It turns out that Jon wasn’t retarded. He was massively strange but not even slightly stupid. He knew facts about things I didn’t know existed. He spent a lot of time at Duerdale Library and had his own corner there. He didn’t read any fiction though; it was all cold hard fact. He could usually be found upstairs in the reference room, with the encyclopedias and dictionaries piled high around him. He had a photographic memory and if he read about something it stuck. It wasn’t a magic power or anything; he just remembered things. And I enjoyed testing him. Our early-morning meetings would consist of me throwing random words at him: ‘electricity’, ‘Jupiter’, ‘Islam’. Occasionally he wouldn’t have read about one of the subjects, so I would try another word and off he would go. He wasn’t showing off, it was just how we began to communicate. Early-morning lessons in whatever.
It was a good way for me to begin the day, it would slowly clear my mind of the dreams and nightmares. I would wake up over a cup of tea, and listen to Jon chatter about the different types of eagles found in north-west Scotland, their wing spans, colouring and diet. He would explain why Pluto is no longer considered a planet: ‘It’s too small, it doesn’t dominate the neighbourhood around its orbit so it’s called a dwarf planet now. They’ve given it the number 134340. Some astronomers cried when it lost its official planet status.’ He would tell me that a wild panther can run at 35 mph and can be seven feet long from nose to tip of tail: ‘If it stood on its hind legs it would be taller than your dad.’ His eyes were wide as he considered this fact. He looked across at me to see if this information had really sunk in. I nodded quickly, to show him I was impressed too.
I would occasionally ask him about school or friends or his grandparents but he never said much and just kept on tapping his leg. So I would throw another subject at him, take a sip of my tea and watch him go.
His silence about school frustrated me. I wanted to know about Duerdale High, what to expect, what the teachers were like. When we went to buy the uniform my dad asked if I was nervous and I shrugged and told him I wasn’t bothered, and part of me really wasn’t. But occasionally, at unguarded moments, I would be hit with a slice of fear. In the middle of a painting or just before falling asleep the unease would shoot through my belly or skate across my spine. My mum always told me to confront my fears. She said that things are rarely as bad as your imagination makes them. So I tried with Jon again.
‘Jon, what’s Duerdale High like?’
‘Jon, what are the teachers like?’
Silence, leg starts tapping.
‘Jon, what are the other kids like?’
Silence and leg tapping and neck twitching.
He looked uncomfortable and I felt mean. I let it go.