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loloteheWe talked about philosophical zombies at club tonight.
It had never been quiet.
Even when his parents had whispered and tip-toed past his crib, Simon had heard what they were thinking. He heard the thoughts of the neighbors who wondered, “How will such a young couple take care of that baby?” He'd heard the doctor think, “Failure to thrive is the best I can offer them. What the hell is wrong with this kid?”
Most hurtful, he heard his mother think, “Maybe this was all a big mistake.”
He'd heard everything she'd ever thought about him, even before being born. She hated him; he knew that. She hated herself for hating him, but she still hated him and hated his father for being around and thinking about all the things he would do with a son.
His father hated him for being small and weak and hated his mother and blamed her, although it wasn't her fault.
And, after a while, Simon hated them as well, for nothing more than hating him.
Simon was very quiet himself. He didn't think that he had to talk, really, as he could hear what everyone else was thinking. Why couldn't they hear him? He decided they could, but were just ignoring him and—in turn—he started to hate them as well.
His first day of school was a disaster. When the teacher asked a question of the class and no one answered, and the teacher called on Simon, he answered what the teacher had been thinking: “Monday, you stupid little monsters.”
Grown-ups didn't make any sense. They thought one thing and said another. Simon was very confused by it. A school psychologist was called in and Simon did well on all the tests except the one where the psychologist asked the questions. Being a child and learning from imitation, Simon just gave the answers the psychologist was thinking. For some odd reason, these were not the right answers.
Simon got to go to a new school, with fancy glass and a furniture that was bolted to the floor. The people at the new school gave Simon blue pajamas with green frogs on them and never made him wear shoes that hurt his feet. His parent thought it was a very good idea.
No one asked what Simon thought about it
At night, it was almost quiet, but there were men who walked along the hallway and thought about “those poor kids. Those poor, poor kids,” and shook their heads and made sure everyone was asleep.
The boy next-door had terrible nightmares and Simon complained. The teachers at the new school told Simon to ignore it, but when the boy next-door woke up screaming one night, the teachers started to listen.
Simon got a new room, at the end of the hall, next door to a girl who drooled all the time and didn't think about anything but “babybabybabybaby”. Simon liked to listen to her and imagined that was what the ocean sounded like.
The teachers gave Simon crayons and paper and asked him to draw things. He drew tall buildings for the teachers and told them about the people who lived in them. He drew maps and machines and told them where they were and what they did and the teachers nodded and rubbed their chins. They smiled and thought, “Oh, how curious,” and “It must be a trick,” and Simon stopped drawing because he thought he was in trouble.
The teachers brought him newspapers and tried to read them to him, but he already knew how to read and just recited what the teachers were reading, even if they never showed him the story. They brought him newspapers filled with nothing but numbers and asked him if he liked any of them. They were just numbers and Simon did not know why the teachers were thinking, “Come on, kid. Make me rich, you little freak.”
Simon saw his parents, once, around Christmas. They handed him a large package in colorful wrapping-paper and he told them he didn't like cars because they went too fast and made scary sounds. His mother wailed and cried and his father held her and thought, “We never should have...We never should have....”
Simon did not tell them he had a baby sister on the way. He thought it might make them angry.
When spring came, Simon looked out the window at the flowers on the trees and the birds in the branches. He liked the birds because they had simple thoughts like “I want to make a nest. Come make a nest with me,” and “I'm hungry and I'm going to eat what I can find,” and “Did you see that cat? There's a cat! There's a catcatcatcatcat!” Simon tried to learn what they were saying and sang to the window, though the birds could not hear him.
One night, the drooling girl who thought “babybabybaby” suddenly went silent. There was a very faint gurgling sound through the wall, then nothing.
When Simon went to see her the next morning, her room was empty. The teachers didn't say anything, but they thought, “No, don't tell him. He won't understand.” One of the men who walked the hallway at night thought, “Thank god. That was no way to live.”
A week later, Simon heard a string of numbers from next door.
The new girl had bright red hair, but it was cut very close to her head, so it looked like she had been scalped. She was drawing a circle on a piece of paper, over and over again. Her thoughts were quiet and unhurried. “Three eight three two seven nine five zero two....”
Simon started to chant with her thoughts. “Eight eight four one nine seven one six nine...”
She stopped drawing and looked at him. “You like pie?” she asked.
It was the same thing she had thought. She did not think one thing and say another. She just thought, “You like pie?” and asked it.
Simon nodded. “I like strawberry,” he said.
She laughed. “I said, do you like pi?” He saw the circles in her head and knew that they were not pies. They were just circles. Simon liked circles, as they were not complicated and meant what they said.
“I like pi,” she said, not waiting for his answer. “I like phi, too.”
