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As I walked back into the room, I saw my father had left, but my mother was sitting, waiting for me. It was evident we were going to have a little mother-to-son talk. I felt an urge to break the uncomfortable silence, and said the first thing that came to my mind, "You know mother, I almost felt like I've been spending the last six months of my life watching the Dreamaway Truth Program."

She said, "What did you say, dear?" I lost track of the conversation, and found my mouth moving, saying words I had never heard before, "Mother, when is vague conjecture art, and when is it circumstantial evidence?

"Vague conjecture can be whatever you want it to be, dear. After all, it's only vague conjecture."

I felt I was floating on the ceiling, looking down at my body, watching it listen to her.

"Does that make sense, dear?" my mother asked, but I misunderstood "sense"

to mean "cents" and thought she was talking about money. My mind strayed again and noise started coming out of my mouth, "Aren't there any rules about what is allowed in art?"

She got a knowing look in her eye. She called me over, put her hands on both my shoulders and said, "It's all right. I understand. You sometimes feel like you have to have money, right?" I went into mild shock at the mention of the word "money" and pa led. "It's more like you always feel you have to have money, isn't it?", she asked, consolingly. I gathered enough self-control to nod my head up and down once, quickly.

"OK, dear, it looks like I need to tell you the facts of life. That means you're going to hear something incredible. But you will need to listen and understand. I'm going to tell you the story of the Body Critics.

That is where those strange voices come from. But first you need a good night's sleep, and for that I need to get you destimulated."

She stood up, reached into her purse, and pulled out something I couldn't see. She held it high up enough in the air so I couldn't reach it and showed it to me. A big, bright, shiny new quarter! I gazed up in awe.

My senses all surged of their own accord. I could suddenly see everything in the room simultaneously, in front of me, to my sides and even far behind me. My ears effortlessly heard her every word and my mind examined and savored every possible interpretation as she spoke the words.

"This is a quarter. It is money. Many years ago, all children used to have lots of money." The quarter twinkled brightly as if to emphasize her statement. I was transfixed as she continued, "The reason children no longer have money is because of an evil inter-cult overlord named Minton.

This evil monster ruined everything by trying to use money to solve the problem of over-population among cultists. Do you want to have this quarter?"

"Yes", I replied tonelessly, although I was never more sure of anything in my life.

"You may have the quarter on one condition. Tomorrow we are going to the playground, where you will meet other children of your own age. This will be the first time by yourself. Tomorrow, on the playground, I want you to have an experience that shows you that there are other things more important in life than money. Do you understand?"

"Yes I under. Stand." I said.

"Do you promise?"

"Yes I prom. Ise." I said.

"What do you promise?" She was checking up on me.

"I promise to have an experience that will show me there are things more important in life than money. I understand. I promise." The words spilled out of my mouth and I nearly dirtied my pants.

She handed me the quarter.

My needle was floated.

---

Joe Cisar

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