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Cheap Rent - by Joe Six-Pack The ad was nestled in amongst much larger more imposing notices. Any reader would have easily skipped it, and many did. Others ignored it because it had no bold type, no inverted headline, no stars, and a dearth of exclamation points. And ad like this one simply did not make the effort to attract one's attention in this busy, fast-paced world we pride ourselves of. The ad that went the extra mile, with double-sized words that boasted of their obvious virtue were the ones that scored with the masses. Which is probably why there weren't more that three hundred people who responded to it. Most people would be ecstatic at a small classified ad's response of 300, and indeed the people who placed the ad were quite pleased, but the actual content of the ad by itself would have easily attracted four or fivefold more. If only it had a star or even a solitary bold dot next to it. Never the less, on this hot late summer day three hundred people had queued up in front of a small suburban house in hopes of being the one to qualify for this undeniably compelling offer. There was even a police car out to monitor the situation, parked under a tree for shade. The neighborhood kids had set up a water stand to sell refreshment, at a reasonable profit, to a hopeful but aggravated mob of young students. More aggravated than most was Vermin. If one were to look at the amassed crowd, the sea of inexpensively acquired white t-shirts and more affluent pastels would have a small speck in it. Like a single flake of pepper in a glass of milk. That speck, or flake, would be Vermin. Vermin was also older than most of those around him, but they would have singled out the spiked purple Mohawk or the multiple studded belts wrapped around his black leather jacket as being the most notable thing about him. Vermin was a punk rock nightmare. He knew full well he was a walking parody of what punk kids dress like. Indeed you only saw his like in movies or television when they needed to show a dysfunctional family with the self-involved mother, the abusive father and the loose sister. There would then be the punk rock kid. Sullen! Alone! Angry! This is what Vermin always wanted to be. But in fact, Vermin was a very different kid altogether. He was twenty five years old in age. But his face, visible only when he took the piercings out, made him look almost thirty. The life of hard living on the streets for the past few years had all but sucked the essence of youth out of him, replacing it with cold, calculating adulthood. Vermin's world was one of sleeping fitfully on long-dead mattresses and flattened cardboard in abandoned buildings or forgotten alleys. The day was spent positioning yourself for the prime panhandling spots for the evening and then spending the night deciding between a bottle or shelter for the night. Maybe he could even scrape enough together for a quick rendezvous with one of the area ladies. The bottle was always the heavy favorite in such contests of will. As of the last two years though, Vermin had done what seems impossible to most. He turned away from such vices and started to turn his life around. It was a lost cause, of course, he well knew that. Failure was always just around the corner, and he did look forward to the day when he could fall back into the comfortable rut he had just left. Annoyingly though, things just kept working out for him. Two years ago, he made a stop at the city agency charged with looking after his ilk. An unusually naive counselor had convinced Vermin that applying for some obscure work training program would be his "ticket" off the streets. Not wanting to seem the sort of person who would refuse a helping hand, he took advantage of the offer. And in a week or two, he'd ditch it and get back to his long-standing experiments with rippled wines. So he thought. But before he knew what was happening, he had passed intelligence tests, equivalency programs and even had a drivers permit. Now two years later he had his GED and an SAT score somewhere between genius and infinity. Of course he had cheated at every opportunity, as school is far too competitive not to. Despite this colleges were calling him with scholarships and grants. And today on this well- manicured lawn in front of a pokey little suburban house, in what for all the world looked to him like Disneyland, he was trying to get a room for the Fall term. Which is what everybody was doing here, waiting impatiently for a room above a garage. Probably a half-converted attic, with a rickety bed and a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. But the price was good: free. Vermin was always in for a score, and this was a big one. With no rent to pay, he could spend the rest of the term plastered on the finest 40- ouncers money could buy. He'd be back in his old alleyway in three months, sure, but who could pass up this kind of opportunity? And this time, he wouldn't let that pesky studying get in the way. *** After what was about three hours, but flew by like eight, Vermin was finally a few spots away from the big interview. He would have left long ago, but the combination of free rent, nothing better to do and an afternoon of "freaking out the norms" kept him there. The twisted, fevered looks he was getting from the cop under the tree was reward enough. Nothing seemed more certain to him than rejection, so any fun he could get out of this afternoon was going to be his only interest in staying. He had even thought about creating a small riot in this compressed crowd, but it was too hot even for Vermin to work up the energy. He figured he'd take one step inside the house, and the people inside would immediately thank him for coming and show him the door. He reckoned, and reckoned quite correctly, that the scariest thing they'd see all year was going to be him. So when he was called in, he was not surprised to see the jolt of shock fly through the expressions of the couple seated there. He had waited for and anticipated that look for some time, and he was very pleased to have been rewarded with a classic. What he was not expecting was the appearance of the couple themselves. He was easily in his late fifties or sixties, and half as wide was was tall. Bald on the top of his head, and what hair there was had bypassed gray and gone all the way to white. A bushy, nicotine-stained mustache complemented the tanned hue of his thick bifocals. He dressed like he hadn't bought clothes in decades. She was even older, if such a thing was possible, and was a perfect compliment to her husband. Her thinning white curly hair precariously sat upon her completely round head which featured sagging leathery lips with three or four coats of red stuff on them. Her eyes squinted to the degree which one would doubt their functionality, and they nestled in behind the horned-rim glasses with a chain that disappeared into the folds of her neck. She was in sanitary white from head to toe, with the exception of a tan sweater, thinner than tissue paper, draped around her plump shoulders. These people were geezers. Why was Vermin even still here? The Coopers, as it was printed on the white mailbox outside, were agape. Vermin was basking in the open-faced staring that he was getting. For a while. But then it started to get strange. "Hey," he tactfully remarked to break the tension. The Coopers snapped out of their collective daze and gathered themselves. One would easily assume it was the stripe of colored, unnaturally shaped hair they were staring at. Or possibly the piercings. Maybe it was the studded belts. It could have been the tattered combat shorts, the worn red leather boots, the gauzy, shredded undershirt or any number of things. But it wasn't. The Coopers had seen a ghost. "Oh, where are my manners?" Mrs. Cooper said. "Please have a seat, my dear boy. You're