1. Jonnywaswatchingthe TV. Everyone onitseemedhappy. Theywere smilingbig,toothygrins,
talkingabouthowmuch theylovedtheirnew weed-whackers. He wonderedif he shouldorderone,
thoughhe livedathismother’shouse,anditwas herlawnto do withas she chose. Perhapsshe didn’t
wanta weed-whackertouchinghergrass. But thinkof all the weedsI could whack,he imagined
explainingtoher.
The TV was flashinganewcommercial now. Jonnyhadn’tseenthe oldone endorthisone
begin. Perhapshe evenmissedanadin betweenthe weed-whackerandthisnew one. Onthe screen
was a man drivingacar throughan emptycityat night. There were endlessstreetlightspackedclosely
togetheroneitherside of the road,ensuringthe car stayedilluminatedthroughoutthe whole of itsride.
The Art of Perfection, a voice-oversaid. He wonderedif the narrator inthe ad was supposedtobe the
driveras well.
Jonnyawoke abruptly. There wasanentirelynew commercialon. He realizedhe hadslept
throughthe showhe wasplanningtowatch. He hadexperiencedadreamwhere he wasina warm
small townduringa sunnyday,and everyone hadcandiestogive himandothers. The candy-givers
didn’tgive toeachother,but insteadwere partof a collective thatgave outcandy to what were perhaps
new-comersinthe town. ButJonnywasnot a new-comer. He hadlivedthere all hislife. He wasn’t
entirelysure whytheywere givingoutcandies. He saw themgivingthemto tourists,withtheirsun-
glassesandcamerasand awkwardclothing. He was enragedthatthe elite candy-giversweretreating
himwiththe same patronizingairas the foolishvacationers. Theydeservedcandies,becausetheywere
ignorantof things. But he was wiser,deservedmore,andnolonger wantedthe towniestreats’. People
startedto frownat himbecause he wouldn’ttake the candy,andsoonJonnywas despisedbyeveryone.
He wasin the middle of the streetaseveryone startedfloodingfromtheirhousestowardshiminamob-
like manner. He feltveryreal fear,andout of nowhere theywere screamingbattle-criesand
stampedingtowardshim,kickingupmoundsof dustthat cloudedthe entire scene. Jonnyturnedhis
back and wasrunning,sweating.
Thatmust’vebeen when I wokeup,Jonnythoughtas he finished reflecting. He had wokenup
withcoldsweaton hisface and inhis arm pits. He had onlyrecalledthe smallestfragmentof hisdream
at first,rediscoveringthe restashe priedhismemoryformore details. He hadn’tinitiallyremembered
howthe dream startedor ended,insteadwakingupwithsomethingmore tothe effectof alingering
emotion,leftoverfromhisslumbers.
`The latestfeaturedcommercialwaswroughtwithanxiety. Jonnywasn’tevensure whatitwas
about. He felthalf-waybetweensleepandreality. The adwas tryingto scare him, toconvince himof
something,buthe hadno ideawhatthat was. There was a troubledfamily,havingtodiscusstheir
optionsonsomething. Jonnycouldn’tbelieve thathe hadno ideawhatwas goingon. He feltsimply
unable toprocessanything. Andthenthere wasa new one. Thisad was crispand clean,yellingand
smilingathim,buthe still hadnoideawhatwas goingon. Maybemy brain is shot,he thoughtto
himself.

2. Jonnyrealizedthis adwasaboutcondoms. Maybethepreviouscommercial wasforlife
insurance,he considered. He watchedthe condoms,feelingmuchanxietybecause he couldn’tfigure
out whatthat previousone wasadvertising. Itwasan obsessive feelingthatwasmakinghimupset. It
was a feelingsimilartohavingtotriple-checktomake sure youlockedthe dooror knew whattime it
was. Jonnylikedthe condomcommercial,andwantednothingmore thantodevote the whole of his
mindto it,but he couldn’tletthe previousadgo. He couldn’tstandnotknowingwhatitwas about. It’s
overnow,Jonnythought. Nothing Ican do aboutit. MaybeI’ll see the ad again and realize whatit is
for. Thinkinghe’dhave anotherchance tosee it gave Jonnya little bitof peace,thoughnotenough. He
justcouldn’tgetoverthe fact that he didn’tknow,andit washis ownlackof brainpowerthat wasto
blame. He didn’tjustwantto knowwhat the ad was about:he wantedto know whyhe didn’tgetit
uponhisinitial viewing,aquestionhe probablycouldneverobtainthe answerto.
The anxietyof notunderstandingthatcommercial wouldnotleaveJonny’sside. There seemed
not a thinginthe worldhe coulddoto escape. He wasso wrappedupin thoughtthat he ceasedto be
aware of anythingaroundhim. He onlysaw the real worldforsmall bitsbefore retreatingbackintohis
headto solve anunsolvable mystery. Nothingfromthe TV wasgettingthroughto him, exceptaface
here and there. He realized,foramoment,how cozythe room waswhere he resided. He thought
aboutthe electricitymakingall the lightsjustforhim, andthe fridge full of anyfoodhe couldneed
shouldthe urge strike. He feltverywarmand incubated,asthough the room was a giant womb.
Jonnylikedhowhe felt,thinkingaboutthe serenitywaitingforhimoutside hisownhead. He
wantedtostay rightwhere he was. He didn’twantto go back inhis ownmindand start obsessing
again. He didn’twantto thinkat all anymore. Jonnysatthere like avegetable,tryingtomilkthe magic
momentsforall theywere worth. He knew thisfeelingwoulddie,andthatanxietywouldcome backto
haunthim ina short time. He had alreadyfeltanew wave of it creepinginhisgut. He felt sorrowbeing
brewedinsideof him,waitingtoferment.
Jonnyturnedoff the TV,feelingcranky. He realizedhisbrow wasfurrowedanditwasbeginning
to give hima headache. He turnedoff the lightsandmarched quietlyupthe stairsinpitchblackness.
He openedthe doortohis roomand walkeddelicately tohisbed,notwantingtostepon anything.
Jonnylieddownonthe mattress andpulledhiscoverupto hisshoulder. He shovedaroundhispillow,
pushingitto the leftanda bit sideways,until he wasperfectlycomfortable. Jonnyletouta deepsigh
of relief. He feltsome crutching,obsessiveanxietylurking,buthe didhisbesttoignore it. He had the
urge to thinkaboutold friends,andschool worktodo,and whatthe future held,buthe shotdown
those impulses. He wantedall of a suddentomake some foodfor himself,buthe killedthe ideaand
stretchedintoanevencoziercontortiononhisbed. The energyto thinkslowlyslippedfromJonny,and
hiseyesgrewtooheavyto keepopen. He thenfoundhimselfonasunnyisland,conversingwith
someone aboutcandy.