Embedded Files
The new kid stands in the rain by the horsey rings. He stares at a cat cleaning itself under the covered-area. He remains motionless, dripping water from his waxy face, almost smiling, long eyelashes over comically big brown eyes. Nobody talks to him. When the whistle blows, he watches the other kids run inside, leaving their games of foursquare and double-dutch behind. Gary’s legs are short and his arms are weak, but his head can turn all the way around, and he has the spirit, so he runs to class in his wonky way.
The real kids are already seated. Gary enters, drenched and shining. The door clicks closed behind him. He looks blue in the fluorescent lights. The teacher looks up from her computer, flummoxed by the sight of him. She picks up her phone and dials an extension. The new kid stands stiffly by the door, framed by colorful elephants and cotton ball clouds, almost smiling.
The teacher speaks into the phone, Yes… but shouldn’t you have let me know? She stares at the new kid by the door, quite small for his age, framed by colorful elephants and cotton ball clouds and she sighs with meaning. Not really, no, she continues. The classroom settles into tense silence and the principal’s voice can nearly be heard, tinny through the receiver. She sighs again and asks, Well, what if someone wants to use it? I can’t just keep… hold on… what’s your name? The teacher smiles perfunctorily at the new kid, who is still dripping on the mat by the door, and asks, What’s your name?
His big, peculiar eyes roam from side-to-side, cheeks and brow unflinching, mouth hanging open, trying to form words.
Excuse me? The teacher holds the phone to her blouse. What is your name?
Something dribbles from the new kid’s mouth; it’s a drop of pink goo. He slurps it back into his mouth and murmurs, It’s Gary. A couple of the kids gasp. All eyes watch him. His tiny features somewhat comical, bizarre: motionless tiny fingers for tiny hands at the ends of flimsy arms, shining, immobile brown hair, ears painted onto the sides of his massive head, boxy torso in striped long-sleeves, held up by pants that look empty, ending in plastic brown shoes with no laces. His eyebrows are painted permanently curious. His eyes rove the room, noticing how different every other face is.
Well, Gary, I’m Miss Carol, please take a seat in the back, by the computers for now. Until we find a better place for you. Miss Carol finishes up her conversation with the principal, whispered and strained. Gary bobbles past his classmates, still almost smiling. With head slow pivoting, he wipes a bit of pink goo from his pallid lips as he sways down the row of desks. Jason Glib’s foot sticks out, tripping Gary. Gary falls.
He smells like mothballs, Jason Glib comments, holding his big nose. Nobody laughs. Gary pushes himself up again, stands up and continues down the aisle to a seat in the back by the computers. He sits on the edge of the chair, his flimsy legs dangling, swinging brown shoes.
Well, I have to get class started, says Miss Carol. She hangs up the phone. She stands, telling the class to get out their math books. Walking across the room, she pulls a math book from the shelf and hands it to the new kid, Okay Jerry, you’ll just have to do your best to keep up. We’re working on fractions.
It’s Gary, he says.
Gary, yes, Gary. Okay class, she then goes on and on about fractions, but Gary doesn’t know what any of it means. He swings his legs and tries to keep quiet. The other kids whisper and sneak peeks at the new kid.
Callie Hendrix turns around and whispers to Gary, Why are you all shiny?
Gary says, I’m a dummy.
He’s said it too loudly and Miss Carol stops her lecture, turns around and says, Gary, we do not speak out of turn, please follow along in your book.
Gary’s mouth hangs open. He points his tiny nose at the book. He doesn’t recognize any of the symbols, so he focuses on a little picture in the corner of the page. It’s a picture of a smiling boy with a yo-yo. The boy looks happy. Gary focuses all his attention on the boy with the yo-yo. The boy’s shirt is yellow and his yo-yo is blue.
Gary! Miss Carol hollers, exasperated. Gary, are you following along in the book?
Um, yes, yes, Miss Carol, he says. Sorry, Miss Carol.
The lesson continues and a wadded piece of paper flies across the room and bounces off Gary’s wide-open eye. Gary turns to see Jason Glib flipping him off and mouthing something nasty. Gary does not react, but does not look away from the boy either. He lifts his middle finger in response.
Gary! Miss Carol points to the door, Go to the office.
Gary blinks, big eyelashes, blank.
Now, Gary, go! She snaps her finger.
Gary hops down from his seat and trudges the gauntlet of real-kid eyes. He pauses at Jason Glib’s foot in the aisle. Gary points his foot out at Jason Glib and spins his head, watching for the other student’s reactions, eyes buggy.