here about the room?" Mrs. Cooper was either totally unaware of the obvious, or being polite. Vermin had to think about it for a moment before he realized they were just being nice. This wasn't his usual scene, and he was totally out of his depth. Therefore, he ignored his instinct to be an ass. "Yeah, the room." He said. Mr. Cooper adjusted his glasses to read from an index card. What he said wasn't relevant to repeating here, but it covered the basics of a rental agreement. Vermin nodded in all the right places and at least looked like he was paying attention. Mr. Cooper asked a few questions about nothing important, like family and his age. None and twenty-five seemed to satisfy. In the middle of another dumb question about health, a flash surprised Vermin. Mrs. Cooper was taking a picture. "Just for our records. I'm so bad with names, but I always remember faces. Please turn to the side." Said Mrs. Cooper. And she took another picture. Vermin was too used to having mug shots taken to notice anything odd about it. It seemed normal to him. "And your name, son?" Mr. Cooper said, grabbing a pen to mark the Polaroid. Vermin hadn't said anything offensive for hours and it was starting to get to him. He welcomed the chance to say, proudly, "Vermin." Mr. Cooper fiddled with his pen for a second before peering over the tops of his glasses at the boy. Realizing a instant too late to avoid a very uncomfortable moment, Vermin continued, "V-E-R-M-I-N". "Phone?" said Mr. Cooper, unconcerned. "650-4982. It's the City Youth Center. Ask for Vermin." "Ah." Mr. Cooper said, with the slightest tone of sarcasm. It was the first real crack in his cool. That made Vermin feel a little more in his element. His element being the art of ticking people off. But just when Vermin figured Mr. Cooper was going to toss the picture away, he was instead warmly thanked. "I'll call you tomorrow evening to let you know when you can move in." Mr. Cooper said. He appended the statement with a hasty "If we select you." Vermin was then escorted to the door, still under close observation by the Coopers. They seemed happy and relieved for some reason. If Vermin didn't know better, he'd have assumed they already had chosen him to get the room. And with that, he got back on the bus to town, confused and silent. Once again, things seemed to be working out for him. He was very uncomfortable. *** He had only the one box, and a duffel bag stuffed with clothes. So the lumbering journey up the weak stairs to his new room was quicker than what everybody assumed. Which left Mr. & Mrs. Cooper and Vermin standing around in the empty room, with little to say. The room was freshly painted in white, and was a little nicer than what he was expecting, but he wasn't expecting very much. A made bed with it's headboard against the front-facing, lone window was the major piece of furniture. To its' side was a small, beaten chest of drawers and to the other side was a small closet. The roof worked its' way to a point, where a long lighting fixture efficiently illuminated the entire place. And there was a shaggy brown carpet, with bits of sawdust embedded in it. Indeed, it was the room above the garage he had assumed it would be. Vermin had asked the big question, wondering why the room was being rented for free. The Coopers had mentioned something about getting a tax break for having a "dependent" live-in student, but Vermin wasn't quite sure that it was told with the greatest degree of truth. Even it the real reasons were trouble, Vermin figured rightly that he could handle whatever trouble these two fossils could get into. Mrs. Cooper broke the lengthy silence with information. "The bathroom is at the bottom of the stairs, next to the laundry room. If you need any towels, please let me know. We have plenty." She smiled for a brief moment. "And please feel free to use the kitchen. But we go to bed a little early around nine, so if you could keep it quiet, we'd greatly appreciate it." "No prob," said Vermin. Free rent meant he was actually considering being a decent guest. That box of his housed a burgeoning collection of homemade tapes which he had intended to blast loudly over his old player to celebrate his new place. But now, maybe not. He did have headphones. "Well, uh, Vermeen, we'll leave you alone to get settled in," said Mr. Cooper. He had to gently nudge Mrs. Cooper who was doing more of that staring thing. She moved her body, but not her head, and exited out the door. Mr. Cooper followed behind, but then stopped. He turned around to face Vermin. Slowly, his eyes dragged up and down Vermin's body. A thin grin came upon his face for an instant, but only for an instant. "Glad to have you here, Vermeen. Make yourself at home." He said it without showing a trace of emotion. And then he gently shut the door behind him. As the creaky sounds of Mr. Cooper's steps faded, Vermin shivered a bit. That Mr. Cooper was a strange one. Vermin took an extended survey of his new room. It had not changed in the last five minutes. He dropped the duffel at the foot of the bed and crashed. His head was spinning a bit from all the changes in his life today. At least the worst of it was over. *** An afternoon of waiting on the phone punching the occasional touch-tone button rewarded Vermin with a class schedule that had absolutely no relation to what he wanted to take. His intention to take a minimum load of classes that fulfilled the minimum requirements had now exploded into a heavy load of elective courses that were going to tax his ability to keep up. That the courses were designed to work towards a major of American History was a total mistake. He just wanted to get off the phone and had signed up for anything available. He hung the phone up and wandered over to the Coopers' fridge. He was going to steal something, but when he opened it, he found a note taped to a shelf reading "Help yourself!" It took the wind out of his sails, but it did put food in his stomach. Unlike most people, Vermin truly valued the simple pleasure of eating. After all, he didn't get to do it that often. Vermin trudged up the stairs to his room and threw his boots on the floor as he laid down on the bed. He had no real concept of how he was even going to start with this college thing. He'd only been to the campus twice and, even then it just seemed like he was visiting some alien landscape. But he wasn't really concerned, because he always had that career in heavy drinking to fall back on. Vermin relaxed on his new bed to contemplate exactly what he would do first to tick off the Coopers. It had to be subtle, so that they wouldn't kick him out, but enough of a scare so that they would stop being polite with him. He hated it when people were so phony. He contemplated backing up the toilets or cutting the tires of their car. Maybe he could put a little 'e' in the orange juice. That'd be something to see. Before he knew it, it was already evening. This bed was just far too comfortable. He fell asleep instantly whenever he was on it. And for not the first time, he had just dozed off for a few hours. He was going to have to stay away from it in the future if he wanted to get any studying done. On further reflection, Vermin decided that maybe it was a good thing. As he got up, he swung himself over the side of the bed to get into his duffel bag. The movement was slightly miscalculated and wound up with Vermin planting his feet on top of the bag. This unfortunate placement of his supporting limbs caused the lower half of his body to bend in a unusually stork-like position and the top half to bail out of the affair. The result being that Vermin fell over forward putting his shoulder through the flimsy door of the closet. As he laid stirring in pain on the floor, Vermin heard the quick charge of footsteps from the Coopers as the ran up the stairs. Mrs. Cooper looked like she was