Free Glyph by Percival Everett Page A

look about to see if another spectator also heard me. So, you ask, “What did you say?” and I say the same thing again. Unless you defer to me in all matters or unless you know that I have a habit of setting up a portable gas stove and making tea in inappropriate places, you will think that I have flipped my wig. You will not say to anyone that of course you know what it means to take a kettle off a stove or that you know what kettle, but you will say, “Help! My poor friend had snapped a vessel in his brain!”
    Anyway, I thought I’d share that with you. Love to the wife.
    Yours,
    Ludwig
    Dear Ludwig,
    I didn’t even know you liked tennis.
    Yours,
    Bertrand
tubes 1…6
    In the foyer of the main lodge we were met by an elderly man named Jelloffe. I was in the arms of Boris, holding my pen in one hand and propping my pad against his chest. I wrote a note:
    Your name wouldn’t be Smoth Ely Jelloffe, would it? 7
    The man read the note and nodded, smiling, and then he realized just who had written it. He stared at me and backed away. He backed all the way around the desk, where, without taking his eyes from me, he pushed the register forward to Steimmel.
    “You can see why we’re here,” Steimmel said, leaning over to sign the book.
    Boris hefted me to a more comfortable position. Across the large room to my left was a pink stone fireplace with gigantic matching columns. The walls were lined with pine bookcases and the floor was covered with rugs and leather sofas and chairs. Behind the desk was a staircase that was roped off with a thin chain and a sign that said staff.
    “I hope everything is ready,” Steimmel said. She was glowing, so eager to get to the work of dissecting me that she was bouncing on the balls of her ample feet.
    “Yes,” said Jelloffe. “We have you in buildings 3A, B, and C.” He pointed to a map of the grounds on the desk. “You can park here. Just go around the building, past the stables, and it’s to your right. The cottages are in a row. The library is open until midnight every night. And we would just love it if you would join us for dinners and share your findings with us.”
    “Ha,” Steimmel said. “I’m not sharing a goddamn thing. And if I catch anybody sniffing around our area, I’ll bite off his fucking head.” Then she smiled. “We’d be happy to take meals with you.”

    behavioreme
    biopoetic
    boustrophedon
    bees
    be
derivative
    In my dream, I was driving a car. I don’t know if I was a baby, but I was driving a car, doing things with my feet, and glancing at the mirrors and holding the wheel. It was an unusual dream for me because I was actually a part of it. I was proud to be driving the car. To me, driving a car was certainly a function of genius. So, in my dream, I was genius enough to drive a car. Mo and Inflato were sitting behind me, strapped in oversized children’s safety seats. They were amazed that I could drive and they kept saying so.
    “How is it you can drive all of a sudden?” they asked.
    “I’m a genius,” I told them. And then I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me that driving was so much fun?”
    “It’s also dangerous,” my mother said.
    I turned to look back at them. “And why is that?” I asked.
    They both screamed. “Keep your eyes on the road!” Inflato said.
    “You two are making me nervous,” I said. “I’m going to stop this thing.” Then I realized that I didn’t know how to stop. “How do I make it stop?”
    “Step on the brake pedal,” Inflato said.
    All of a sudden, my legs were pudgy, baby legs, and I couldn’t reach any of the pedals.
    “It’s the one in the middle,” Inflato said.
    And I couldn’t see through the windshield. All I could see was the bottom of the steering wheel, which was turning this way and that without my assistance. I looked back at my parents. They screamed and I screamed with them.
umstände
    As Boris carried me back to the car so that we could drive to our quarters, I wrote a note:
    I