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Dangerous Compassions

true, kind, and narcolepsy

“Is your cereal good?” I asked Ming.

He nodded, his eyes closed, half-asleep.

“Talking to you is like talking to a three year old, sometimes,” I said. “Trying to get a little kid to talk. Do you like those blocks? I like those blocks! Do you like the blue one? Which one is your favorite?”

I was laughing. “Just trying to get them to say something. Why am I so good at talking to three year olds? Oh wait–I answered my own question. I don’t even like kids. Or well, I do, but not more than other kinds of people.” He munched quietly, slightly swaying.

“I do that when you’re driving a lot. Trying to gauge how awake you are by how you answer the question. Is that ok?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Is it ok I do that?”

“Yeah,” he said.

I hugged him. “You’re so permissive,” I said. “I love you. Thank you. Some people, it’s not good to be permissive to. But I’m pretty nice..”

We started watching a friend’s movie, the first five minutes. Ming was struggling with his granola. “You took too much granola, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said, and moved his bowl toward me. I took it from him.

“It’s easy to do. Granola is so dense, honey. It’s the neutron star of food.”

This is our friend’s movie.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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