about to jump out of her skin, she was so scared. She ran over to the sprawled boy asking if he was hurt or not. Her grasp of the obvious had not loosened. Mr. Cooper considered the condition of the door, which was very definitely now a collection of splinters and scrap lumber. Vermin pushed Mrs. Cooper away in a violent fit of instinct. He was used to some opportunistic comrade taking the chance of lifting money or a prized trinket from the body of a fallen friend. That's what he would do, after all. But Mr. Cooper immediately stopped Vermin from doing anything harsh. "Calm down there, boy. The Mrs. used to be a nurse, you know." He said. Vermin immediately recognized his error of etiquette and allowed Mrs. Cooper to do what she could. Which is never quite enough from the perspective of the injured party. But she did let the boy know that nothing was broken or dislocated. Sure enough in a matter of minutes, what seemed like a death blow had reduced itself to blinding pain. "Gonna need a whole new door, uh-huh." remarked Mr. Cooper. *** Mrs. Cooper was applying the fourth in a series of ice-packs to Vermin's shoulder as he laid back in his bed. Vermin was more edgy than he was in pain at this point, not used to the mothering he was receiving from the elderly woman. She sensed the boy's uneasiness and tried her best to soothe it with her homespun way of talking. That made Vermin even edgier. "Is that helping any, dear? There doesn't seem to be any swelling," she said. "Yeah. It's better, Mrs. Cooper," Vermin returned. "Please call me Evelyn," Evelyn Cooper said. Uh, all right." a confused Vermin replied. He didn't see where this was leading. "And, pardon me for asking, but it feels sort of silly, calling you... um, Vermin," said Mrs. Cooper. "What's your Christian name?" "My what?" said Vermin. "The name on your birth certificate." Mrs. Cooper revised. "John Doe," he said. "Oh my." said an embarrassed Mrs. Cooper. This eventually led to Vermin telling his short and bleak life story. Abandoned at somewhere around three years old, he was made a ward of the state and was raised in foster homes until he was old enough to make trouble. Which is exactly what he did with reckless abandon. He had been in and out of juvenile hall innumerable times, and began moving from state to state to avoid amassing the magic number of offenses in any given place before being given serious jail time. His life had been a wreck, and now here he was. All of this came out rather easily out of the boy, which surprised him. He wasn't one to talk about himself much. He would have also chosen to remain discreet about his past, as his new benefactors might not be so magnanimous if they knew the whole truth. But the truth had a surprising effect on Mrs. Cooper, as with every word out of Vermin's mouth, the sadder and more concerned she became. She had even started to pat the poor boy's forehead in sympathy. An act that would have resulted in at least one or two roundhouse punches from Vermin in other circumstances. When he was done, a real tear was coming from those squinting eyes of Mrs. Cooper. And Vermin was more than hesitant to say anything more. Frankly, the gears in his head had ground to halt. He was deep into uncharted territory, with a weeping grandmother at his bedside. Again patting his forehead, Mrs. Cooper said "Well, this is a new start for you. I hope that we can give you every advantage you never had growing up." She then promised another ice-pack was on the way as she left the room. Vermin, as was his way, uttered only one thing before falling asleep: "I'm so fucked." *** The sunlight from the window shined brightly through the thin drapes of Vermin's room. He was up early, and he was feeling peculiar about it. He actually had a bit of energy in him, which he never had associated with rest before. Normally he wasn't up until noon at least, and usually only because someone had kicked him awake. But it was a beautiful September morning, with the leaves starting to turn and a gentle cool breeze wafting through the pruned shrubs and along the tips of trimmed grass lawns. The shadows of dawn were quickly disappearing on the driveways of the houses along the street. He hated it. Vermin was now just plain pissed off. This wasn't any fun at all. No friends, nowhere to have a good time. Early bedtimes and early mornings. He wasn't going to be able to do this for three months. He almost felt detoxified. Two weeks, tops. Vermin rummaged through his duffel and exchanged what he had been wearing last week for what he was going to wear this week. The jacket stayed, the communist flag shirt was about right, and the horizontally-striped socks were a good choice too. And the black knee-length cutoffs were a must. And his hair needed a fresh batch of egg whites to keep it nice and stiff. This was going to be his first day on campus, and he wanted to look as obnoxious as possible. With tasteful restraint, though. Maybe he was just thinking about the pressures of college, or his new surroundings or even just not paying attention. But when he opened his door to leave on this brand new day, he was totally unprepared for the large plank that greeted his face in the most unappealing way. *** When Vermin was loaded into the ambulance, he was quite sure that something had gone terribly wrong with his plans for the afternoon. And when they ran him into the operating room, that clinched it. It was another three days in the hospital with no visitors before he was discharged. The enormous bandage wrapped tightly around his face was embarrassing, especially when people see a Mohawk attached to it. He tried to look inconspicuous as he approached a bus stop. Still, it was a sight no one in the area could help but snicker at. Few people have sympathy for the damaged punk. Waiting, he was surprised to see Mrs. Cooper pull up. She waved him into the passenger seat. "I'm so sorry, dear I meant to be there as they let you out." She seemed to be telling the truth. "But Mr. Cooper feels so sorry about the whole thing. He was going to repair that closet door, and I guess he just assumed you were already gone for the day." Vermin glanced over the tops of this bandage to let her know he was listening. But wanted to remain quiet. "Are you going to be all right, dear? I promise that we'll pay all the bills. Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry." She started to break down a bit. Fearing that the car would now veer off into oncoming traffic, Vermin felt obliged to console the woman. "Eeets ahwite, mrsus gooper. Ah'l be find," Vermin muttered through his temporarily noseless face. That didn't seem to cheer her up much. But enough to avoid a bloody pile up on the highway. When they came in the front door of the house, Mr. Cooper was nowhere to be found. Maybe he was feeling a little remorseful over the accident. Mrs. Cooper busied herself with fixing a drink for Vermin, insisting that he sit down on the sofa. Vermin wandered into the living room for really the first time. It was deadly dull, the colors in pea greens, wood grains and mustard. He noticed that most of the furniture had probably been purchased back in the fifties, but was still in immaculate condition. It was hopelessly out of date, and seemed sterile to him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of bright color. Wandering in its' direction, he found a door ajar to a room which contrasted in every way with the rest of the house. It had bright, almost fluorescent pink on the walls and bright white furniture with posters splashed on the walls. Knickknacks and keepsakes strewn about in every available spot. Stepping inside, he was attacked by a barrage of teenage girl decor. It was a strange sight in this old-fashioned house. "This room is off limits," came the stressed and angry voice from behind him. Mr. Cooper's dark figure seemed to tower above Vermin