Right. I know. God, I'm not stupid Hermann. I don't want to get caught in that spiral either.
[Deep breath. Newt wiped his palms on his jeans and closed his eyes. Ready, go. Don't fuck up. Think about...dinosaurs. Yeah, that was awesome, when you corrected the tour guide. That's a good one.
He was having trouble focusing on one thought. Newt's thoughts had never been linear or isolated. They existed as strings, nebulas of interrelated ideas and associations. It reminded him of Pong, once you'd broken enough bricks to send the ball up above the wall, to ping around on the other side, rebounding off the bricks and the ceiling of the screen, back and forth along details until it found a hole again to come down...sometimes back on point, back to the paddle. It meant his stories rambled, got lost, maybe meant sense to him only.
As he concentrated on a memory--with his uncle in the museum of natural history, the dinosaurs, diagrams of their evolution, his giddiness--it tugged him on to another thought, another association. Dinosaurs... Sitting in a darkened theater with his dad, the smell of buttered, salted popcorn, the fizz of Coke on his tongue, Milk Duds, his feet not touching the floor, getting folded up in the seat, having to pee. Godzilla at a special outdoor screening, wet grass, rough wool blanket. This wasn't what he wanted to show Hermann, he wanted to be cool, wanted to impress him. Impress Hermann. Tying up a tie, god it looks like crap but hair looks good, too dorky in these glasses, to show the tatts or not, what if he doesn't like me, I want to be cool. Play it cool, don't cry. She's flying to Paris today, but it's my birthday, she promised. Don't cry. Get out from under the bed. I didn't want to go to the opera anyway. I looked good. Dad bought me a new shirt. So grown up. She'll like me better when I'm grown up. No, dad, I don't need a hug; I'm a big kid. I even tied the tie myself. Why doesn't she like me? Did I disappoint her? The bittersweet sounds of Carmen's Habanera.]
action;
Right. I know. God, I'm not stupid Hermann. I don't want to get caught in that spiral either.
[Deep breath. Newt wiped his palms on his jeans and closed his eyes. Ready, go. Don't fuck up. Think about...dinosaurs. Yeah, that was awesome, when you corrected the tour guide. That's a good one.
He was having trouble focusing on one thought. Newt's thoughts had never been linear or isolated. They existed as strings, nebulas of interrelated ideas and associations. It reminded him of Pong, once you'd broken enough bricks to send the ball up above the wall, to ping around on the other side, rebounding off the bricks and the ceiling of the screen, back and forth along details until it found a hole again to come down...sometimes back on point, back to the paddle. It meant his stories rambled, got lost, maybe meant sense to him only.
As he concentrated on a memory--with his uncle in the museum of natural history, the dinosaurs, diagrams of their evolution, his giddiness--it tugged him on to another thought, another association. Dinosaurs... Sitting in a darkened theater with his dad, the smell of buttered, salted popcorn, the fizz of Coke on his tongue, Milk Duds, his feet not touching the floor, getting folded up in the seat, having to pee. Godzilla at a special outdoor screening, wet grass, rough wool blanket. This wasn't what he wanted to show Hermann, he wanted to be cool, wanted to impress him. Impress Hermann. Tying up a tie, god it looks like crap but hair looks good, too dorky in these glasses, to show the tatts or not, what if he doesn't like me, I want to be cool. Play it cool, don't cry. She's flying to Paris today, but it's my birthday, she promised. Don't cry. Get out from under the bed. I didn't want to go to the opera anyway. I looked good. Dad bought me a new shirt. So grown up. She'll like me better when I'm grown up. No, dad, I don't need a hug; I'm a big kid. I even tied the tie myself. Why doesn't she like me? Did I disappoint her? The bittersweet sounds of Carmen's Habanera.]