So, Charlie told me I have no right to treat him like a father who doesn't love me. Those were pretty much his exact words. What the hell? What does that even mean?
I got out of there, and he let me go. He usually does drop his little bombs of pronouncement and skeedadle, and I don't think either of us wanted to continue that conversation. But I did have to figure out some kind of response, and I couldn't do that alone, so I sought out Allen.
For once, we went for a walk together, instead of meeting for lunch or bumping into each other in the Great Hall as we normally do. Fall was in the air. It has been, intermittently, for a few weeks now, but I think it's finally here for good. The trees are still entirely green, though, and the air full of mosquitoes. We kept moving to avoid being bitten. Crickets sang in the grass all around us, grass that was thigh-high where we walked out beside and below the Edge of the World. I told him my tale.
"What does he even mean, like a father who doesn't love me?" I asked. "Does he want me to treat him like a father who does love me, or is he mad at me for treating him like a father in the first place? Which I don't even think I do." Some people might say I was overthinking it, but Allen wouldn't. To him, there's no such thing as too much thinking, only good thinking and poor thinking.
We were quiet for a bit as he did some of his own thinking.
"I expect he does love you," Allen said, after a bit. "I do. But whether he thinks of you as his son or not I don't know."
"Maybe his feelings aren't really relevant," I suggested. "Maybe that's just his way of describing my behavior."
"Maybe, though you did say he seemed angry. That suggests emotional investment on his part."
"It does, but it doesn't say anything about what that investment is."
"So, how do you feel?" he asked me, eyes twinkling because of course that's what a therapist would say.
"I don't know. Angry. Confused. Frightened. I guess."
He smiled, quickly and briefly, because I'd said I didn't know and then I did know. I still don't know what goes on with me most of the time, but it's like when I said (truthfully) that I didn't know, I heard his voice in my head taking me through the process of figuring it out and I came at the answer without even any perceptible pause in my speech. He understood, I think, hence that quick smile.
"What thoughts go with that 'frightened'?" he asked. Notice he didn't ask why I was frightened. He tends not to. He says the stories we make up to explain our emotions are seldom more than that--stories--but they can be important to voice.
"I don't know, it's just...he's angry with me and I don't know what to do. That's it, I guess. I can't and I must. I can't imagine not having an answer for him."
"An answer? What's the question?"
"It's not so much a question," I said, "it's that he clearly wants something from me and I don't know what he wants. I don't even know where to start."
"So, what's your question?" He stopped in his walking and looked at me, faintly amused, until the mosquitoes made him start walking again.
"What does he want from me?"
"I don't know," Allen said. "Are you sure he wants something specific?"
"I guess. He said I was doing something wrong, so doesn't that imply something right he'd rather I do?"
"It's odd for you not to be able to figure out how to answer him, though. After four and a half years as his student? You usually figure it out, don't you?"
"Yes, I always have...If only I knew what treating someone like a father who doesn't love me means!"
He stopped, a moment, as though struck by a sudden thought.
"Why don't you ask your father?" he said.
"My father? Why"
"Because you know he does love you."
It was my turn to stop, because suddenly that made sense to me. But the mosquitoes got me going again.
"Allen?"
"Hm?"
"Is it weird being friends with me?"
"Not especially. A lot of my friends are a lot weirder than you."
"No, I mean because I'm also your student. And I was a teenager when we met."
"We're all students here. To the extent that I can learn from you, we're equals."
"When did that happen?"
"The day we met. I'd be a pretty sorry teacher if I couldn't learn from my students."
And so our conversation continued. And so, this past weekend, I did something I've never done before--made a cell-phone call on campus. I own a cell-phone now. There's a rule (added while I was in Absence) against yearlings having cellphones or other electronics on campus, but it doesn't apply to me. It's just that calling out always seems like a strange thing to do, here. But I did it.
I called my dad.
He was surprised to hear from me by phone, of course, but had time to talk.
"Dad, what does a kid whose father loves him do?"
"What? Why are you asking me?"
"Because you love me and I'm your kid. I figured you'd know."
He remained confused for a bit and I had to explain it further, but finally he had an answer for me.
"What does the son of a loving father do? From what I can see, he does whatever he wants."
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