as he was turned around by a forceful grasp of his neck. "This is not your room. Your room is upstairs." A surprised and concerned Mrs. Cooper stood behind the scene grasping the promised iced tea. She watched as Mr. Cooper swiftly conveyed Vermin out of the room and up the stairs. They both remained behind but watched the boy as he climbed the stairs to his room. Vermin had done a very bad thing. *** He awoke, feeling as though he had slept through the year. He correctly assessed it as only fourteen hours, but unsatisfied with that, he slept for another six before getting up. And getting up meant something more along the lines of sitting up in bed. He was not going to get far, feeling as he did. His headache had now annexed most of his sinuses and was starting to make his hair hurt. Or at least that's what it felt like. After swigging down another batch of painkillers, he felt brave enough to feel his face a bit. It was odd, but he could have sworn that his bandages had changed. These seemed a little tighter. And they were bigger. There was more padding in there, he thought. But he chalked it up to his memory being altered by vast amounts of medication. Further attempts to feel the damage were cut short by waves of paralyzing pain. He was seriously considering the fact that he was in mortal danger in his new room, being there all of two days and suffering two serious injuries in that time. At this rate, he would be dead by Halloween. Twice over. A very timid knock came from the door. "Hello?" said the door. "Yeah" was enough to let the voice enter. "Hi, Evelyn." "Good morning, John. I brought you some soup." Said Mrs. Cooper. "Thanks. I guess I am kinda hungry," said John Doe. *** John woke again to the morning, not nearly as irritated as he had been previously. Now to him, he saw it as another day with slightly less pain than yesterday. He liked the idea of one day living without the torment of this busted nose. The surgeon had told him it would be about a week until he could take the bandages off, and then he'd need to return to get the stitches out and to make sure the nose was straight. They would have to re-break it and set it again if it wasn't healing right. He would occasionally run his fingers along the bridge of what he thought was his nose to make sure it was still straight. By occasionally, read that to mean every thirty seconds or so. Over on the dresser was a note from Evelyn, letting John know that she had washed all his clothes and put them away for him. She was doing some serious guilt work for him, but John let it happen. Freshly laundered clothes would be kind of a kick. And though John was aware that he was a deep sleeper, he thought for sure he'd wake up if someone was putting his clothes in those creaky drawers only two feet from his head. The medication must be working. He'd have to remember to get more of this stuff. He absently ran his hand through his hair and realized he hadn't the opportunity to keep up the spikes. And the sides had grown in a bit. It felt like velveteen. Whatever. He'd get back to that when he was on his feet and back at school. Which was his biggest problem. By the time he could attend classes, three weeks would have passed. He knew he could let the registrar's office know he was sick and he could wait until next tern to enroll, but what would that do to his grants and scholarships? He could see that the rest of his day was going to be spent on the phone. Picking out his only decent jeans and a big t-shirt, John went down the stairs to get it over with. The phone would be his bitch. Hopefully Mr. Cooper wasn't still angry at him. That would be pretty tough to deal with again. It's hard to stand your ground and look angry when you've got mummy face. *** John was awakened the next day by a leaf blower. It wasn't unusual in the suburbs, but this was the first time it had happened to him. He jumped up like a shot out of bed, again out of instinct. Looking through the drapes he saw some guy blowing around leaves in the front yard. He wasn't really trying to do anything but blow them onto the neighbor's yard, which seemed like the lazy way out. John liked the guy's style. He continued to watch for a little while as the blond- haired well-built guy would do about two minutes worth of work and then take a smoke break. He repeated this pattern three times before John finally decided to get on with his day. A lot of people get in habits and never seem to be able to break them. Like some sort of opiate, the routine one develops over time becomes a drug, controlling your actions and regulating your free will. Many well-educated experts believe more evils have been perpetrated by people unwilling to break their routine than any disease or war ever known. Habits are tough to break. And as was John's habit, he put on the same sort of clothes he had put on every day for the last ten years. His jeans and his t-shirt, this time his line tank top. His hair neatly combed into place, John slipped on his tennies and went down for breakfast with the Coopers. One day, he told himself, he'd break out of these nasty habits. Through a little bit of friendly interrogation, John was able find out who the guy doing yard work was. A high schooler from down the block. His name was Wade, and he was just picking up some money to fix up his car with. He had also been all-state in basketball last year, according to Mr. Cooper. That guy did look the type, thought John. He asked to be excused and he put his dishes in the sink. Back up in his room, John was annoyed to find that his tape player had konked out. Permanently. It was a vital part of his strategy to kill a whole day stuck inside. Without this, he might have to resort to reading something. He prided himself on being able to avoid that sort of unpleasant duty. When Evelyn came in with today's laundry, John relayed his difficulty with his player. Mrs. Cooper told him to wait there as she would be right back. Moments later, she returned with a small box with a CD player and a number of CDs in it. It was obvious that the player had come from that girl's room downstairs, by it's pink translucent casing. The CDs were a selection of boy bands from two years ago. Although this gesture was more along the lines of making the problem worse, John thanked Evelyn for her kindness. "But don't let Mr. Cooper find it, he'd never forgive me for disturbing Amy's room," she said. Amy. So that was her name. When Mrs. Cooper left, John picked through the CDs. Backstreet Boys, N'Sync, Boys II Men, and a ton of Mariah Carey CDs. Not only old stuff, but bad old stuff. It really didn't do much for him. John didn't really have any particular taste in music, so long as the guitars and screaming vocals were loud enough to obliterate any trace of rhythm or melody. But he did turn on a Tupac record so that Evelyn would think that he was grateful. *** John was killing more time by trying to figure out how the hell Evelyn got his bedspread so tightly made. Possibly she had an extra limb she hadn't let on about. How else could you grab the side and tuck and fold at the same time? Freakish stuff, he thought. Digging in Amy's box for more CDs, John noticed that the bottom of the box seemed to be made out of leather. Despite the innovations made by the corrugated paper board industry in their never-ending quest for excellence, John doubted that cardboard boxes had leather bottoms now days. Prying at the edge, John discovered that the leather bottom was in fact a book cover, almost exactly the same size as the box. It was the same light brown as the box, so it was pretty simple to figure that Evelyn hadn't noticed it before putting the CDs in there. Pulling it free, he turned it over to discover the gold-leafed lettering that read "Diary". 