I told Dave. “The poet Muriel Ruckeyser said the universe is made up of stories, not atoms.” “I like that. Jesus, Martin, you always floor me with something new.” He tried to sound cheerful but I could tell something was actually bothering him today. “Dave, I’m not normal,” I blurted out. “There was this girl who wanted to talk about sex and I wasn’t interested.” “That’s not normal. But Martin, it’s so you. You have your own planet in the universe of stories. It’s your story. If you don’t want to talk about sex with a girl, it’s your privilege. She can’t make you.” “I’m just not interested in sex.” “You’re unique for your age.” Dave opened his green steno book and flipped some pages. “Let’s see. You’ve ruled out smoking, anger, and sex. There’s probably more. I understand that you are a kind of cerebral type kid and that makes it all the more interesting for me. What are you interested in the most?” “I am interested in death.”