Do I need to call Faust and tell them that you’re refusing to go to the office? Miss Carol says firmly.
No ma’am, Gary says and hurries out the door. Outside, he sees that same cat walking out to the field. The cat is dirty-white and fluffy. Gary waves to the cat, but the cat doesn’t notice him, so Gary runs out to the field. The cat pushes its way through a gap in the chain-link fence. Gary runs, bang, into the fence. Hello cat, hello-hello.
The cat hisses, hackles up.
Hello cat, hello-hello. Gary pushes his arm through the gap, straining to touch the cat, grunting, plastic shoes slipping on wet grass, rain dripping from his blank face, Hello-hello.
Gary, a thin voice behind him calls.
He turns his head all the way around and sees Faust in that polyester suit, a golden cross on a golden chain, shining in the sun. Hello-hello! Gary hollers back, pulling his arm out of the fence and waving. The cat runs across the street and hides in the tall grass.
Come here, Gary, Faust says firmly, pointing like a dog trainer. Gary trots over. Come with me, Faust tells the boy, leading the way down the covered sidewalk.
Come with me, Gary repeats, turning his head around, and again seeing the cat across the street hiding in the tall grass. He pauses a moment and considers running after the cat. Faust grabs him by his flimsy arm. Something flashes in his vision and Gary panics at the touch of those shaky old hands. Gary clutches Faust’s golden cross necklace, breaking the chain, opens his mouth, and clamps downs onto the big hairy forearm. Blood splatters across Gary’s face. Ah! Heavens to Betsy! Mr. Faust screams, letting Gary go. Gary bobs and strides away, still gripping the golden cross.
He runs to the fence, bang, and squeezes through the gap, scratching some paint from his face, leaving him with no cheek-bone-shadow on one side. The golden chain catches on the fence and Gary tugs twice before leaving it behind.
Faust watches blankly.
Gary runs across the road and follows the cat into an abandoned house. Hello cat, hello-hello! he shouts as he steps through the collapsed side of the house. The cat is nowhere to be seen. So, Gary bops across the leaning gangway. Hello-hello! He pushes past the door to a moldy closet and finds the cat there. Hello cat, hello-hello! The cat riles up, spitting and hissing, and attacks him. Gary falls back, holding his tiny hands up to his expressionless face. Sorry cat, sorry cat.
Gary? says the nasally, worried voice of Faust. The cat scurries out through a broken window. Gary, you in here?
Gary says, I want to pet the cat.
Faust approaches. Now, everything’s alright, Gary. There’s no need to get all riled up about something small, like this. Okay? Faust eases closer. But… but now… just tell me… just what you were thinking? Faust rolls up the sleeve, the bloody sleeve, showing the boy the damaged flesh beneath. Look at my arm, would you? Now, you’ve got to settle down, my boy.
Gary stares at Faust, blank.
My boy, Gary says.
Now, let’s just get out of here, before this whole place comes down on our heads, you hear me? Faust beckons the boy to follow, Come on now. Let’s just get out of here, alright?
I want to pet the cat, Gary says.
What cat?
I want to pet the cat, Gary says again.
Faust breathes out heavily. Now, son, there’s more to life than petting cats, all right?
More to life? Gary asks, eyes wide. What is more to life?
Well, ught, Faust waves the boy over again. There’s lots of things, but right now, we need to go back to my office and settle this whole thing down again, okay? Let’s just settle this whole thing back down, what d’ya say? Let’s settle this thing down.
Settle this whole thing down, Gary repeats.
Yeah, what d’ya say?
Let’s just settle this whole thing back down, Gary recites. What d’ya say?
Gary, come now. We’re leaving. With that Faust turns and starts out the missing backdoor.
Now. Gary stands up and follows.
Faust’s car is parked outside. It’s a big car. They get in it. Then, the heater turns on. The heat blows on Gary’s numb face. Faust buckles the seatbelt over Gary’s insignificant legs and clicks the doors locked. They smile. We’ll be back at school in just a minute, my boy.
In just a minute, Gary says.
The car pulls out onto the empty motorway. The hum of the road and the warmth from the vents make Gary feel sleepy.
My boy, Gary says, remembering something, not understand it.
