d guess we’ve been driving for at least fifty minutes, probably longer. It’s getting darker outside. There are no lights on in the car, beyond the dash and radio.

“What would I say?”

“Yeah. Would you laugh? Would you call me a liar? Would you get mad? Or would you just question the rationality of such a bold statement?”

“I guess I would say ‘Pardon?’?”

Jake laughs at this. Not a big laugh, but a small, sincere, ingested, Jake kind of laugh.

“Seriously. I’m saying it. You’ve heard me clearly. How do you respond?”

“Well, what you’re saying is that you’re the smartest man on earth?”

“Incorrect. The smartest human. And I’m not saying I am; I’m wondering how you would respond if I did say that. Take your time.”

“Jake, come on.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I guess I’d say you’re full of shit.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. The smartest human on earth? It’s ridiculous for so many reasons.”

“What are the reasons?”

I lift my head, which had been resting on my hands, and look around, as if there’s an audience present. Blurs of trees pass the window.

“Okay, let me ask you a question. Do you think you’re the smartest human alive?”

“That’s not an answer. That’s a question.”

“And I’m allowed to answer in the form of a question.”

I know I’m opening myself to the obvious Jeopardy! joke as I say it, but Jake doesn’t make it. Of course he doesn’t.

“Why is it impossible that I’m the smartest human on earth beyond just saying that it’s crazy?”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“That’s the whole point. You just assume it to be too far-fetched to be real. You can’t perceive that someone you know, some regular dude sitting beside you in a car, is the smartest person. But why not?”

“Because what do you even mean by smart? Are you more book-smart than me? Maybe. But what about building a fence? Or knowing when to ask someone how they’re doing or feeling compassion or knowing how to live with others, to connect with other people? Empathy is a big part of smarts.”

“Of course it is,” he says. “That’s all part of my question.”

“Fine. But still, I don’t know, I mean, how could there even be a smartest person?”

“There has to be. Whatever algorithm you create, or whatever you decide makes up intelligence, someone has to meet those criteria more than everyone else. Someone has to be the smartest in the world. And what a burden it is. It really is.”

“What does it matter? One smartest person?”

He leans a little toward me. “The most attractive thing in the world is the combination of confidence and self-consciousness. Blended together in the proper amounts. Too much of either and all is lost. And you were right, you know.”

“Right? About what?”

“About the best kisser,” he says. “Thankfully you can’t be the best kisser alone. It’s not like being the smartest.”

He leans back his way, reasserts both hands on the wheel. I look out my window.

“And anytime you want to have a fence-building contest, just let me know,” he says.

He never let me finish my story. I never kissed Doug after our lesson. Jake assumed. He assumed I kissed Doug. But a kiss needs two people who want to kiss, or it’s something else.

Here’s what really happened. I went back to the car that time. I leaned in the window and opened my hand, revealing the tiny wrinkled candy wrapper, the one Doug gave me. I uncrumpled it and read it: My heart, my heart alone with its lapping waves of song, longs to touch this green world of the sunny day. Hello!

I still have the candy wrapper somewhere. I saved it. I don’t know why. After reading those lines to Doug, I turned and ran back into my house. I never saw him again.





—He had keys. He wasn’t scheduled to be here, but he had keys. He could do whatever he wanted.

—Wasn’t there supposed to be some revarnishing done during the break?

—Yes, but that happened right at the start of the holidays. So the varnish would have time to dry. The varnish scent can be pretty strong.

—Toxic?

—Again, I’m not sure. Maybe, if that’s all you were breathing.

—Are we going to see any autopsy results?

—I can look into that.

—Was it . . . messy?

—You can imagine.

—I can.

—We shouldn’t get into the details right now.

—I hear they found a breathing apparatus, a gas mask, near the body?