Dr Jew
's what we need to talk about. You see, Jew, I been thinking. You're in the second grade now. You're becoming a big kid. We've known each other a while, but I'm thinking… well, how do I put this? I'm thinking I might need to stretch my feet and get out for a while. Give you some distance."
"Distance?"
"Yeah, you know, some space. We're still gonna be friends of course, but now that you're all busy with school it seems a good idea if we split up now and then. I'll let you go to school on your own from now on."
"You – you don 't want to go with me?"
"That 's not what I said. Of course I want to go. But we gotta be practical. You're growing up, and it'll be good for you to be on your own."
"But what about Eric Knudsen?"
"What about that wimp? You showed him a thing or two today and you didn't need me for any of that. Besides, what could I do? I'm just a robot raccoon."
The raccoon 's mouth opened and sparks shot out. Jew laughed.
"Okay, Robot. If that's how you want it. As long as we're still friends."
"Of course we 're friends. Don't be thick, kid."
But Jew knew that things were in flux. The ground under his feet. Robot Raccoon was disappearing.
III.
1963.
Two years more and Jew was eight.
It had been a rough day at school. Johnny and Freddie had beaten him in the restroom again. And this time it wasn't even for lunch money. It was after lunch and they'd done it for fun.
And earlier in the day, Angela, the girl who sat next to him, had told him he smelled like cheese. She hadn't specified the type of cheese – probably provolone, he decided. But even if it was mozzarella or gorgonzola, he interpreted her observation as a derogatory and cruel maneuver. He doubted he would ever get to kiss her, much less perform experiments on her.
It was a humid bleary day that enveloped him as he walked home.
"Hey, Jew!"
He looked up. "Huh?"
"How ya doin ', Jew boy?"
It was Robot Raccoon. Suddenly life didn't seem so bad. Robot Raccoon was still his best friend and could always cheer him up, even when hurling epithets his way.
"Hey, Robot," he said. "What's up?"
"Well, my boy, I'm glad you ask. What say you come around to my place and get in a few games of poker?"
"That sounds fun, but I told my dad I'd be home to mow the lawn."
"That old scab?" said Robot. "I think he can handle some grass on his own. Besides, what sounds more fun? Mowing lawns or hangin' with me? Don't answer 'cause we both know. Now come on."
"Alright, fuck it," said Jew.
Robot led him down a street he'd never been before. "Hey, Robot, I thought you lived near the park."
"Naw, naw," said Robot. "That was my old place. You ain't seen my new digs. In for a bit of a surprise, you are."
The houses on this street were maintained and cleaned better than in his neighborhood, and they seemed to keep getting bigger, fancier, as if adhering to a mathematical formula.
"Say, Robot, you 're not telling me you live out here!"
"Believe it, old sport," said Robot. "This is the place."
Robot pointed to a vast estate with a huge lawn enclosed in gated gridiron and a house on the crest of the property, multi-layered and white with a classical portico and a rocking chair on the deck.
"My God, Robot – it's… it's like the White House!"
"No, no. A little more tasteful, I hope."
Robot smiled at the guard at the front gate and the man admitted them. The lawn was flawlessly manicured and a pond and Zen sand garden cooed the eye. They went to the front of the house. Jew in a daze of envy and wonder. Each step he climbed to follow Robot added another brick to the riddle. There was something both beautiful and horrible about the sudden shift in Robot's dwelling-place. It voiced an irrational plasticity to the fabric of Jew's existence.
Jew simply said, "How? How, Robot?"
Robot ignored his question and said, "Come inside and have tea."
Inside it was even more fantastical. The furniture had a texture like sharp, clean knives. The floors were spotless, shiny gray and black marble. The furniture was Victorian with refurbished shine that had an elegance Jew never suspected in Robot Raccoon. From the ceiling in the living room hung a crystal chandelier that reminded Jew of a swan falling to the ground. At the end of the room was a grand piano. Robot Raccoon sat down and tapped a few keys. Nobody would call it music.
"I just started lessons," said Robot. "But even if I don't play, I think it adds a charm to the room. Yeah?"
"Robot, you—"
A woman
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