I climbed out onto the roof of the library and stood on the ledge.
“Get back from there!” Nancy called, sticking her head out the window.
“Get away, Nancy. They’re trying to kill me, and I don’t want you to get hurt.” I sidled along the ledge to separate myself from her, in case they started shooting.
“Bernie, you’re really scaring me. Please come inside.”
“I won’t let them hurt you, Nancy.” I stepped from the ledge.
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That’s how it started. At least, that’s when people really took notice. Schizophrenia, they said. They. You’ll need medication, they said. It’s the only way. That got my attention. I could accept my diagnosis. After all, I’m not an idiot. But they said that I couldn’t control it. They tried to tell me that it wasn’t mental illness, anymore; it was a brain disease. Like calling it a disease would make me powerless. But I am not powerless. I will not let them foist their labels on me.
I stayed in school and finished out the semester, limping on my crutches and cruising through my classes. Every day I looked in the mirror and told myself they were wrong, and every day I breezed through classes and showed them they were wrong.
That summer I started bulding my machine.
“Why don’t you get a job, Bernie,” my dad said. “Mort could use some extra help around the pizza parlor. You could clean up the place after closing.” Dad looked at the floor when he said that. He’d been doing that a lot since I’d been home.
“I’ll check it out, Dad.” We both knew I was lying, but protocol had been observed.
I worked on my machine in my bedroom. Dad wouldn’t give me any money, so I had to scavenge the parts I needed. I took to hanging around the landfill, sorting through the scraps with the losers and societal castoffs. Mom slipped me a few bucks when Dad wasn’t looking, and that helped, although it is amazing how much good stuff people throw away.
I got home just before dawn, like normal. Mom knocked on my door and let herself in. She was crying.
“Bernie, what’s going on? We never see you anymore. You sleep all day and roam the streets at night. Then you’re obsessed with this machine of yours. What is it all for?” She hid her face in her hands, her body wracked with sobs.
I held her close and pretended not to notice when she covered her nose to avoid the smell.
“You’ll see, Mom, everything will be OK.”
I grew excited as summer wound down and school loomed closer. Unfortunately, I realized I had been going down the wrong path with my machine and, the night before I left for campus, I took the pieces out into the driveway and set them on fire.
-----------------------------------
“Bernie, you look terrible,” Nancy said.
“Thanks Nancy, nice to see you too,” I smiled.
“No, Bernie. You really look terrible. Have you been…um…you know?”
I ignored her remark. “I’m taking ComSci 432 this semester. I heard Smithson is going to focus on wearable computing. Did you get in?”
“I’ve decided to focus on math,” Nancy replied. “No more computers for me.”
I stepped up to her and screamed, “How can you do that? That is what they said you would do!”
She lurched back, turned, and ran. This is better, I thought. No distractions.
Three weeks into the semester and I knew where my machine had gone wrong. I couldn’t exist separately from my machine. I had to become one with it. I snuck into the theater department and stole the heaviest cloak I could find.
The parts for my new machine were much easier to find on campus than they had been at the landfill. Laptops, phones, and iPods were lying around all the time.
I stopped going to any classes except Smithson’s. Once M2 was operational and my mind was safe, I could catch up. I spent the rest of my time in my room.
One afternoon a knock on the door woke me up. I stumbled through the pizza boxes and cracked it open.
“Bernie?” It was Nancy. Against my better judgment, I let her in.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “It’s worse than they said.”
“They,” I snapped. “Who is they? They don’t control me. You don’t control me. Your are not my handler! I am my own man!”
Nancy cringed and moved toward the door.
“Wait!” I cried. “I’m sorry I yelled. Please don’t go.”
I cleared a spot on the bed and we sat in silence for a moment, Nancy slowly taking in the room. I knew what her problem was.
“They’ve got to your brain, Nancy. No, listen to me. They’ve got to you, but I can save you.”
I got up and pulled my cloak off the hook. I plugged it in and was annoyed at the loudness of the intermittent transformer buzz. I’d work that out later.
“Put this on, Nancy. You’ll see.” I tried to throw it over her shoulders. She pushed away and ran out the door, crying. I didn’t blame her. The buzz was terrible. I unplugged the cloak. A few more laptop batteries should make it fully portable.
I hung it back on the hook and headed for the library. I paused for a quick look in the mirror. They are wrong. I will show them they are wrong.