surreality is my only option.

We liked a college, and that was new.

Now, “like” and “dislike” are terms that we have to keep in the strange and other-worldly perspective of tree-roots, zombies, and presence of treadmills in rec centers. But--keeping our somewhat clueless point of view in mind--we decidedly liked Manhattanville College. But, man was it a long trip for a short trip.

Trial By Keys: Helen (Jeff’s sister and our NYC host,) had Thursday obligations, so she left a set of keys (3) for us with her Upper West Side door people. We duly elevated to the 15th floor and spent the next 15 minutes trying all possible combinations of 3 (clockwise top, center widdershins, bottom clockwise, etc.) I don’t know why this was so difficult. Yes, I do, at least in part. It’s because Jeff didn’t like that I only allotted him a couple minutes to attempt to insert a key upside down and at a 45° angle, before I went back at it myself. The solution involved using Gabe’s ears to discern which deadbolt was giving off the telltale “locked” rattle and completely disregarding Helen’s handwritten intructions. So we got in. And it was a lovely day to walk across Central Park to our first school visit with Jeff trailing me and Gabe by 15 paces as his nose slowly got back into joint.

I increasingly perceive the two people for whom I’m primarily responsible as a couple of freighters, drifting at snail’s pace in opposite directions, but--for now--at a roughly similar (though not matching) latitude. Gabe can insert a key into a lock correctly, and discern whether or not it has turned. Jeff knows that we live in the town of [insert town name here ;)], and not Annapolis. Not so, vice versa. Gabe perceives (correctly, I believe) that Jeff attempts to interact with small children at an adjoining restaurant table in a way that is slightly creepy and intrusive. Jeff perceives (again, correctly) that Gabe is apt to insert “humorous” questions at awkward and not-ideal moments in the campus tour. They both rely on me to an almost burdensome and disconcerting extent. Neither wonders whether I know what I’m doing when we get off Amtrak at New York Penn and I lead us toward signs for the “A” subway line. They trust me unquestioningly and blindly. Were it up to Jeff, he would be lost in the confusion. Were it up to Gabe, he might very well say “ok...so what city are we in?” Neither can deploy his subway ticket at the turnstile magnetic strip reader correctly. Jeff cannot understand the concept at all, and I position him, slide his card, then pull him through. Gabe slides his through the one to his left instead of his right. Luckily it is not crowded and I am able, from the other side of the turnstiles, to redirect him through the now-unlocked lane.(The phrase which pops to mind when I think about Gabe--”What’s the frequency Kenneth?” Because the brain clearly works. But the wavelength on which its tuner is fixed? Unknown.)

The major thing that differentiates the two is this: One can be taught, and will--sooner or later--bumble into the shipping lane known as “growing up.” The other is drifting, albeit at glacial pace, into the seas of oblivion. In the meantime, if I could momentarily split into particles and waves, I’d like to test whether I would feel more alone with these two or without them, as in actually alone.

It is my hope that by sending Gabe away to college, he’ll stop defaulting to the assumption that I’ve got it covered, and recognize that there are a few more facets on the polyhedron of life he needs to take heed of. As for Jeff, I will be turning on the tv for him for as long as he remains interested in tv. (This remote is for the tv. Tune it to channel 3, then take this other remote, aim it at the cable tuner, and hit 053 for CNBC. Right.) Meanwhile, I am learning not to mind his hours in the kitchen chair, dozing or doing nothing.

But, as for the take home points most pertinent to the ostensible reason for the trip: Manhattanville College has a strong support program for LD students. They also have (in no particular order of importance) treadmills in the gym, nice not-so-preppy people, black squirrels, creative writing, a good-smelling cafeteria, and Japanese classes.

Oh, and we won a red and white pop-up chair from the admissions guy because I knew--in a quick q & a contest--that the school has 1600 undergrads.

At least there are cats in the box.

There seems to be something horribly--even morally--wrong with being bored. Thankfully, most of the time I am too busy to notice.

The thing is, as much as I’ve studied and learned and compared notes, I cannot help thinking--when there’s a person who does, really, nothing all day and all night apart from reading the paper and 3 different books (again)--that I should be providing an activity. But the thing is--he, apparently, is not bored. Me, keeping him company? Bored.

But you can’t leave a person alone all day. So I do stuff. I be a writer even though the world has its fill of them, as far as I can tell. I think, actually, the world has its fill of almost everything a human could possibly contribute. Except for Concert Association database keeper. So I do that too. And study Japanese. Even though chapter 3 in the textbook is really getting on my nerves in being legible only to people younger than 35 and ants who might be literate. I fiddle. And I sponsor errands.

Tonight I decided to try something new, so I rooted through the chest of drawers in the computer room where games are stashed, and pulled out Railroad Rush Hour. It’s a puzzly thing where you set the little plastic engines, boxcars, and cabooses in a frame in such a way that the red engine can’t escape until you’ve slid the other cars out of its way, sequentially. I’m not so great at it. Even using the “beginner” cards to set things up. But I did get Jeff to sit down with me. It was clear that he was humoring me and had zero interest in trying to free the red engine. I fooled around with it a bit. Reminded me, unfortunately, of those dumb little sliding number frames you’d win as a consolation prize, and which I more or less detested. Rush Hour was better. But only a bit. Still...I guess if a puzzle doesn’t stimulate the slightest interest in a person, there’s not much I can do about that.

So I feel like I’m living in a box, sort of. It’s a relatively nice box, with some things to play with. I guess I’d like a slightly bigger box with a few more people in it.