For me, a conundrum: an intelligent boy who can, after viewing a film or reading a novel, close the book or leave the theatre without feeling that the fiction still thrives, unfolding still in the synaptic pulses of the spectator�s mind. Oh my.

Trying to unwrap his brain, I tell story after story, contradiction after contradiction, hyperbole after hyperbole, and while someone else might, though inexplicably nervous, crack a smile despite himself, this boy seems unmoved; he appends non sequiturs easily. Enigmatic, he�s a locked box.

Needless to say, this situation is quite frustrating, especially since he brings me surprises in small paper bags: a slice of chocolate cake for a picnic or a glazed buttermilk donut because he remembered that I grew up in a donut shop. (Obviously, he takes notes; stay wary.)

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