What is it in a person that makes that discerning point, to be part of it or not? Social animals or well trained lab rats? Free to do what we please, or stuck with the choices which society graciously allows us? So many questions rumbled in Peter’s above average brain.
Tested when he was eight, found to have an IQ of 142, Peter was put directly into accelerated learning programs at his school, Our Lady of the Amazing Patience. Soon after the sister’s of the Amazing Patience lost their cumulative patience trying to teach the rest of the class when young Peter was busy disrupting everyone. So, off to public education he went where one can get an education if one is to apply himself. Peter barely graduated Columbus High School, not for lack of brains mind you, more of a lack of focus.
Fast forward a dozen or so years and back to the here and now… Peter was considered a brilliant thinker and a wonderful storyteller in the circles in which he traveled. A wonderfully handsome, powerful, outgoing, quick-witted young man sought after by many women and men around the city.
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Not feeling that he fit in – always standing out in a crowd. Peter would complain privately to Max, his best friend, how difficult he was finding it living up to the reputation that Walt Disney and other story-tellers and movie makers were creating for him.
“Always the effin hero, gotta save the effin day, be Prince effin Charming. How come? Just ‘cause I look like this every woman in the world expects me to be their… their… their… I don’t know what they expect but it’s effin crazy.” Peter would rant.
Max sometimes wished he could suffer from that wretched curse once in a while, but he could understand what his friend was saying. Maybe not so much to why he was saying it though. They would look at each other give a shrug, as if to say ,”f#*k it.”, And move on to another topic.
As Peter climbed the last of the three worn stone steps of his favorite watering hole, he heard the still swinging door slam squarely into the unexpecting chest of Max. Peter burst out laughing, uncontrollably belly laughing until he tumbled to the floor. (Passers by not particularly paying him any special notice; that’s how things, and people, rolled here on St. Mark’s.) Max, being the understanding counterpart to Peter’s unpredictable temper, quickly join in on the laughter, falling on top of Peter. The two laughed for what seemed like hours, it was probably more like a minute or two.
Laughter along with crying is funny like that, the time thing. Always a weird feeling when you really do it, really go with the laugh following it to the heart of all laughter. Laughing for the sake of laughing, to be free enough to laugh, laugh for reals as the teenagers say. As you would have already guessed the same principle applies to crying.
Their sides hurt, their eyes were red and full of tears. Almost as suddenly as it had started the laughter ceased.
Peter looked up into the red round face of his best friend and said, “Sorry for the door thing.”
Max shrugged it off, letting Peter know that there was no foul committed. Max got up first, then stretched out his large Swedish polar bear paw to help Peter up.
Peter jumped to his feet, “I don’t need your help to get up. I don’t need anybodies help.” Peter made an about face and headed east towards third avenue. Max was right behind.
