Geek Love

by Katherine Dunn

You and me. We are the things that come to the norms in nightmares. The thing that lurks in the bell tower and bites out the throats of the choirboys—that’s you, Oly. And the thing in the closet that makes the babies scream in the dark before it sucks their last breath—that’s me.

For obvious reasons “show-off” was no insult in our family, but Arty had a way of turning “sweetheart” into a thumb in the eye.

It is, I suppose, the common grief of children at having to protect their parents from reality. It is bitter for the young to see what awful innocence adults grow into, that terrible vulnerability that must be sheltered from the rodent mire of childhood.

“The one buck they’ve got, I’ll get,” said Arty.

Just being visible is my biggest confession, so they try to set me at ease by revealing our equality, by dragging out their own less-apparent deformities.

“The truth is always an insult or a joke. Lies are generally tastier. We love them. The nature of lies is to please. Truth has no concern for anyone’s comfort.”

“I’m curious about the possibility of separating the twins,” Arty said. Dr. Phyllis grunted. “Can’t be done. I told you that years ago.” Arty yawned, wiggling. “Well, I thought you’d be keeping up with new techniques and developments.” Doc P. was not to be goaded. “Nothing to do with technique. It’s the way they’re built.” Arty flipped over on his belly and looked straight at her. “What if I was willing to sacrifice one twin to keep the other?” “Which one?” inquired Dr. Phyllis sweetly. Arty smiled. “It doesn’t matter.”

“There are those whose own vulgar normality is so apparent and stultifying that they strive to escape it. They affect flamboyant behavior and claim originality according to the fashionable eccentricities of their time. They claim brains or talent or indifference to mores in desperate attempts to deny their own mediocrity. These are frequently artists and performers, adventurers and wide-life devotees. “Then there are those who feel their own strangeness and are terrified by it. They struggle toward normalcy. They suffer to exactly that degree that they are unable to appear normal to others, or to convince themselves that their aberration does not exist. These are true freaks, who appear, almost always, conventional and dull.”

Part of being pregnant is that you think about it so much that you’re seldom bored. Terrified often enough, but rarely bored.