GLASS SOUP by Jonathan Carroll (funny books to read .txt) 📕

been stumped as to what to do next. It’d led Simon through the man’s own city, past clues and signs anyone with half a brain in his head would have recognized. To no avail. Five, ten times during their walk Bob had wanted to stop, point directly at specific things, and say Look at that, Simon! Or There—don’t you recognize it? But they had told the bear to avoid “point and tell” as much as possible so it didn’t. Eventually in the end Haden had reacted to something, thank God.

“I think you’re wrong about Simon. I used to think the same thing as you, but I realized something today about the guy: he’s really not so dumb. He’s just got a bad attitude. He’d look angry eating an ice cream cone.”

Bob heard the voice but looking around, could not locate the source of it. Eventually he did look down low enough to see Broximon standing nearby, nattily dressed as always. Today he was wearing argyle and looked like a 1930s golf pro.

“Well, hello Broximon.”

“Hey Big Bob. Have you got time to go get something to drink?”

“I’ll tell you, I’ve got such shpilkes from going around in circles with Simon Haden that about the only thing my stomach could handle now is cold milk.”

“Then cold milk it is, pal. There must be some place around here we can go.”

Bob looked left and right. “Do you even know where we are? I’m sort of at a loss here. I know nothing about this part of town.”

“Me neither. But there’s gotta be a diner nearby. Simon loves diners and must have put one up around here somewhere. There are about a thousand of them in this town. They all serve that same kind of disgusting chocolate pudding with nuts he likes. Come on, we’ll find a place to go.” They started walking, Broximon moving as fast as he could just to keep up with the bear.

“Listen, Bob, I need to ask you something. Have you ever heard of John Flannery? Do you know him?”

“Who?”

“John Flannery. Big guy with a beard, sort of fat?” Broximon stroked an imaginary beard on his chin. “Goes around with a humungous Great Dane named Luba?”

“Nope, never heard of the guy. And the only Great Dane I know is named Spot. Maybe I will have something to drink.”

Suzy Nichols. That was her name. Suzy Nichols was the girl beneath the blue mask who had greeted him on the street minutes before. Haden had loved her a lot earlier in his life. Maybe as much as any woman in his life, but that was because he was thirteen when he knew her and everyone knows that young love is as purple and electric as a summer thunderstorm.

What was Suzy doing wearing a spinning Bobo funeral mask on the street of Simon Haden’s dream city? Because of the dance, of course—the seventh- and eighth-grade Halloween dance.

Remember junior high school dances? Where most of the girls spent most of the time running in and out of the toilet to talk with each other about the evening’s latest developments. Where most of the boys slouched cool against various walls to show these girls that they didn’t give a damn about anything, most especially these girls.

And there was always at least one girl over in a far corner crying, inconsolable about something that had just happened, surrounded by her sympathetic, clucking, consoling friends. A few geeks and losers usually showed up, making sure to stick close to each other. They did little else besides guard the shadows and stare at the goings-on. Farther down on the prestige ladder a weirdo or two was there too, which made people who noticed wonder for a second what the hell motivated them to come tonight?

Possibility, that’s what. Kids believe with all their hearts that anything can happen at school dances. Magically enough, now and then it does. The most unlikely kids pair up, things are said beneath the pound of the music that changes everything, secrets are shared amid the open, stirring hope that tags along to any gathering like this. Things could happen here tonight; sometimes they do.

Following the girl in the mask, Haden opened the door to the building and walked straight into the seventh- and eighth-grade Halloween dance at his school’s gymnasium. He was surrounded by kids in costume and the instant-nostalgia sound of Barry White singing. He immediately knew where he was and did not hesitate. Suzy would most likely be across the room at the punch bowl with the rest of the girls, or having a summit meeting in the toilet with her best friend Melinda Szep.

He remembered this night and the dance but not the dream both lived in. That was not surprising though because Haden had had over fourteen thousand dreams in his life. In his stocking feet he walked across the gym (it was a sock hop—you took off your shoes at the door so as not to mark up the wooden floor). He gradually realized that many of the dancers were looking at him. It was disconcerting but he had other things on his mind. Anyway, so what if a bunch of twelve-year-olds stared?

There was Suzy. Her blue mask lay facedown on the refreshments table. She was talking animatedly to Melinda and holding a paper cup in her hand. She was so pretty—tall and pretty. That’s why he hadn’t recognized her when he saw her before out on the street—he’d mistaken her for a woman. Even in eighth grade Suzy Nichols was tall and had a full enough figure to be mistaken for someone much older; especially when her young face was covered by a mask. Now Haden remembered that that belonged to her older brother who had served in the Peace Corps in Burkina Faso. He had gotten the crazy-looking thing there. And Suzy had worn the mask to their junior high Halloween dance, shocking those who knew her. Normally she was not the kind of