He remembers being carried in a suitcase, in the dark, comfortable. The case opens and he’s taken from it by big hands, pink goo dripping, shivering, old hands. A hand goes inside of him, from behind, and he comes alive. The hand makes him wiggle his eyebrows and makes him tell jokes that people laugh at. Gary is happy this way. The person with old hands is in shadow, but they hold Gary firmly, shaking all the while, dripping pink goo down wrists and then someone's screaming. The shaky old hands throw Gary against the wall, and Gary cracks his wooden skull on the way down. The shivering hands grab him by the head and pink goo drips into the crack in Gary’s skull.
Gary snaps back from his reverie and follows Faust. He's lead into a blank, carpeted space, a bit of sharp light coming from an oversized metal reading-lamp on a desk. There’s a padded chair across from Gary’s plastic chair. Faust stands in the corner, facing the wall, facing the blank wall, bopping up and down, pink goo dripping fingertips. The room stinks of urine. There are no windows in here. Faust bops up and down and the room stinks.
You’ll have to, Faust growls, hand on the wall, body writhing, see the machinery. The good kind, you’re the good kind, I promise, okay? Faust wobbles like a marionette and then nearly falls to the floor. Faust is not a marionette. If you can see the machinery, you can understand what all of this, all of this, what all of this is about. With a whimper, something clicks loudly in Faust’s face. Panting, sweating, and now pounding the wall, Faust is changing.
You’re the good kind, Gary says.
Mouth hanging open, Faust turns to Gary, menacing, golden cross white knuckled. Faust’s speech is now indecipherable. Cheeks stretch and jaw descends. Mouth opens and opens more, much more, tongue falling out, deep purple. Skin of cheeks split at the corners and presently teeth can be seen from the side – Faust’s repaired cleft-lip splitting up to the septum. Faust thrusts at Gary impossibly, jarringly, neck lurching, those familiar fingers clutching at the little guy. Gary’s brown shoes swing over the edge of the plastic chair, and he has no expression on his face.
Faust screams colossal, metal screeching, horns and death rattle, and vomits pitch-black, caustic pus from an impossibly wide mouth, fire hose, onto Gary in his little plastic chair, knocking him to the floor. Gary flinches in a black puddle. The pus coats Gary’s features and soon he’s steaming with it down to his little plastic shoes, but he doesn’t move a lot.
Gary cleans himself in the nurse’s bathroom and returns to recess with a new manner about him. Many of the kids stop their play to watch him. His countenance is that of any well-groomed, well-adjusted boy of his age. He walks right up to Jason Glib, who’s ankle deep in a puddle and points his brown shoe out before the boy, as if to trip him.
What the fuck’s wrong with you? Jason Glib asks.
What the fuck’s wrong with you? Gary smiles now, unlike before, but really, a real-kid smile.
be heard, tinny through the receiver. She sighs again and asks, Well, what if someone wants to use it? I can’t just keep… hold on… what’s your name? The teacher smiles perfunctorily at the new kid, who is still dripping on the mat by the door, and asks, What’s your name?
His big, peculiar eyes roam from side-to-side, cheeks and brow unflinching, and the new kid’s mouth hangs open, trying to form words.
Excuse me? The teacher holds the phone to her blouse. What is your name?
Something dribbles from the new kid’s mouth; it’s a drop of pink slime. He slurps it back up and murmurs, It’s Gary. A couple of the kids gasp. All eyes watch him. His tiny features somewhat comical, bizarre: motionless tiny fingers for tiny hands at the ends of flimsy arms, shining, immobile brown hair, ears painted onto the sides of his massive head, boxy torso in striped long-sleeves, held up by pants that look empty, ending in plastic brown shoes with no laces. His eyebrows are painted permanently curious. His eyes rove the room, noticing how different every other face is.
Well, Gary, I’m Miss Carol, please take a seat in the back, by the computers for now. Until we find a better place for you. Miss Carol finishes up her conversation with the principal, whispering and strained. Gary bobbles past his classmates, still almost smiling, head pivoting slow. He wipes the drop of pink slime from his pallid lips as he sways down the row of desks. Jason Glib’s foot sticks out, tripping Gary. Gary falls.
He smells like mothballs, Jason Glib comments, holding his big nose. Nobody laughs. Gary pushes himself up again, stands up and continues down the aisle to a seat in the back by the computers. He sits on the edge of the chair, his flimsy legs dangling, swinging brown shoes.
Well, I have to get class started, says Miss Carol into the phone and hangs up. She stands, telling the class to get out their math books. Walking across the room, she pulls a math book from the shelf and hands it to the new kid, Okay Jerry, you’ll just have to do your best to keep up. We’re working on fractions.
