Hello Darkness, excerpt one

The smell of cut grass washes over cracked sidewalks. Nobody pays attention as he passes by, ever. Or they might have once. Sometimes they still did. Sometimes they fooled you. He had grown up ordinary with ordinary looks. Normal mousy hair and normal brown eyes. He can't even be called a nerd, he doesn't fit in with loners - he is that ordinary. Sometimes he likes words and sometimes he doesn't like words. Sometimes words are tricks. He never changes them though, every word on every class paper, every fleeting thought. They are ordinary and at some point a long time ago he decided that he too would be ordinary.

When Nathaniel was younger he had friends, the result of being a nonthreatening spoke in various wheels. In time, his friends found things that defined them, that in turn defined other hubs. They moved in orbits and sub-orbits. He slipped away. Sometimes he listens to insects, the relentless buzzing of cicadas. The sidewalk smells like warm earth and wet grass. It is uneven and and houses pass as he walks by. It smells like an ordinary day. He is walking down the street to the community college. Sometimes he likes being inside his car but sometimes he doesn't. He has a backpack. He has entered the words he needs to enter for his classes. He hasn't changed them. His cellphone predicts torrential rain, that's okay. He lives in Iowa.

1994 Olds Cutlass Ciera. V6, chilly air, 189K miles, runs sweet, torn headliner, burns some oil, needs brakes & tires. Awesome pioneer cassette/AM/FM. This could be yours for $1400.

An instructor is droning on. Nat doesn't really know what the instructor is saying but he will memorize words and apply them to tests and required course work. He is not sure what he wants to do. His parents once told him that things would get better. If he were to ever write a story it would be about an ordinary, unnoticeable life. There wouldn't be any vampires or hot chicks, there wouldn't be any crime. There wouldn't be any trees or colors. There wouldn't be any monsters. He thought about it. There might be trees but definitely not colors. Unless there was some color after most of the color was taken out.

He is walking home, he still lives with his parents. The day has turned cloudy and slatey cold, raindrops begin to fall. He might have to drive tomorrow. He skirts a community park, edges further onto the carpet of wet grass. He uses his phone to take pictures of trees, a park bench, a colorful mural. Other images were captured earlier while he was walking to school. It was sunnier then and the colors were brighter, they were deeply saturated. They won't be bright for long. He sees something on the ground, a fuzzy black caterpillar. He bends down to get closer, takes a picture. He picks the thing up. It curls into a ball in the palm of his hand. He read once that some caterpillars are poisonous. He doesn't think this one is.

Further into the park, two boys are on their BMX bikes, jumping them up and down in place, carving quick abbreviated donuts in the ground as the rain falls. They are laughing about what they are doing.

“Ha ha, look at that one.”

“No, ha ha, look at mine!”

“That's so gross.”

“I know, it's cool.”

Nat smiles slightly to himself. He remembers when he played with other kids. When he was a spoke in their wheels. He turns his attention back to his fuzzy little friend.

“Hey, what d'you got in your hand?”

The boys have arrived on their bikes. They are staring at him and smiling.

Nat smiles too. He opens his hand and shows them. “It's a fuzzy black caterpillar.”

“Cool.” One of the kids continues to grin.

“You should put it back on the ground.” The other kid looks a bit impatient.

Nat looks at the small creature as it slowly starts to uncurl. “No, not yet.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

Nat shrugs. “I dunno.”

“So put it back on the ground.”

He squints at the kids, closes his hand gently around the creature and continues on his way.

The antsy one calls after him. “You shouldn't be taking living things out of the park!”

He shakes his head to himself, continues walking.

The kids are laughing, they are no longer paying attention to him. They begin racing their bikes in small circles again, jumping up and down on them.

“Hey look, there's some more of them over there. Ha ha!”

He turns around and looks at them, pounding their tires into the mud. He frowns. This is why he doesn't like people. At least it's one of the reasons he doesn't like people. He thinks about the pictures he just took of the trees and the bench and the caterpillar. He thinks about finding a safe place for his little friend. He decides he'll wait until he gets home.

She was once popular, she talked and laughed loudly, she grew up in a big house and her parents were busy with important things. Even her mother's lunches and yoga and creative classes were important things. She had younger sisters who were also popular, they all went to a large popular school. Something happened to her and then she wasn't popular anymore. She and her friends liked to pick targets, sometimes outside their circle but sometimes within as well. It was more fun that way, it was delicious and it gave them control. One day it was Sara's turn to be picked and her friends spread nasty rumors spun from whole cloth and then she was shunned and there was nothing to be done about it. Get over it they said. Don't embarrass yourself they said. And they laughed like mad children and used their social media applications.

SWF, 19, totally bored. Not looking for sex. Sick of everything. Not a spam-bot. I would hate all my friends if I still had any.

Nat is in the den, the television is on. There are bodies running back and forth across the screen, the sound of shouting voices, a ball dribbling against the hardwood floor but none of it loud, the volume is turned low. He allows himself the pleasure of watching things that are fun. He frowns. It's not like he's clinically depressed or anything. He has nothing against speed and excellence. The caterpillar is in a jar with holes poked through the lid and some grass inside. It's on the end table next to the couch. He can hear sounds coming from the kitchen, plates and utensils being set down. He can smell food. He has nothing against food. It smells like chicken. He hopes there's chicken and mashed potatoes. He turns off the television. There is no need to waste electricity.

Del and Laura are laughing and making small talk in the kitchen, it's cheery and bright and there's creamy upgraded granite counters and nice appliances but it's not what you'd call fancy and it's certainly not cold or modern or antiseptic, it's just a warm, comfortable, nice middle-class kitchen in a split-level home in a suburban mid-western neighborhood. They've been married now for over twenty years, they met in high school, they are still happy and comfortable with each other.

He enters the kitchen and gets his own plate and fork and knife and a piece of paper towel and sets his place. His parents are still eating and chatting. He helps himself to some chicken and mashed potatoes. He goes to the refrigerator and gets out the milk and pours. He sits down and begins to eat. His parents chat a few moments longer before noticing their son's presence. They turn and regard him with warm affection – his years of determined and steady progression toward near invisibility have not diminished their love for him at all.

“Hey Nat.” His dad smiles companionably. “How was school?”

“Hello, Nathaniel, you always come in so quietly.” She reaches over and touches his hand.

His mother's expression always seems both loving and sad when she regards him. It tugs at Nat but he's never sure how to respond. Usually, he smiles just a little and eats his food. Tonight however, her expression is breaking his heart. He never wanted to disappoint his parents. He loves them. He finishes chewing a piece of chicken. He swallows, drinks his milk, looks at her.

“Don't look so sad. School was good. Want to know something weird?”

“What's that, honey?”

“I brought home a caterpillar from the park.” He chuckles to let them know that he understands his own absurdity, that despite his obsession with normalcy, there is still a sliver of light left.

His mother nearly melts, his father grins and shakes his head ruefully.

“Why does this not surprise me?”

Nat laughs, the first real laugh they have heard from him in a long time. It is awkward, rusty, but if they could freeze this moment in time, they would. The moment passes however. Nat goes back to his silent eating, eyes mainly fixed on his plate. Still, there is a small afterglow at the table and it will be remembered in time.