Simon liked her head. It was full of numbers and pictures and they made sense, even if he didn't understand them.
“And I like rho, too,” she said. “It knows how to get there.”
Rho rho rho your boat
Right across the seam.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Average is not mean.
She laughed. Simon laughed too, and it felt right, but he didn't know why.
One of the teachers came by. “Oh, Simon! You've met Morgan, have you?”
Morgan, the red-head, grinned wide. She had new teeth coming in and it gave her a shark-like appearance. “Dr. Stone's face varies from phi at four points.”
Dr. Stone frowned. “Rude little brat,” he thought.
“Rude little brat,” Simon said.
Morgan laughed and held her arms. “I never said you were ugly!” She turned back to her paper and started to draw triangles.
Dr. Stone walked away, but Simon turned to Morgan. “You don't mind me saying what they think?”
Morgan was involved in a large isosceles triangle she had drawn. “Why would I care? That's what they think.”
Simon poked in her head a bit, as much as he could. It was filled with triangles, circles, and numbers. She didn't hate anyone, or particularly like anyone, but all people were alike in her head.
She handed him a crayon. “You draw,” she commanded.
The crayon she had thrust at him was blue. Her own was bright red. She drew a line, thinking “one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen...” and Simon was comforted by the consistency of it.
Another teacher came by. “This looks like it might work,”she thought. “Are you getting along?” the teacher asked.
“DRAWING!” Morgan announced. “Go away!”
Simon and Morgan drew circles and triangles most of the day. At one point, the teachers came in to the room with a large drawing with many symbols and squiggles on it.
“You're stupid,” Morgan told the teachers. “This is a stupid drawing. I'll fix it.”
The red-head drew new symbols and squiggles on the paper and new lines and thought about numbers the entire time. The teachers nodded and smiled and looked at Simon and thought, “It seems to work. We'll see.”
At dinner, Morgan very carefully ate her peas three at a time until there were two left. She did not eat those, but picked them up and put them on Simon's plate.
At bed-time, the men who walked down the hallway thought, “those poor kids. Those poor, poor kids,” and shook their heads and made sure everyone was asleep.
And Simon laid in his bed, listening to Morgan think. “Two three five seven eleven thirteen nineteen twenty-three,” and he was sure—absolutely certain—that the ocean sounded just like it: the wonderful ocean that lapped at the beach and ate up the sand in slow, steady increments.
It had never been quiet.
Even when his parents had whispered and tip-toed past his crib, Simon had heard what they were thinking. He heard the thoughts of the neighbors who wondered, “How will such a young couple take care of that baby?” He'd heard the doctor think, “Failure to thrive is the best I can offer them. What the hell is wrong with this kid?”
Most hurtful, he heard his mother think, “Maybe this was all a big mistake.”
He'd heard everything she'd ever thought about him, even before being born. She hated him; he knew that. She hated herself for hating him, but she still hated him and hated his father for being around and thinking about all the things he would do with a son.
His father hated him for being small and weak and hated his mother and blamed her, although it wasn't her fault.
And, after a while, Simon hated them as well, for nothing more than hating him.
Simon was very quiet himself. He didn't think that he had to talk, really, as he could hear what everyone else was thinking. Why couldn't they hear him? He decided they could, but were just ignoring him and—in turn—he started to hate them as well.
His first day of school was a disaster. When the teacher asked a question of the class and no one answered, and the teacher called on Simon, he answered what the teacher had been thinking: “Monday, you stupid little monsters.”
Grown-ups didn't make any sense. They thought one thing and said another. Simon was very confused by it. A school psychologist was called in and Simon did well on all the tests except the one where the psychologist asked the questions. Being a child and learning from imitation, Simon just gave the answers the psychologist was thinking. For some odd reason, these were not the right answers.
Simon got to go to a new school, with fancy glass and a furniture that was bolted to the floor. The people at the new school gave Simon blue pajamas with green frogs on them and never made him wear shoes that hurt his feet. His parent thought it was a very good idea.
No one asked what Simon thought about it
At night, it was almost quiet, but there were men who walked along the hallway and thought about “those poor kids. Those poor, poor kids,” and shook their heads and made sure everyone was asleep.
The boy next-door had terrible nightmares and Simon complained. The teachers at the new school told Simon to ignore it, but when the boy next-door woke up screaming one night, the teachers started to listen.
Simon got a new room, at the end of the hall, next door to a girl who drooled all the time and didn't think about anything but “babybabybabybaby”. Simon liked to listen to her and imagined that was what the ocean sounded like.
The teachers gave Simon crayons and paper and asked him to draw things. He drew tall buildings for the teachers and told them about the people who lived in them. He drew maps and machines and told them where they were and what they did and the teachers nodded and rubbed their chins. They smiled and thought, “Oh, how curious,” and “It must be a trick,” and Simon stopped drawing because he thought he was in trouble.