5/3/98 Dear Diary, Am I the only one in the world who hates frozen yogurt? How can something that tastes so bad fool so many people? Whatever. I'm going out for cheerleading. I know. Kill me. But it's really the only opportunity to do anything even vaguely related to dancing. Which is enough, I guess. I'm not really sure, okay? Leave me alone. I'm worried in the back of my mind that I'll suffer some sort of spontaneous lobotomy, but being blonde and a cheerleader doesn't guarantee I have to be stupid, right? Like I said, kill me. When I've married and remarried six times, sold my internet company for billions and I'm living in that villa in Rome, it will make an amusing anecdote. Yeah. Luvs, Amy Typical dumb girl stuff, John thought. He placed the book back in the box and decided to forget about it. *** It was the best morning yet for John. Today was the day the bandages came off. Since Evelyn was a registered nurse, John let her do it rather than trudge back into the hospital again. After a nice light breakfast of eggs, sausage, bacon, beans and pastries, John was as eager as a puppy dog to get the damn wrappings off. Mrs. Cooper had put on what must have been her nurse's outfit back when she was working. She even had a red cross on her tiny hat thing. She had John sit down on the toilet in the bathroom as she slowly unwrapped the bandages with special tongs. With very delicate care, she removed them like an expert. One might have thought that she had applied them herself, she did it so well. And when they were off, John saw the result. A sickening scab went up the bridge of his nose, decorated with five stitches. The ugly yellow and purple bruising extended all the way to his cheeks and down to his lips. And it was still quite swollen. It was a mess. But the nose was straight, and that meant he wasn't going to have it re-set. "Now, I can remove those stitches as well, dear, would you like that?" Said nurse Evelyn. John readily agreed. As a boy who had withstood multiple piercings, he could easily take the stitch removal. Mrs. Cooper swabbed the nose with alcohol, and something that numbed it a bit. He didn't even feel it. It took the fun out of it for John. In no time at all, he had another smaller bandage applied to his nose, and he was feeling much better. He thanked Mrs. Cooper, and just couldn't wipe the smile off his face. This meant more to him than he thought it would. Mr. Cooper even seemed pleased with the result, as he was monitoring the proceedings from the bathroom doorway. Mr. Cooper nodded and smiled a broad smile. But when John tried to make eye contact, Mr. Cooper's expression quickly deadened and he briskly walked away. "Don't let Edgar get to you, dear. He's really just a big teddy bear," insisted Mrs. Cooper. "He's just a little guilty about the accident still. He doesn't know how to apologize." *** "I don't care who you are, Where you're from, What you did, As long as you love me. Who you are, Where you're from..." said the CD player. "...Don't care what you did, as long as you love me..." continued John. He took the opportunity between songs to ruminate on why he had ignored these bands in the past. BSB had it goin' on. Was he really so stupid as to have ignored the obvious for so long? Was he out of touch? Before he could work out another theorem on this, up came the next track. "Everybody, everybody, yeah, Rock your body, yeah! Everybody, everybody, yeah, Rock your body right! Backstreet's back alight!" It was pure drivel, but it made perfect sense to John. In front of the mirror the Coopers had given him to check his face, John found that his hairbrush was an unusually effective substitute for a microphone, and that those dance steps he saw in the video weren't as hard as they looked. What he also found was something that sent a quick chill through him. His piercings had healed up, and he could see his face unobscured. The bruises and scars had now faded away over the last few days, and now the scars were a deep pink. It was now obvious the shape his face had taken. And that shape wasn't right. It was very different. Why hadn't he noticed this earlier? His nose was maybe half as big as it used to be. A nub compared to it's previous size. It seemed to be slightly upturned. His cheeks seemed larger under his eyes, and even his lips seemed a bit puffier than they had been. Whatever that surgeon had done, he got it all wrong. He barely resembled the person he used to be. Anger welled up inside him. His rage rose and blew up into the rabid animal fury he had felt so often on the street. Then it subsided. John couldn't do anything about this. There was no one to find, no one to hurt. It was beyond his control. He was a victim. He was the one who was being hurt. He was in trouble. Terrible trouble. Panicking, John threw on his sweats and fled in fear. He scrambled down the stairs and ran from room to room and found Evelyn. She was at her sewing table, darning John's socks when he found her. "M-m-my f-f-face! L-l-look at m-m-my face! What did they do to my FACE?!" "Calm down now, dear, calm down, now." Mrs. Cooper pleaded. "Just breathe deeply, dear, and sit down. Tell me all about it." Evelyn tenderly grasped John's hand as she led him to a chair. She didn't let go, because John wouldn't let her. For a moment John was even more confused when his eyesight suddenly started to fail. A quick swipe at them with his hand revealed them to be something he hadn't done in over a decade. He was tearing up. "They messed up! They g-g-got my f-f-face all wrong!" John whimpered. "It's all sc-sc-screwed up!" John was out of his wits with panic. He couldn't understand what had happened. It was inconceivable that his face had reshaped itself into this monstrosity. John fought through the heavy breaths and runny nose he had developed in his current state of hysteria. He should be filled with rage and anger. Instead he was confused. He was afraid. Slowly, Evelyn calmed the boy down, and threw in generous dosages of hugging as she steered the boy back up to his room. "Just lie down dear, you'll feel better after you rest." John knew she was right. he always felt better after a rest. *** Awash in a fever of anguish, John tried to reconcile what had happened. Images flooded his head of the person he used to be. The person he was supposed to be. He couldn't keep then in focus for long. They would appear and vanish. He believed himself to be in a room full of people he knew. People he had known through his hard luck days. The tough faces, worn and rugged. Tense people, hunched and nervous, slowly milling about. John entered a room and the door closed behind him. Fighting with the knob, he couldn't budge it. John was trapped. Then after a moment, the door opened by itself. John exited, and found that everyone had changed. People in nice clothes and friendly smiles. They were going about their business, and seemed surprised to see him. They all turned. Startled at first. Then John heard a snicker. Then a man chuckled. And then they all laughed at John. They laughed and laughed. *** Evelyn was there with a cup of tea for the poor boy when he awoke a short time later. He gratefully accepted the tea and sipped it slowly, allowing it to calm his nerves. "Now you were worried about your face, dear." Said Evelyn And another burst of panic swept through John. But this time he steadied himself. "Yes. My face. The surgeons must have done something wrong," he said. "Look at this, I brought you the pictures I took when you first came to apply for the room. Take a look at them, dear." John looked at them. It's exactly how he used to look. His old face. "Now look in my compact mirror, honey," Evelyn continued. John compared the two. It wasn't as different as he had thought. In fact, now taking a look at the picture and his face side-by-side they seemed identical. His nose might even be cuter now. That was good. "I... I'm sorry Evelyn. I guess I... I don't know what I was thinking. I honestly can't see the difference