It’s Gary, he says.
Gary, yes, Gary. Okay class, she then goes on and on about fractions, but Gary doesn’t know what any of it means. He swings his legs and tries to keep quiet. The other kids whisper and occasionally look back at the new kid.
Callie Hendrix turns around and whispers to Gary, Why are you all shiny?
Gary says, I’m a dummy.
He’s said it too loudly and Miss Carol stops her lecture, turns around and says, Gary, we do not speak out of turn, please follow along in your book.
Gary’s mouth hangs open. He points his tiny nose at the math book, but doesn’t recognize any of the symbols, so he focuses on a little picture in the corner of the page. It’s a picture of a smiling boy with a yo-yo. The boy looks happy. Gary focuses all his attention on the boy with the yo-yo. The boy’s shirt is yellow and his yo-yo is blue.
Gary! Miss Carol hollers, exasperated. Gary, are you following along in the book?
Um, yes, yes, Miss Carol, he says. Sorry, Miss Carol.
The lesson continues and a wadded piece of paper flies across the room and bounces off Gary’s wide-open eye. Gary turns to see Jason Glib flipping him off and mouthing something nasty. Gary does not react, but does not look away from the boy either. He lifts his middle finger in response.
Gary! Miss Carol points to the door, Go to the office.
Gary blinks, big eyelashes, blank.
Now, Gary, go! She snaps her finger.
Gary hops down from his seat and trudges the gauntlet of real-kid eyes. He pauses at Jason Glib’s foot in the aisle. Gary points his foot out at Jason Glib and spins his head, watching for the other student’s reactions, eyes buggy.
Do I need to call Mr. Faust and tell him that you’re refusing to go to the office? Miss Carol says firmly.
No ma’am, Gary says and hurries out the door. Outside, he sees that same cat walking out to the field. The cat is dirty white and fluffy. Gary waves to the cat, but the cat doesn’t notice him, so Gary runs out to the field. The cat pushes its way through a gap in the chain-link fence. Gary runs, bang, into the fence. Hello cat, hello-hello.
The cat hisses; the fur on its back stands on end.
Hello cat, hello-hello. Gary pushes his arm between the chain-links, straining to touch the cat, grunting, plastic shoes slipping on wet grass, rain dripping from his blank face, Hello-hello.
Gary, a man calls from behind him.
He turns his head all the way around and sees Principal Faust in his polyester suit, a golden cross around his neck, shining in the sun. Hello-hello! Gary hollers back, pulling his arm out of the fence and waving to the man in the distance. The cat runs across the street and hides in the tall grass.
Come here, Gary, Mr. Faust says firmly, pointing to his feet like a dog trainer. Gary trots over. Come with me, he tells the boy, leading the way down the covered sidewalk.
Come with me, Gary repeats, turning his head around, and again seeing the cat across the street hiding in the tall grass. He pauses a moment and considers running after the cat. Mr. Faust grabs him by his flimsy arm. Something flashes in his vision and Gary panics at the touch of the man’s shaky old hands. Gary clutches Faust’s golden cross necklace, breaking the chain, opens his mouth, and clamps downs onto the man’s big hairy forearm. Blood splatters across Gary’s face. Ah! Heavens to Betsy! Mr. Faust screams, letting Gary go. Gary bobs and strides away, still gripping the man’s golden cross.
He runs to the fence, bang, and squeezes through the gap, scratching some paint from his face, leaving him with no cheek-bone-shadow on one side. The golden chain catches on the fence and Gary tugs twice before leaving it behind. He runs across the road and follows the cat into an abandoned house. Hello cat, hello-hello! he shouts as he steps through the collapsed side of the house. The cat is nowhere to be seen. So, Gary bops across the leaning gangway. Hello-hello! He pushes past the door to a moldy closet and finds the cat there. Hello cat, hello-hello! The cat riles up, spitting and hissing, and attacks him. Gary falls back, holding his tiny hands up to his expressionless face. Sorry cat, sorry cat.
Gary? says the nasally, worried voice of Mr. Faust. The cat scurries out through a broken window. Gary, you in here?
Gary says, I want to pet the cat.
The man approaches. Now, everything’s alright, Gary. There’s no need to get all riled up about something small, like this. Okay? Faust eases slowly closer. But… but now… just tell me… just what you were thinking? He rolls up his sleeve bloody sleeve, showing the boy the damaged flesh beneath. Look at my arm, would you? Now, you’ve got to settle down, my boy.
