Nix the old-line papers and file them away. Nix the new-line papers and file them farther away, maybe in Angola. Soon our language runs out of farthers but my job nixing and filing continues.

Nixing and filing isn’t a bad job. It takes dexterity but no social aptitude. I failed social aptitude in school, especially when I stole my classmates’ papers. Usually the teacher caught me before I had the chance to nix and file the papers. But on the occasions when I succeeded, I was king for a day.

I was a skinny kid. Terribly skinny. The counselor Mr. Dodges called me into his office and made me get on the scale for him. He asked me what the inside of our refrigerator looked like and whether I was forced to skip meals. Truth is, I ate a lot. I ate more than anyone I knew, child or adult. I even stole cornbread from the kids at lunch. Surely Mr. Dodges knew my eating habits. He was always looking at me, especially at lunch.

Despite my skinniness the bullies didn’t pick on me. The one bully who hit me was named Cliff. He was older than the other kids. His voice was awkward and his genitals were boorish. One day Cliff decided that he liked my blue windbreaker jacket. The jacket was too small for him but he wanted it anyway. I told him to fuck himself with his boorish cock so he tore the jacket off my body. The next day I snuck into Mrs. Kelly’s desk and found his social studies test. I nixed and filed it. Cliff’s grades were precarious; the nixed and filed test made him flunk the third grade again.

Cliff wanted to be in Mrs. Kelly’s class but she resigned after the roster came out. Mr. Dodges was filling in. Mr. Dodges liked Cliff. For two years he’d been sorry to see Cliff fail and took Cliff to his office for a pep talk. You’re a smart kid, Mr. Dodges said. I’ll do better next year, Cliff said. I know you will, Mr. Dodges said. Despite the congenial relationship with Mr. Dodges, Cliff missed Mrs. Kelly and resented her absence. In class Cliff shouted things like Mrs. Kelly always lets us read out loud and Mrs. Kelly doesn’t make us put our chairs up. Mr. Dodges was patient until Cliff said Mrs. Kelly is prettier than you, which upset Mr. Dodges.

One Friday I was in Mr. Dodges’ office weighing myself when I noticed that his cheeks were redder than usual. He was fidgety and wouldn’t admit that something was wrong. At lunch I caught up with Cliff who told me gleefully about his prettier than you statement. Mr. Dodges made Cliff go sit on Mr. Bradley’s bench for what seemed like an hour before Mr. Bradley finally came out with the paddle. According to Cliff, the spanking was worth the look on Mr. Dodges’ face. Next time I’ll swat you myself, Mr. Dodges had said, and then you’ll be sorry. Cliff and I giggled.

Cliff’s mother thought that spanking was immoral. She went to Mr. Bradley’s office and told him so. Mr. Bradley replied that Cliff’s mother should be arrested for not bathing her kid. And what were all those bruises on Cliff’s arm? Mr. Bradley had half a mind to call social services. Cliff’s mother grabbed the dolphin paperweight from Mr. Bradley’s desk and threw it at him. Being a girl, her aim wasn’t very good; she smashed the framed Sexual harassment course completed certificate behind his desk. The drug cop arrested her for assault.

I liked Cliff’s mother because she mostly stayed in bed and didn’t catch us looking at porn. Cliff’s step-dad laughed a lot but you couldn’t tell if he was really joking. Cliff and I usually went to the backyard when we heard his truck pull up. But on the afternoon of the arrest we noticed that the truck sounded a higher pitch than usual. And the engine killed too quickly. We looked out the window and saw Cliff’s mother stepping out of the passenger door, her face muddled from crying. Cliff’s step-dad looked serious.

The adults went straight to the bedroom and started arguing. The man wanted to go settle the score with Mr. Bradley. The woman said absolutely not because having both parents arrested in the same day would set a bad example for Cliff. They finally compromised: the man would stay home & sleep on it. The next morning he would decide with a clear head.

The next morning with a clear head Cliff’s step-dad beat Mr. Bradley into unconsciousness. There was a police spectacle; the paper ran a second-page story. Cliff’s grandma pulled the prosecutor down by the sleeve and, with the skeletal authority of a woman over 65, said Throw the book at him. The prosecutor complied.