The teachers brought him newspapers and tried to read them to him, but he already knew how to read and just recited what the teachers were reading, even if they never showed him the story. They brought him newspapers filled with nothing but numbers and asked him if he liked any of them. They were just numbers and Simon did not know why the teachers were thinking, “Come on, kid. Make me rich, you little freak.”
Simon saw his parents, once, around Christmas. They handed him a large package in colorful wrapping-paper and he told them he didn't like cars because they went too fast and made scary sounds. His mother wailed and cried and his father held her and thought, “We never should have...We never should have....”
Simon did not tell them he had a baby sister on the way. He thought it might make them angry.
When spring came, Simon looked out the window at the flowers on the trees and the birds in the branches. He liked the birds because they had simple thoughts like “I want to make a nest. Come make a nest with me,” and “I'm hungry and I'm going to eat what I can find,” and “Did you see that cat? There's a cat! There's a catcatcatcatcat!” Simon tried to learn what they were saying and sang to the window, though the birds could not hear him.
One night, the drooling girl who thought “babybabybaby” suddenly went silent. There was a very faint gurgling sound through the wall, then nothing.
When Simon went to see her the next morning, her room was empty. The teachers didn't say anything, but they thought, “No, don't tell him. He won't understand.” One of the men who walked the hallway at night thought, “Thank god. That was no way to live.”
A week later, Simon heard a string of numbers from next door.
The new girl had bright red hair, but it was cut very close to her head, so it looked like she had been scalped. She was drawing a circle on a piece of paper, over and over again. Her thoughts were quiet and unhurried. “Three eight three two seven nine five zero two....”
Simon started to chant with her thoughts. “Eight eight four one nine seven one six nine...”
She stopped drawing and looked at him. “You like pie?” she asked.
It was the same thing she had thought. She did not think one thing and say another. She just thought, “You like pie?” and asked it.
Simon nodded. “I like strawberry,” he said.
She laughed. “I said, do you like pi?” He saw the circles in her head and knew that they were not pies. They were just circles. Simon liked circles, as they were not complicated and meant what they said.
“I like pi,” she said, not waiting for his answer. “I like phi, too.”
Simon liked her head. It was full of numbers and pictures and they made sense, even if he didn't understand them.
“And I like rho, too,” she said. “It knows how to get there.”
Rho rho rho your boat
Right across the seam.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Average is not mean.
She laughed. Simon laughed too, and it felt right, but he didn't know why.
One of the teachers came by. “Oh, Simon! You've met Morgan, have you?”
Morgan, the red-head, grinned wide. She had new teeth coming in and it gave her a shark-like appearance. “Dr. Stone's face varies from phi at four points.”
Dr. Stone frowned. “Rude little brat,” he thought.
“Rude little brat,” Simon said.
Morgan laughed and held her arms. “I never said you were ugly!” She turned back to her paper and started to draw triangles.
Dr. Stone walked away, but Simon turned to Morgan. “You don't mind me saying what they think?”
Morgan was involved in a large isosceles triangle she had drawn. “Why would I care? That's what they think.”
Simon poked in her head a bit, as much as he could. It was filled with triangles, circles, and numbers. She didn't hate anyone, or particularly like anyone, but all people were alike in her head.
She handed him a crayon. “You draw,” she commanded.
The crayon she had thrust at him was blue. Her own was bright red. She drew a line, thinking “one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen...” and Simon was comforted by the consistency of it.
Another teacher came by. “This looks like it might work,”she thought. “Are you getting along?” the teacher asked.
“DRAWING!” Morgan announced. “Go away!”
Simon and Morgan drew circles and triangles most of the day. At one point, the teachers came in to the room with a large drawing with many symbols and squiggles on it.
“You're stupid,” Morgan told the teachers. “This is a stupid drawing. I'll fix it.”
The red-head drew new symbols and squiggles on the paper and new lines and thought about numbers the entire time. The teachers nodded and smiled and looked at Simon and thought, “It seems to work. We'll see.”
At dinner, Morgan very carefully ate her peas three at a time until there were two left. She did not eat those, but picked them up and put them on Simon's plate.
At bed-time, the men who walked down the hallway thought, “those poor kids. Those poor, poor kids,” and shook their heads and made sure everyone was asleep.
And Simon laid in his bed, listening to Morgan think. “Two three five seven eleven thirteen nineteen twenty-three,” and he was sure—absolutely certain—that the ocean sounded just like it: the wonderful ocean that lapped at the beach and ate up the sand in slow, steady increments.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-13 08:16 pm (UTC)