Gary stares at Mr. Faust, blank. My boy, Gary says.
Now, let’s just get out of here, before this whole place comes down on our heads, you hear me? He beckons the boy to come with him, Come on now. Let’s just get out of here, alright?
I want to pet the cat, Gary says.
What cat?
I want to pet the cat, Gary says again.
Mr. Faust breathes out heavily. Now, son, there’s more to life than petting cats, alright?
More to life? Gary asks, eyes wide. What is more to life?
Well, ught, Mr. Faust waves the boy over again. There’s lots of things, but right now, we need to go back to my office and settle this whole thing down again, okay? Let’s just settle this whole thing back down, what d’ya say? Let’s settle this thing down.
Settle this whole thing down, Gary repeats.
Yeah, what d’ya say?
Let’s just settle this whole thing back down, Gary recites. What d’ya say?
Gary, come now. We’re leaving. With that the principal turns and starts out the missing backdoor.
Now. Gary stands up and follows him.
Faust’s car is parked outside. It’s a big car. They get in it. Then, the heater turns on. The heat blows on Gary’s benumbed face. Faust buckles the seatbelt over Gary’s insignificant legs and clicks the doors locked. The man smiles. We’ll be back at school in just a minute, my boy.
In just a minute, Gary says.
The car pulls out onto the empty motorway. The hum of the road and the warmth from the vents make Gary feel sleepy.
My boy, he remembers something, but he doesn’t understand any of it.
He remembers being carried in a suitcase, in the dark, comfortable. The case opens and he’s taken from it by big hands, dripping pink goo; shivering, old hands. A hand goes inside of him, from behind, and he comes alive. The hand makes him wiggle his eyebrows and makes him tell jokes that people laugh at. Gary is happy this way. The man with old hands is in shadow, but he holds Gary firmly, shaking all the while, dripping pink goo down his wrists and then he’s screaming. The man with the hands throws Gary against the wall, and Gary lands on the top of his wooden skull, cracking his scalp open. The shivering hands grab him by the head and pink goo drips into the crack in Gary’s skull.
Gary snaps back from his reverie and follows behind Mr. Faust. He leads Gary into a blank, carpeted space, a bit of sharp light coming from an oversized metal reading-lamp on a desk. There’s a padded chair across from Gary’s plastic chair. Mr. Faust stands in the corner, facing the wall, facing the blank wall, bopping up and down, pink goo dripping from his fingertips. The room stinks of urine. There are no windows in here. Mr. Faust bops up and down and the room stinks.
You’ll have to, Mr. Faust growls, his hand on the wall, body writhing, see the machinery. The good kind, you’re the good kind, I promise, okay? The man wobbles like a marionette and he nearly falls to the floor. The man is not a marionette. If you can see the machinery, you can understand what all of this, all of this, what all of this is about. Something clicks loudly in Faust’s face and he whimpers, panting, sweating, and now pounding the wall with his forehead.
You’re the good kind, Gary says.
With his mouth hanging open, Mr. Faust turns to Gary, eyes menacing, golden cross in his clutches. Faust’s speech is indecipherable. His cheeks stretch as his jaw descends. His mouth opens and opens more, much more, tongue falling out, dark purple. The skin of his cheeks split at the corners and presently his teeth can be seen from the side – his repaired cleft-lip splitting up to his septum. He thrusts himself at Gary impossibly, jarringly, his neck lurching, his familiar fingers clutching at the little guy. Gary’s brown shoes swing over the edge of the plastic chair, and he has no expression on his face.
Mr. Faust screams colossal, metal screeching, horns and death rattle, and he vomits pitch-black, caustic pus from his impossibly wide mouth, fire hose, onto Gary in his plastic chair, knocking the little guy onto the floor in a black puddle. The pus coats Gary’s features and soon he’s steaming with it down to his little plastic shoes, but he doesn’t move a lot, mostly he’s just shuddering.
Gary cleans himself in the nurse’s bathroom and returns with a new manner about him. It’s afternoon recess and most of the kids stop to watch him approach. His countenance is that of any well-groomed, well-adjusted boy of his age, and he walks right up to Jason Glib, who’s ankle deep in a puddle. Gary points his toe out before the boy, rippling the brown water.
What the fuck’s wrong with you? Jason Glib asks.
What the fuck’s wrong with you? Gary smiles now, unlike before, but really, a real-kid smile.
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