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Ben Greenman is the author of several works of fiction... read more

Inside the Criminal Mind -- Building Your Vocabulary

Posted Jul 20th 2007 12:43PM by Ben Greenman
Filed under: Crime, Inside the Criminal Mind


(Read about INSIDE THE CRIMINAL MIND. This column is fiction... kind of.)

Dear Ms. Handy,

Do you remember me? Brian Stokes? When you knew me, I was a short kid with sandy hair. Many others were, but I was funny back then. Of all the kids in your fourth grade class, I was the one who made you laugh the most. One Halloween, I came to school dressed as the Palmer Method, and you said, "Brian Stokes, of all the kids in this class, you make me laugh the most." I remember everything you said. I suppose you could say that I had a little crush on you.

Halloween was great, and Christmas was even better. For Christmas, I gave you a gift certificate to Mina's Ice Cream, and I sometimes imagined that I went there with you. Then, in late January, it all came to a crashing halt. It was reading time, and you were sitting with me. We came to a word in the book I didn't know. "What does this mean?" I said. You were in a bad mood. I'm not sure why. Maybe you went to use my ice cream gift certificate and Mina didn't have your favorite flavor. But you snapped at me. You said, "There are dictionaries on the shelf, Brian." I knew there were dictionaries on the shelf. I just wanted your help. And you didn't help. You didn't love me. My little heart broke.

The word that you wouldn't help me with was "ironic." Because of that moment of cruel disregard, Ms. Handy, my broken little heart and I have spent the last twenty years trying to define that word. Not simply to repeat the definition offered in the dictionary, but to create real-life tableaux that demonstrate a deep understanding of its meaning. I was the one who founded the local theatre company whose entire repertory consisted of O. Henry's "The Gift of the Magi," and I even played Jim in the inaugural production. I was the one who once stood there laughing after I saw a man run over by an ambulance. I was the one who proposed the idea of a Midget Basketball League, though I abandoned that scheme when I decided it was less ironic than exploitive. Following the dissolution of Cincy TinyBall, I sank into a deep depression. I began to use drugs. All I wanted was to breathe life back into that sandy-haired little boy who loved you, and yet I could not.

Then one day, mid-nod, it came to me. I think I have finally done it. I was using drugs -- I mean, I'm an addict by now, so it's not like I can stop -- and I got in the car, the needle still in my arm, and I drove through town and then crashed my car right into the side of the drug treatment center. If that's not ironic, I don't know what is. As the police led me away, I mentally calculated your current age. I believe that you were probably 22 or so when you taught us fourth grade. That would mean that you are now in your early forties. Will you have me now? It might please you to know that as a result of all the heroin I look far older than twenty-nine.

Love never dies,
Brian

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