EMOTION PLATTER

the Boy--he referred to himself as the boy because despite inhabiting a hulking frame, being of lanky and firm body, he was terminally emotionally a twelve-year-old boy--sat down in front of his computer screen set to describe as best he could the rollercoaster of emotions of last monday of last week of the latest month. it starts as always, the boy dependent on one thing and only one thing to survive: the cyber scribblings of his online friends. a horror passes into his face as he hits all the requisite buttons, again and again for there must be some mistake, and realizes that his line of communication has been cruelly erased. a virus, a bully, an unseen threat? the culprit is of no importance, the computer disease has slithered back into the air, uncatchable. the damage is done, this is happening, it's all gone, years of work down the drain, trains of thought derailed forever.

just then, a call. his aunt, the one who cares for him still, calling from the hospital, she's just about to have that knee surgery, she should be fine, though she is old and frail, too old to still be having to be forced to care for the boy. the knife will plunge into her within the hour, and what follows will be two weeks of recuperation, two weeks for the lonely boy to really be alone to fend for himself in the cold, dark house.

he must now leave the cold dark house if he wants to eat, no more spaghetti and meatballs at the ready in his room, he must go to taco bell or somewhere nearby, must travail those long dusty roads, walk until his calves burst with burn and numb. it is during this trip that he passes by a tv broadcasting the untimely death of that black actress from one of those road trip movies, dead after going in for "routine" knee surgery...auntie...see, it can all be gone in a flash, nothing routine about how the boy has chosen to manage his life.

being alone was a choice, but now it has a grip on the boy, it has a mind of its own, it's steering him into a crazy way, it's taking over his brain, his diseased thoughts are racing a marathon. no more online friends, no one to talk to, no one to TYPE to, he has a little brother, but he never talks to his little brother, they have nothing in common, the brother lives in the house, and the boy is all alone in the cold dark house, what's easier than engaging? sibling silent treatment

is this the end? is it really over? will he ever type another letter again? was it all for naught, is his very existence irrelevant and waiting to disintegrate like the common virus which started this mess?

a call, strange voice. female voice, but not Auntie. oh, it's the nurse, letting me know in an exaggerated tone that everything is fine, the surgery was really routine this time, and there's nothing to worry about anymore

nothing to worry about anymore...




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