Cliff moved in with his grandma. He missed his step-dad. He missed fishing and bicycling. His grandma didn’t listen to music. She made him go to bed at 9. She didn’t leave porn in easy hiding places. Instead, she left traces of incontinence on the couch. The house had an odor that was repulsive even to Cliff. Cliff’s step-dad would be in jail for at least a year, and a year was too long to live with Grandma. A jailbreak was in order.

Cliff and I sat behind the courthouse shrubs at 9:30 pm. I let Cliff do the break-in because he had some experience at it. I followed him through the window and we found the “recent cases” file cabinet. I pulled the folder for Cliff’s step-dad. I nixed and filed his paperwork.

The next day Cliff’s step-dad was a free and bewildered man. Grandma wouldn’t sign Cliff back to his mother but we visited the house lot. Back at school, Mr. Bradley was pompous as usual. Mr. Dodges never invited Cliff or me to his office again.

FICTION / Reading is bad for you.

It’s the end of the story. You can’t go on. Don’t even try. I’m telling you, the next paragraph doesn’t exist. Keep your eyes steady. If you look at the ellipse then you will go blind…

There. You’re blind. What did I tell you? Ok, don’t believe the writer. Just because fictionwriters can’t keep real jobs doesn’t make us ignorant. Think about the ignorance of writers next time you want to compliment your lover’s outfit but you can’t see it because you’re blind. Or because you don’t have a lover.

You don’t have a lover because you read too much. Don’t worry; you’re not alone. Alison Graciously never had a lover, and she nearly went blind from reading. Her eyes waned slowly; she didn’t notice the myopia until the doctor gave her magic lenses. Then she could see for awhile. But soon her eyes grew tolerant of the lenses. Stronger prescriptions became less effective until Alison was in a constant state of lens tremors.

Alison’s mother Grace begged Alison to quit reading. Find yourself a good husband, Grace pleaded, and then you can read all you want. But instead of dating, Alison spent her evenings with George Orwell, Anne Rice and Star Trek: The Next Generation authors. She intended to find herself a good husband but hoped that her husband would be made of words.

Words don’t pay the bills, Grace is fond of saying. Which is not altogether true. Grace uses words to get out of paying bills. Last November she bought a VCR with her MasterCard and noticed that the cashier neither checked her ID nor made her sign the receipt, so Grace reported that her card had been stolen the previous day. She didn’t have to pay. The practice is called creative accounting, Grace explained. Creative accounting is different than fictionwriting. Creative accounting is the poor man’s way of getting back at the rich, while fictionwriting is the rich man’s way of making the poor complacent, like television only worse because reading makes you blind.

Ding Dong. Pizza boy at the door. His name is Dennis. Alison first met Dennis in Algebra II. She likes him. Dennis likes to play with her hair. Grace likes Dennis too. The first time he delivered pizza Grace asked him if there were wedding bells in her daughter’s future. Alison was so angry that she locked herself in her room until she’d read the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Dennis is the best pizza boy in town. His secret is a small pile of rocks that he keeps in the oven and places in the bottom of the pizza carrier before making his deliveries. The first time he tried his idea, he set the pizza box directly onto the rocks. When he opened the carrier to take out the pizza, the box burst into flames. Dennis learned to place the pizza on a rack in the carrier and let the rocks sit loosely underneath. His success is known countywide. His pizzas stay so warm that some clients refuse to order unless Dennis is delivering.

Dennis won’t admit that he likes to read. He spends his lunch period on the basketball court trying to overcome his feet and limbs. Smooth, limber bodies guide the ball in & out of Dennis’s reach. Dennis would rather be reading. His basketball buddies know it; Alison knows it—only Dennis remains in the closet.

Alison answers the door. She smiles and hands Dennis a twenty. Dennis gives her the change and a tattered paperback book. Startled, she holds the book to her face and studies the title, 2001: A Space Odyssey. Wow! This book is on the upper half of her wish list. “What’s this for?” she asks.

“Sorry I missed your birthday,” he replies.

“My birthday’s next month, goober.”

“Oops.” Dennis chuckles and blushes. With a sudden empathy Alison reaches up and kisses him on the lips. Spying from the kitchen, Grace lets slip a loud praise to Jesus.