Youth. My sweet, gentle little Tell me—why do you even want to go to school? Your mom and I are offering you to stay homeschooled like before! What's wrong with Dorothy? She teaches you everything better than any teacher could: algebra, physics, art, foreign languages, singing… Yeah, And also how to become a teacher while knowing absolutely nothing useful herself. Erich cut in, and his dad froze mid-sentence. The boy went on, getting bolder by the second: – Think about it: how can one person teach everything? Unless she's carrying some kind of alien brain chip…
Well… she studied at an Ivy League – Ardon mumbled, unconvincingly.
Which one?
I… don't remember Somewhere in Mongolia. I think in Ulaanbaatar.
Erich snorted and raked his fingers through his curls—the kind of curls that ate combs alive. The gene for Ardon's straight hair had skipped him completely, so he was locked in a daily battle with his hair. Gift or curse—jury's still out.
Look, I really wanna go to a regular school. Learn properly. Hang out with kids my age.
Not just Dorothy, who's like a weird watermelon–Chihuahua hybrid. Isn't that why we came back to the States? Chicago's awesome, and I want to explore it—outside the house.
Well, yeah, that too, my sweet boy. We brought you back to where you were Far from those nosy French gendarmes who, apparently, didn't like our little family business!
The man took a nervous sip of his favorite soy milk latte and scratched his head—still completely gray-free, same as when Erich was a baby. Time marched on, but Ardon's hair didn't get the memo.
Today he'd decided to have this heart-to-heart, father-to-son talk while Gina was away, cycling into the city to set up a steady supply chain of food for their latest venture—one that was almost a reality now. He would've spent another good hour daydreaming about that almost-born idea, but his son was waiting for an answer.
Me? I'm not against it! What matters most to me is your happiness—not school or any other secondary nonsense. If you, my precious child, think your joy lies in personal growth, and public school can give you that—then so be it! I'm sure your mother won't object either. What she always says is: -If you find yourself alone in the darkness…
You must seek your Sun! – Erich finished Gina's mantra – Yeah, yeah, I know. One Sun I'll find through solid—okay, even halfway decent—education. The other one, I'm still looking for. I've scoured almost every directory already, and still can't find anything about her.
Maybe I should check the Net…
The what?! – Ardon recoiled, shielding his child from imaginary cyber – Don't even say
that government surveillance toy's name out loud! Good thing Gina didn't hear that! Erich had an answer ready. He sighed dreamily:
On one hand, yeah… but on the other—football websites are so
Football?! – Ardon staggered back, hands scrambling for the edge of the table before sinking onto it. Good thing it was solid—otherwise, the emotional weight would've crushed him. – What now, my little blossom?! Did we not treat you well?! What's wrong with squash? Is there anything more dynamic and exhilarating?!
Pretty much everything. – The football fan replied, annoyed to find a banana peel in his pocket. He pulled it out and, under his dad's knowing gaze, dropped the leftover fruit skin into the bag for compostables. The bag was already puffed up next to the plastic recycler and, for some reason, a ladder. No clue how that got there.
Time to move on. Erich gently signaled that the conversation was over—but not without one final jab. He leaned in and whispered:
I also wanna become a financier.
If pain could be physically embodied, it would've become Ardon.
Many people are skeptical about ancient methods like flipping through paper directories—and Erich was one of those people. But sometimes, those ancestral techniques—honored during childhood solstice rituals—actually worked.
Sitting in his room, petting the now considerably larger M.K. (who was busy gnawing on his favorite plush: the Magnificent and Irresistible Corn), Erich flipped pages of a fat, old, smelly book that reeked of ink and rancid grease. The scent had never left the pages, no matter how many years passed.
The Corn plush, by the way, had a lopsided mouth and grumpy eyebrows. Apparently, not only Erich was annoyed by its eternal sad expression—M.K. totally understood the assignment and was taking it apart with passion.
Tossing a piece of meat into the air, the boy watched with satisfaction as his acrobatic dog caught it mid-flip. M.K. wasn't some clueless pup anymore—he was a snack-devouring, trick-performing machine.
Still half-heartedly scanning the pages, Erich suddenly saw it: - Delvin Bingles. And like a lightning bolt to the brain, he remembered—his old friend had once said that was her dad's name. He'd just kept forgetting.
What a doofus!
Cursing himself for the delay, Erich didn't forget to leap joyfully around the room with his dog, who clearly thought a fiesta had begun. They probably would have kept bouncing all day if Erich hadn't suddenly cleared his throat with exaggerated seriousness and grabbed the handset of the cordless phone. Duty called! And so did his long-lost friend.
One ring. Then another. Then another. Then a whole mocking orchestra of rings. Apparently, the phone connection had joined forces with fate to mess with him, refusing to connect him to the one person who really mattered. He made a tragic face. M.K. matched it with a furrowed brow, sharing the vibe.