now," apologized John. "But I was so sure that something was wrong... I can't... I don't..." "Here, now," Evelyn interrupted, gently taking John's chin in her hand. "I bet you were worried about those scars. They'll clear up in a month or two, and you'll never even know they were there. But let me show you a trick for right now." Evelyn flipped to another compartment on her compact and took out a brush. She dabbed it in some gunk and then applied it to John's face. "Wow! That's great!" said John. The scars were now completely invisible. "Show me that again!" *** John was standing at the mirror getting the shade exactly right to cover his scar. It would only be a few more weeks and he wouldn't need to worry about it anymore. He had already gone through two of Evelyn's compacts, and was starting his third. If it weren't for this make-up, he'd never get out of this house. But so far, he had only taken two excursions. One, a trip to the college registrar's office to sign up for the next term. After two full weeks of telephone tag, John had managed to keep possession of the lucrative windfall of money he had gotten as a grant. That is if you count an educational grant as lucrative. The second was to a department store to get him some new stuff to wear. Slowly but surely, he had misplaced most of his stuff and was now down to a couple of shirts and a pair of shorts. With the some assistance from the educational grant money, he was able to get a nice haul of stuff. He got new boots, some jogging shoes, and some athletic socks. He picked up a dozen or so cheap t-shirts and one or two button-downs for a change up. Adding to that few pairs of jeans in blue and black and he was set. Of course, the weather was getting colder outside, and that meant winter wear. So, he procured a nice warm puffy blue ski jacket and a ski cap. Adding to that he got a couple more knit hats, because he rightly figured you could never have enough, and then a pair or two of ski pants. And of course, you can't get enough scarves either. Topping it off, he got a pair or two of snow boots, the big puffy kind, in silver. When John got home he was eager to show off his newfound consumerism. Years of living in the bad part of town had limited his previous shopping experiences to stores of ill repute, and the occasional pharmaceutical spending spree. This was unlike anything he'd done before. And, as such, he wanted to make sure he'd gotten things right. He remembered when he had gotten home from the shopping trip to find the Coopers sitting in the living room as if they were waiting for him to return. He displayed what he had purchased, and was finding that Mr. Cooper seemed almost disappointed in what he had selected. Mrs. Cooper was as supportive as she could be, as was her nature, but even she seemed a bit unimpressed. If not just plain dejected. But now this morning, as he finished up with his concealer, he returned to leaf through his new apparel yet once again. Maybe in the clear calm light of day, he would discover what the Coopers seemed disgruntled with. There was his new pair of booties, a few pairs of keds and bobby socks. The tank tops and sweatshirts. The jeans and stetretchy leggings in blue and black. Nothing "wrong" with that, he decided. He had the puffy blue ski jacket, the knit hat, the beret, the thermal leggings, and those cute scarves. And those rad snow boots. If the Coopers were having a problem with this, it was obvious that they were projecting their disappointments in life onto him. These clothes were fine, and he didn't need to explain himself to anybody. So there. A steady repetition of sound from outside John's window signaled that what he had gotten up so early for was now beginning. The sound of a shovel ker-chunking into the show followed by a quick swish of that snow being propelled into the air meant that Wade was clearing the driveway outside. John put his new winter stuff on and headed downstairs. He wanted to meet this kid. It had been a long time since he had actually talked to anybody who was on his side of the closer-to-birth-than-death age barrier. John was actually a little nervous to be trudging out in the six-inch deep snow, knowing there was no real excuse he could think of for going out there and "accidentally" talking to the guy. He was going to look pretty obvious. That is until Mrs. Cooper placed a thermos in John's hand and asked him to bring it out to poor freezing Wade. Excuse covered. Coolness retained. He tried to look unconcerned with Wade's welfare as he handed over the thermos to Wade, limply offering it and saying: "Mrs. Cooper's idea." "Hi. Thanks. Wade," Said Wade. "My name's Wade." He redundantly continued. "Yeah," was John's contribution. Wade had looked a lot taller from above, John thought. He was actually only eye-high on John. Well, a lot of people were. John was six-two. "You're the renter, right?" Wade ventured. "Yeah," John confirmed. "Cold day," Wade added after a minute or so. "Doesn't usually snow 'til December." said John. "Not round here." Wade stated. "Nope," concluded John. And after another ten minutes of watching Wade smoke, shovel, and sip, John headed back in with the drained thermos. He was so relieved to be back in touch with his peers. Conversation like this was going to do a world of good for him. *** John developed a routine of bringing the thermos out to Wade every morning. It was really the only appointment he had in his life, and he was making it into a bit of a production. He would lay his clothes out in the evening so he'd be ready in the morning. Not letting Mrs. Cooper have all the fun, John had started making the hot chocolate for Wade himself. And he would add a little bit of cinnamon some days, others nutmeg, and even sometimes he snuck a little "bite" into it. That had led to John chipping in on making breakfast with Mrs. Cooper in the morning. Evelyn was much less lucid at 5 am, and that made for far more interesting conversation. Mr. Cooper had become quite used to the smell of coffee combined with the chatter of the two as he awoke every morning. Even Edgar seemed a little more agreeable in the morning, but that may have had more to do with a table full of food put before him. Under John's influence, he started to gently steer the Cooper's calorie-loaded breakfast a little more towards fresh fruit and fiber end of the spectrum, but with limited success. It resembled a continental breakfast, in the sense that it could conceivably feed an entire continent. Conversely, John found his own appetite wither over time, so that he was down to just carrying an orange back up to his room after cooking, rather than sitting down with the folks. Besides, his attempts to try and get on Mr. Cooper's good side were meeting with the most frigid of cold shoulders. After waiting in his room for a while, John would return downstairs to help Evelyn out a little with the housework, while Mr. Cooper was working in the basement. The basement door was always locked, using an oddly modern code-lock keypad thing. She had express instructions not to get near the door. Ever. It was during one average afternoon that John learned the history of Mr. Cooper from Evelyn. Evidently, he had been a two-star general in the Army only up until a few years ago when he retired. Evelyn wasn't altogether clear with John on what he did in the Army, but John was led to believe it was research-related rather than combat-related. They had met back in the final days of the Vietnam War, both twenty years old and headed back home on a plane to Hawaii. And before they had left Honolulu for San Francisco, they had married. Only 36 hours after meeting. They had a daughter named Jane, but that's John he could get. This 'Jane' subject was a closed matter. Using his devious nature in the subtlest way, John tried to let Evelyn escape the Jane question by asking her about the