This was going well until I got to my question about whether I'm afraid of spiders. So far so good. He says, "Ummmm, sure, I guess I am. Do you want to know why?" Great, now I'm in for it. I say, "Sure." "Cause if they touch me, they'll suck out my blood and shit me up." I laugh and tell him that's ridiculous. It's part of what makes a child unique and how he becomes who he is later in life. I say, "Sure. How do you become who you are?" "Well, I mean like, what if one of them touched me on the head and sucked out some blood or something? Wouldn't that affect my brain and make me into one of those crazy people that cuts up cows and dogs and runs around town?" What kind of a person could possibly believe that? And more important, how can I help that to not be the case? I say, "Well, you're already a little crazy, but you're not a crazy person, right?" "Right." "What would you rather be?" "Not crazy." "Okay. So you're not crazy, but you're a little crazy." "Right." "How do you stop being a little crazy?" "Don't be crazy." "That's right. And who told you not to be crazy?" "My granddad. And I see him all the time at the farm." "How old is he?" "He's really old." "How old?" "He's dead." "So how do you know about him?" "He talks to me sometimes. And he shows me things. He showed me a spider and it looked just like him and told me that spiders are bad people and I shouldn't get close to them. He said he'd kick me in the shin if I did and then he hit me." "He did?" "Yes. I almost peed in my pants." "You did? What do you mean you peed in your pants?" "He'd hit me so hard that it made my urine shoot up." "Oh, he did. Okay. Why did he hit you?" "Because he wanted me to stop being crazy and I was making bad mistakes. And he said that, well, I'd pee on myself and it would make it hard to sleep because the room would be all wet." I feel this is moving well. "Okay. Well, maybe that's what he thought. But he was wrong. And since he wasn't there, maybe there's someone else who's wrong with him." "How?" "You tell me." "My dad." "Right. And do you want me to tell you about your dad?" "Yeah." "Well, he didn't want to be crazy. And he was worried that he was. That's why he punched me. And it was really hard to pee because he had hit me so hard. I'd wet the bed and my dad would have to put me in the corner with the dog shits." "Whoa. You still do that?" "Sometimes. When I don't feel like doing the work. Like right now I don't want to work on my feelings." "Why not?" "Because I don't like thinking about my feelings. My feelings are too much work. Do you have feelings, because you seem very nice, and yet you also have things to say." "Yes, I have feelings, but they're not too much work." "Well, why is it, then?" "Because it's not hard to feel. If I'm feeling too much, I stop and I feel very sad and wish I was feeling different. If I'm tired, I close my eyes and I lie down in a dark room and I see beautiful shapes and colors. If I feel like crying, it's okay, because I just cry until I feel better." "Do you still do that?" "Yes. It's the only way to stay well." "Well, it must be good if your dad taught you that." "Yeah. Why is it good?" "Because sometimes my dad would get drunk and he'd get angry at me and he'd get mean and hurt me." "Did you ever tell anyone that?" "No, but it wasn't really a secret." "Well, I never told my dad about him hitting me either." "Was he a scary guy, your dad?" "He never beat me or anything like that, but he would hit my mom, and I wouldn't know if he was drunk or not, and he scared me. So I never liked him." "Well, that was dumb." "What was dumb?" "Your dad being scared of your mom." "Why?" "Because you know how he'll get when his beer is empty. How angry he gets with her then." "Yeah. But that was way back, so I didn't remember." "That's okay. You can change. Do you want to know how I changed?" "Yeah." "I told you about my feelings. It's so easy. Just say the thing that is in your head and the other person will listen, even if they don't seem to listen at first. Just say it with a smile. I like to say it with a smile because it makes me more like the other person." "The other person?" "The other person who's feeling and thinking the same thing that you're thinking. That way you can really find out what they think about the same things." "Oh, I see. And they think the same thing you do, so that's why you're friends." "Right. And it's more fun when they do the things that make you laugh, because then you get to make them laugh." "I've never done that with anybody." "I'm sure you'll find someone." "Yeah, I think so. I really like you. It was really good talking to you." "Well, it was good talking to you too. Maybe we'll see each other again." "Yes. We will. Maybe you could teach me how to walk like a cowboy." "A what?" "A cowboy." "Oh, you mean walk like in cowboy movies and all the cowboys in those old Westerns?" "Yes." "Okay, well, we'll see." "See you later." And I'm walking down the hall and I look at my watch. It's been just over an hour, and that was the longest hour I've had in a long time. I think I'll go out and see what's going on outside. I look outside and it's about five thirty in the morning. There are more snowflakes than clouds, and they are dancing in the air like white angels with a silver halo. It's really beautiful outside. I walk over to the window and lean on the sill. It's really cold out. It's really cold even though it's not snowing as much as it was earlier. Everything in town is covered with a thick, heavy blanket of white. This is my favorite place in the world. I love being here. I love the world. I can't imagine what it would be like not to be here. I close my eyes and see the angels. I close my eyes and see myself standing on the snowy ground like a guardian of the city. I close my eyes and see me walking across the white landscape, my boots crunching on the snow as I stand still and wait for whatever it is that's supposed to come. The next day I went for a walk. It was nice to walk through town, all dressed up in my beautiful clothes, trying to make it look normal. It's hard work when you're just wearing your street clothes to walk across town. I think it would be easier if I could walk on the walls, like one of those circus acts. Then I wouldn't have to look for obstacles like stop signs, and cars, and people who want to talk to me and ask for help. I passed the hospital. I thought about going in, but the thought of sitting in the waiting room and seeing the guy with the broken arm or leg was too much. He really would get to me after a while, and I'd start thinking that he's much worse than I am. And besides, I have work to do in school. School is another thing that I like about myself. It makes me better at whatever I do. And it makes me better at feeling good, because that is what it's about, feeling good, or not feeling so bad, which is what I'm feeling right now. And it makes me feel good about myself to make other people happy by helping them when they want help. It's not such a big deal, but I still enjoy doing it. I came to the park. Some boys were throwing a ball in the yard, and a man and his little daughter were playing catch. I sat down on a bench and