Bryce Warnes

I  hope this is a trick of perspective. 

WANT.

cabinporn:

Wood-burning sauna and Snorkel tub in Naramata, BC, Canada. It’s surrounded by a five acre organic orchard of cherries, apples, pears and apricots called Picker Shack.

PICTURED ABOVE: “Greg’s Mom and Greg’s Dad”

“Greg,” said Greg’s mom, “Can we take them off now?”

“Not until we’re done orientation,” said Greg. “There’s one more station to go. Biodiversity Museum.”

“Mine is itchy,” said Greg’s dad. “It’s hot today.”

“They’ve got the skeleton of a blue whale,” said Greg. “Completely articulated.”

As a boy genius, entering university on full scholarship at the age of twelve, Greg knew it would be no easy task to win the allegiances of his schoolmates. 

His age was definitely a factor. But so were his parents. The fact that neither of his parents had or would ever have Greg’s reasoning capability, breadth of knowledge or nuanced appreciation of the fine arts occurred to both of them, but did not affect their decision to accompany him on his first day of school. 

So what if his voice was just beginning to crack? So what if he still didn’t know how to do his own laundry? (Not that the process was beyond his capabilities; he had simply never felt it necessary to learn.) His science fair project had more than quadrupled the survival rate among men going under the scalpel for prostate cancer. He had been hailed in the international press as a prodigy. “The pinnacle,” said The Times, “of human mental capability.”

Greg did not, he felt, need both parents holding each of his hands as they strolled down the boulevard of his prestigious, well-funded alma mater. He did not need to be born a genius, either. But they were here, and he was a genius, and that was the end of it.

“People are looking at us,” Greg’s father muttered. His hand was callused, as Greg felt a father’s ought to be. A machinist’s hands. 

“Just ignore them, Dad,” said Greg. They passed the people in question, a group of bearded men standing outside the Engineering building. Greg smiled and waved.

“How far are we?” asked Greg’s mom.

The students stared blankly at the trio, then resumed their conversation. Greg had never felt intimidated by adults, not since he was still in diapers, learning long division from one of his older cousin’s textbooks.

But the adults here were different. Soon, very soon, they would be his peers. Tall, coarse-skinned men with rumbling voices. Women with wide hips and full shirts. They would be classmates, allies, perhaps adversaries. Certainly, if they saw Greg sandwiched between his parents, the temptation to mock him would be strong. Too-clever adults are often pariahs. Clever children, so much more so.

They went through a parking lot filled with student vehicles. A group of girls passed, darting eyes, giggling and whispering. Greg was just beginning to understand the charms of the female sex. He winked at the girl he deemed the prettiest. Their giggles erupted into guffaws as the atomic family passed.

This was his plan. This was his secret weapon. Greg was clever enough to appreciate the beauty of the human chromosome. He was also clever enough to appreciate the brevity of human life, the shortness of youth.

A moment of humiliation was a single point on a human being’s long timeline. If he would be the object of disdain, let him be a great object. Let him be unforgettable. He was a boy genius, a titan. If he was going to be humiliated, it would be a on a grand scale.

Greg focused on his sense of shame, let it telescope and grow, wallowed in it. Yes, his parents were holding his hand on his first day of university. Yes, he was smaller and younger than everyone else here. And he wanted then to know it. 

The money his grandma sent him on his twelfth birthday more than covered the cost of having the shirts made.

“I’m thirsty,” said Greg’s dad, almost whining. “I need a glass of water. When will we visit the dorms?”

“Soon, Dad,” said Greg, squeezing his father’s hand. They were just about there. The last station in the tour. The whale skeleton. And after that, student life. “We’ll be there soon. Just keep walking.”