equally mysterious Amy question. The ploy worked. Amy was Jane's daughter and had come to live with them, for undisclosed reasons. And to what must have been total heartbreak, she then ran away about a year ago. But as Evelyn got choked up, she quickly steered the conversation off a cliff, talking about her troubles with lime deposits on the shower head and the unseasonable weather. Regardless of her cunning subterfuge, John now had a clue as to why they had rented a room for free. They just wanted someone around. *** Like it had happened every morning for three weeks, John eventually spotted Wade's lumbering figure slowly make its' way down the street, leaving a trail of footsteps in the deep powder behind him. If he had committed a crime before leaving his house, it would have been the world's easiest manhunt. Wade and John exchanged broad smiles as the thermos ceremony commenced. Poured into a cup, Wade took a sip, and then John. They didn't really need to say anything. They both could feel the hot beverage work it's way through them. The shared grins were due to the fact that the Cooper's 100-year old brandy was escorting the chocolate on its' tour of their bodies. Strangely, John felt warmer right now than he did for the rest of his day. After floating back to his room, John peeled off the jacket and crashed back into bed, doing his best to linger in the buzz. *** John had dozed off yet again. While sleeping, his body held a seminar, broke up into discussion groups and reassembled to draft an urgent demand that it get up and do something. John pulled on his oversized sweatshirt and wriggled into his best jeans. The tight fit unfortunately caused a larger problem, as one of the brass rivets caught on his briefs and proceeded to tear it right off his butt. It was funny at first. But those were his "lucky" ones. And he didn't have a another pair left in his room. Just how had he been losing all these clothes? For a while, John just went with the "natural" feel, but before long, the harsh denim had started to rub his skin raw. That's what happens when you wash clothes every day, he figured. If you let dirt and oil soak in over a month or so, the material becomes much softer. But now he had a problem. He knew that he had to put something down there, or it was going to get very uncomfortable. He figured that he must have a pair down in the wash. In the laundry room, however, there wasn't so much as a handkerchief. The last hope was the sewing room. On wandering over to it, he discovered that the house seemed to be empty. A quick pass by the front window confirmed the absence of the boat-sized Buick Regal that normally stood guard in the driveway. The sewing room was also bereft of unmentionables, and a dejected John headed back to his hut. Maybe he could find some talc or crisco or something. Then he passed the forbidden room, and John fell victim to his curiosity. He timidly pressed in on Amy's door, hoping it was shut or locked, and he could proceed on with the great white undie hunt. But instead it readily sprung open, too inviting for John not to proceed. Once more impressed by the blast of color and haphazard placement of items, John wondered what had made her run away. He could figure that living with your grandparents would drive you bonkers, but Evelyn appeared to be in reverence of the girl. If she had left, it wasn't because of Mrs. Cooper. John noticed the ornamental cone megaphone placed at the foot of the bed with the script "Hogs" on it. A thought that she was some sort of champion hog caller quickly evaporated when he spied the banners of the local high school, bearing the bold text "Templeton High Warthogs" on them. Over at some sort of desk with a mirror, he saw a number of pictures tucked in the frame. He was more interested in the desk actually. If he had one of those, putting that concealer on would sure be easier then standing in front of the mirror in his room. He probably couldn't carry that back to his room, though. So while he was here, John figured he'd pick up some smaller items, a few more of those cool CDs of Amy's. After making his selections, he had a nasty thought. Underwear. Amy probably had underwear, maybe even something that looked a bit like his briefs. And it's not as if wearing girls' clothes would be wrong. Girls wear men's stuff, he thought. Surely John would be committing no great sin if he were to do the same. It's not like cross dressing was in the bible or anything. Pondering the question, the startlingly clear sound of a car door slam signaled the return of the Coopers. Making the decision for him was his innate sense of "take the loot and run" as he swept up an armload from Amy's top drawer as he scampered back out of the room. Passing the mirror once again, a picture caught his eye. It was the strangest thing he'd ever seen. It couldn't possibly be what it looked like. But no time to linger now. As John whisked his way up his stairs, the jingling clatter of keys, the stomping of snow off shoes and the low rumbling of Mr. Cooper's voice were just loud enough to keep them from hearing John's door shut. *** John flipped through the diary again. 3/21/96 Dear Diary, I had this dream last night. I was at home in my room when I heard a knock at the front door. I went and answered it. It was Nick from the Backstreet Boys!!!! I couldnt believe it!!!! "You won a contest and Im taking you to dinner," he said. I was like ya right, whos playing a joke on me? I couldn't believe it!!!! Well that was dumb, John thought. Even he didn't like the Boys enough to dream about them. He flipped to a more recent entry. 1/5/98 Dear Diary, Well, it's my first day here with Gramms and Gramps. They picked me up at the airport this afternoon, and they've been super nice to me so far. Gramms' been especially nice to me, but if she calls me 'sweetie pie' one more time, I'm going to scream. The room seems okay (I really like the bed), but the house has always creeped me out a little. It's like living inside of an old black & white TV show, you know what I mean? As usual, it seems like everything's funny to Grandpa. I wish he'd be serious for just a moment, but he can't stop telling me the same tired jokes. He's already told me one twice, and I've only been here twelve hours! I'll have to get him a joke book for his birthday. A new one. I'll be starting school next week, and I'll be a sophomore at the local high school (they call themselves hogs. I swear to god). It sure beats the tutoring I had back in Tennessee. I miss everything about home right now. Except the child services housing units. It's nice to be in a real person's actual lived-in home. Even if it is "Pleasantville." It's kinda hard to be here, with all the memories. Every time I've ever been in this house, I've been here with Mom. In the back of my mind, I think to myself where'd Mom go? Is she in the kitchen? But it's just for a moment, and then I remember. Thats all for today. Got to go to bed early, cuz I know I'm not gonna sleep much tonight. Luvs, Amy John snapped the book shut. He was astonished to find so much in common with the unknown girl. She was even in a state home, like he was for so long. But what was that about "grandpa" Edgar? The guy was about as funny as an infection. John needed more information about Amy. His appetite had been whet. *** John waited until late that night. After he was sure that the Coopers were asleep and had been so for at least an hour, John shimmied out of bed and tried as best he could to get down the stairs without too much noise. At the base of the stairs, he snatched a flashlight from the utility closet. He padded across the kitchen to the living room and then down the hall. He felt quite stealthy in his all-black outfit. The silk briefs he now sported under his leggings made him feel even more cat-like in his sneaky grace. Amy's door was still ajar, and he slowly