To Go or Not to Go

All Friday morning, I think about Cassis and change my mind from planning to go there today to deciding not to go there today. For the first two hours, Martin Phoenix makes science experiments and I clean up the messes we create. The best experiment is when we light a match and drop it into a glass bottle and then watch as the shelled hardboiled egg I place on top of the bottle gets sucked in with a loud gulping sound.

"It's all about atmosphere Rick pressure," says Martin Phoenix with his Tango. "That pushed the egg into the bottle."

"Atmosphere Rick. Oh, you mean atmospheric!" I say.

"You get the picture," he says.

"I do," I say. Then I ask, "Do you want me to program the Tango to say 'atmospheric'?"

"No," he says.

Martin Phoenix shakes a little bit and makes some sounds and I know he is laughing. He is not laughing because something is funny, he is just proud of himself.

Luke Phoenix comes into the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee. It is 11 am and he has missed his tennis lesson.

"Do you want to see an experiment?" Martin Phoenix asks.

"I am an experiment," says Luke Phoenix. I don't know what he means by that. He turns with his coffee cup and goes out of the kitchen.

"We are 233 meters above sea level here near Lourmarin," I say to Martin Phoenix. "And Saskatoon is 450 meters above sea level. Does this make a difference to the atmospheric pressure?"

"I don't know," says Martin Phoenix. "Google it."

We spend the rest of the morning using my laptop to search for details about atmospheric pressure. When it is lunchtime, Luke Phoenix doesn't come out of his room.

Alan Phoenix brings fresh bread, a new package of cheese, and some things that look like flaps of raw meat but which he says are honey ham. I eat some bread and cheese, and then my mother comes in, and she acts like she has pms or menopause or both.

"Hammy lived to be four. Before Hammy I had Charlotte and before her I had June and before her I had Walnut and he was the first gerbil I ever had. And now I have Harold Pinter and Samuel Beckett but nobody will let me phone to see if they're okay," I say.

My mother looks at me and doesn't talk. I press my thumbs into my palms and tell myself that just because there's a cloth on the counter doesn't mean I have to use it. I get to my feet and there is a whirly feeling, but I take a deep breath and go up to my room. I think about what I need and put things into my bag. I think about how riding the bus will be familiar because I have ridden many buses before. I make sure I have the map I printed from the Internet, showing me how to get to Adelaide's house. When I go downstairs again, Martin Phoenix is in the living room.

"Have fun in Cast Seas," he says with his Tango.

"Martin, stay out of it," warns Alan Phoenix. I suddenly see now how somebody can get between two other people even if they're not actually standing in the way. I smile at Martin Phoenix.

My mother is doing the dishes and she does not turn around when I enter the kitchen. I feel my body shaking but I go right past her and out the door. I am nineteen years old and I should not be afraid of my mother, but I am. Stanley in Harold Pinter's play, The Birthday Party, is afraid of things he shouldn't be afraid of, too. But Stanley is stuck in his room eating cornflakes and I am not going to be like that.

People who are nineteen are not supposed to be afraid of their mothers. They are not supposed to be afraid of delivery vans or envelopes or packages. They are not supposed to be afraid of playground slides. I am afraid of all these things. I am also afraid of opening the door to strangers; however, this might be a positive thing as strangers could be bad. When I think about my future, other fears rise to consciousness. I am afraid of never getting a permanent full-time job. If I don't get a job, I will be living with my mother until she dies of old age. I used to be afraid of finishing high school, but I'm glad I graduated because you're not supposed to be in high school forever.

I think I know what happened to Stanley. Stanley is a person whose fears have beaten down his choices. More than anything, I am afraid of being like Stanley.

When I leave the house to go to the bus stop, I feel afraid of everything. My hands are sweating and I can feel sweat dripping down the back of my neck. When I go down the driveway and into the lane, and I hear the dogs start to bark, I want to run back to the villa and change my plans. But then I would never get to Cassis or talk to Adelaide or see what they are having for aperitifs.

An old man riding a bicycle turns into the lane ahead of me. From a distance he appears to be moving quickly, but as I get closer, I realize that, even though he pedals with vigor, in actuality the bicycle is barely moving.

Soon I pass the old man on the bicycle. Stanley would never have done this. He would have been afraid of passing anyone. I keep putting one foot in front of the other and when I get to the bus stop, I put some gum into my mouth. Peppermint, for calming and organizing.

I think Stanley has autism and he just doesn't know what to do about it.