Mr. Kablunz slowly whirled to face the class. "Class will begin," he whispered softly in a far-away voice. "Class will begin."
Spinning to face the blackboard, Mr. Kablunz used a stick of chalk to write: "Symbols eat each other for breakfast lunch and dinner. When you realize that, Cayuga, maybe you'll be able to comprehend the meaning of the ultimate equation of joy."
Cayuga's ears perked up. "The ultimate equation of joy?" he asked.
Mr. Kablunz's disapproving head spun around to face Cayuga with a mighty crack. "So joy's your game," he whispered softly in a far-away voice. "So joy's your game."
The student simply hung his head slightly and looked down at his books. Turning, Mr. Kablunz noticed steady drops of some sort of sad liquid falling from Cayuga's eyes onto the paper beneath. The teacher's scowl dissolved. His features mellowed. His eyebrows started looking like this / \ instead of like this \ /.
Mr. Kablunz whirled in the direction of the student, and began walking towards him. When he got there, the teacher gently placed his hand, palm down, on one of Cayuga's heaving shoulders. "I know," Mr. Kablunz whispered softly in a far-away voice. "I know."
Cayuga continued to whimper and shudder. Mr. Kablunz continued to grapple Cayuga's distraught shoulder.
"I know about your daddy, and what he did," Mr. Kablunz whispered softly in a far-away voice. "And I know about your mommy, and what she did. And, I know about your sister, and what she did. And, I know about your puppy, and what he did. And, I know, about your legs, and what they did. And I know about your couch, and, what it did. And I know, about caribou, and, what they sometimes do. And, I know, about, your breakfast cereal, and, what it did. And, I know, about the number, seven, and, what it, did.
Cayuga hauled his tear-stained face upwards and faced his instructor. "Sir? ... I think I could really use that equation for joy right about now."
Mr. Kablunz turned to stare at the troubled young lad. "So you could," Mr. Kablunz whispered softly in a far-away voice. "So you could." He returned to the chalkboard, and walked back over to it, with the stick of chalk in hand. When he got to the chalkboard, he faced it, and wrote: "The ultimate equation of joy is:
v2xr(sin32.203/9)/ms#$-12+pi --------------- x 14 m480000xYxZ/cosRbxa48!wwaaab "Cayuga smiled, and a look of understanding came to his face. "Heh: yeah."
She says to me, "You never hangglide any more."
I reply, "What about every day this week, when I've hangglided 40 hours every day?"
She says, "oh yes, that."