approached the mirror with the pictures. That's why he was taking such a chance tonight. That picture had played on his mind for hours. Looking quite carefully, he studied it with forensic precision. It was a girl, quite clearly, with a cheerleaders' outfit on. Stitched into the right shoulder was the name "Amy." This was the elusive runaway. What had bothered John, though, was the girl's uncanny familiarity. Not in height or build, but from the neck to the hairline. The body was that of a teenage girl. The big hair kind of looked like a blond Jessica Alba. In between, it was John's face. John's smiling, happy face on this girl's body. His perky nose, his puffy lips, his blue eyes. John's trembling fingers let the photo fall gently to the floor. John's knees quickly followed suit. It was impossible for him to breathe. The shock was more than he could handle. That was why he was here. That was why they had selected him for the room. They replaced their grand-daughter with a guy who looked just like her. These people. These people. They were sick. John got to his feet and stumbled into the hallway. The unfortunate rush of blood from his head and the ensuing dizziness prevented him from avoiding the wall directly in front of him sending a large thump through the house. It was quickly followed by a click and a beam of light coming from under the Cooper's bedroom door. If they found him here, now, who knows what could happen. If they were as psychotic as he'd assumed they were, they would surely kill him. He broke for the front door and grabbed the handle firmly. It was frigidly cold. He'd get away later. He couldn't escape now. The cold would surely do him in. He moved as fast as he thought he could without making noise as he ran back to his room. The pulsing of blood through his ears drummed out his ability to hear his steps. If he made it back, there might not be any questions. They might never know that something was wrong. The bumping around from the Cooper's room exploded into the hallway. And then it got louder as it got closer. Not seeing his way clearly, John stubbed his toe on the first step. The lights flipped on in the hallway. John hopped up the next few steps pulling himself with his arms along the handrail as fast as he could. The kitchen lights flashed to life and there was only one corner separating him from discovery. With the final burst of energy he could muster, he grasped the end of the rail. He could just see the shine of the brass on his door knob. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" boomed the voice of Mr. Cooper. The loudness, the anger and the menace in the words caused John to spin around in terror. As the lights flipped on, John's balance gave out on him and he accidentally wedged both his legs under one step, locking them in place. As he fell forward, betraying the design of his knees, he heard the ugliest sound he would ever hear. *** The chemically-induced sleep had left a film in John's eyes which would just not go away by itself. An attempt to use his hands to rub it away met with the restraint of leather straps. Over the course of ten minutes, he gradually adjusted to the presence of light. He had never thought it could actually physically hurt as much as it did right now on the back of his retinas. Still, he could only make out fuzzy blobs when he could manage to keep his eyes open for more than two seconds. It then had hit him, what had happened. He tried to believe that it wasn't real, something that hadn't really occurred. Then he wanted to believe that he had gotten away with his deception. Then he remembered the crack. The horrible, horrible crack. His chest started to heave as his breath became labored. His ears started to ring, and he could feel his jaw start to tremble. What if he were still in the Cooper's house? How could he still be there? If they knew that he had seen the photo, then they knew he was on to the plan. He knew that he had changed over his time there. He thought he had done so of his own free will. John's stomach turned as he recalled the "accident" with the closet. They had somehow changed his face when he had the bandages on. It had all been a plan. He was dealing with psychotics. And if he were still in their house... A giant gray blob in front of him moved. It had a smaller pinkish blob on top. God help him if it was... "You're awake," Mr. Cooper said. "Good." Mr. Cooper's image moved from a seated position in front to John's side, slowly, silently. "Do you remember my name?" Edgar Cooper demanded. "What's my full name?" John couldn't reply. "MY NAME!" "Coopr. Edgar. Coopprr." John tried to reply through his nervous, chattering and achy teeth. "Good, that's just what I wanted to hear." And John felt a prick in his arm. "No!" John yelled, desperate to cling to consciousness. Maybe his last moments on earth. "P-p-please! N-n-no! I'll keep quiet! L-l-let m-m-me go..." John tried to thrash himself out of the restraints. His muscles didn't so much as twitch. As his brain started to dim, his voice fell away into a gurgle. "P-p-pleeease. God. Pleerrllg...." "Rrrggglk." *** "Upsie-daisy!" came the clarion call of the domesticated housewife. "Up and at 'em!" continued Mrs. Cooper. John yawned himself awake, stretching his arms in the morning sunlight. He ran his fingers along the middle of his forehead to split the long hair that had fallen into his face. He raised himself on his bent arms and waited for Mrs. Cooper to get herself into position. "Good morning, Evelyn." John chirped back. "What a nice sunrise." "It'll be spring next week." Mrs. Cooper said, working her way around the room, picking up discarded clothing. "I can't wait. Winter has just been so long this year." John thoughtfully ventured. "Hasn't it?" said Mrs. Cooper. "Ready?" John scooted back on his bed. Evelyn grasped the tension lines attached to pulleys, hung from the suspension scaffold above the bed. The line then wrapped around the pulleys to John's splinted legs, kept in traction. "Ready." John tried to avert the electric pain he felt every time they did this, but was just as unsuccessful this morning. At least that's what he remembered. Three long months in traction, every day going through this routine. It seemed a high price to pay for such a minor car accident. Wade and John were going to get a bite at Arby's when he swerved on some black ice. Poor Wade had gotten a concussion. But John's legs and pelvis were crushed. After three operations, he was now only a few days away from getting the splints off and beginning physical therapy. At the very least he'd get rid of that awful catheter. So there was light at the end of the tunnel. He would still have weeks of crutches, but only a few more days and he'd be out of traction. Why, John mused to himself, did he have to have that craving for a French dip? Is that right, dear?" Mrs. Cooper asked. "Fine 'n dandy." John said. *** It was later that day, after a long visit from Wade, that John had managed to get to his CD player with the help of his broom handle. The pounding beat of "Whoops, I Did it Again" soothed his nerves and helped him to think. He was remembering back to when he had moved in with the Coopers, way back in the Fall. College seemed like a forgotten dream now, since his money was all but gone, and probably unlikely to return. Missing two terms had convinced the financial aid board not to extend another check. And he missed the opportunity to do the simple things he had enjoyed before the accident. Like hanging out at the mall, spending a day at the salon, or even just a good shoe sale. He would never take these things for granted again. In fact it had been so long that John felt his life before the accident was just a dream. At least it seemed that way. When Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Edgar had let him take the room for the year, he had thought that it