“Are you satisfied?”

“Are you begging the question?”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No, I’m not. Do I seem happy to you?”

“As a matter of fact.”

“Then I suppose I am. What about me looks happy to you?”

“You’re, like, in your own world all the time. No one seems to bother you. Nothing seems to bother you.”

“Actually, nothing bothers me all the time. Some things we have to keep straight. But I know what you mean. You’re not seeing happiness. You’re seeing social awkwardness, a mild blindness to the normal range of social cues. You like me because I’m weird and you like that because you think you’re weird. And you are, in a good way. You know what a homotopy equivalence is and you don’t need to know that. No one needs to know that. Face it, that’s weird.” I drank my tea.

“I don’t know what a homotopy equivalence is,” Sam said.

“Neither do I, but you know what I mean.”

“So, should I switch to applied math or physics the way my parents want?”

“Ouch. If you want to. If you don’t want to, don’t. Life is finite, often more finite than anticipated. If you like to be in your head, be there.”

“Thanks.”

“Feed Trigo a bite. It will make you happy.”

A canister came in through the open kitchen window. Sam and I looked at it. It was silver in color with blue lettering. Riot Control, it read. We looked at each other and then the thing began to hiss and emit white fog.

“What do you think that is?” I asked.

“Tear gas?”

The kitchen door flew off its hinges. Trigo barked. I scooped him from the table into my arms. “Professor Kitu?” Sam’s voice was scared, high. Men in black body armor stomped into the house. It was hard to see because of the smoke and the burning of my eyes. “Get down on the floor,” Sam said. I did and I could see a little better. Big black boots came together in front of me. I looked up into the fog. I felt a sharp and sudden pain on top of my head. I felt Trigo fall from my grasp.

5

I awoke to a bright light in my face. Quickly, I was aware of two bright lights and then three. I tried to raise my hands to shield my eyes but could not. While my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I could see that my wrists were shackled to a metal table. My ankles were as well shackled to the metal legs of the chair. My throat was scratchy, dry, tight. I was thirsty. I was hot and sweaty. I couldn’t see past the lights so I closed my eyes and tried to listen. I could hear only the buzz of the fixtures.

“Where’s my dog?” I asked.

Two of the florescent bulbs went black with loud clunks that seemed somehow old fashioned to me.

“Don’t you want to know where you are?” a man asked.