#and like. in school we analyzed the story of Narcissus a LOT

[nexus-nebulae]

been thinking a lot lately about the story of narcissus and whether or not it's more of a blessing or a curse to eventually become so abundant that you are considered plain or mundane. thinkin about daffodils

[drrjsb]

Bruce Banner Appreciation Week Day  4, 6, & 7: Science, Anxiety, Hope, Pride, & Past

(It’s a lot to pack in, but it’s longer and maybe worth the wait. I’ve always disliked the story about Bruce building a bomb at his high school, so I fixed it!)

“Before: Spring 1980″

Things have gotten rougher for Bruce at school, so he takes matters into his own hands when he’s bullied by his much older classmates. He finds allies who encourage him, but he also learns adults often have different agendas than his.

Dr. Susan Banner walked briskly across Central High School’s campus, heading toward the Administrative Building. The robins were out, the bright yellow forsythia bushes were a riot of blooms, but she didn’t have time to enjoy those or the varieties of narcissus, hyacinths, and tulips in the flowerbeds. It was early in the day and normally she would be teaching a music theory class to advanced students, but she’d had a call in her office between first and second period. Luckily, a colleague was free to cover for her till noon, so she was headed to the 10th Grade Vice-Principal’s office with all due haste for an active woman who’d just turned 35. She fought her inclination to go into full panic mode and sprint the last hundred yards in her high heels and A-line skirt. When she entered the building, Susan saw two uniformed police officers standing outside the office suite’s door with Bruce and two older boys sitting on a bench between the vigilant adults.

She walked straight up to the nearest uniformed officer. “What’s going on, sir?” She gestured to Bruce. “This is my nephew.”

He looked at the other older officer with a mustache who nodded it was okay to talk to her. “A device, possibly a bomb, was found in the boiler room in the basement, mam. It . . .”

“It wasn’t a real bomb,” Bruce piped up from the bench. Everyone looked at the 10-year-old. The older boys initially seemed puzzled, but they frowned as the revelation sunk in, exchanged a panicked look at each other, and then both turned to Bruce with murder in their eyes.

“What do you mean it’s not a bomb, you little shit?! You said it would work,” blurted the rougher looking of the two, a blonde with a shaggy mullet, artfully ripped jeans, and a Def Leppard t-shirt.

“We were going to get out of final exams, dweeb!” said the larger one who had a feathered-back haircut and preppier clothes. He made a lunge across his friend at Bruce, but the nearest officer clamped a hand down on the kid’s shoulder and roughly pushed him to the far end of the bench. At the same time, the blonde pulled back his right arm, ready to take a swing at Bruce.

“Go ahead, I’m notafraid to take a punch,” Bruce growled, balling his hands into fists. “You thought you could bully me into doing what you wanted. Well, the joke’s on you both, Coulter.”

The mulleted boy started to get to his feet, but the officer Susan had spoken to was already between the juveniles. “Sit down, son! You’re in enough trouble as it is.” The kid sat back down and the officer kicked his high-top-covered feet to move him down to the far end of the bench with his fuming cohort. “One more stupid move, and the cuffs go on,” the older officer said as he rattled the metal restraints on his belt for emphasis.

“Where is Vice-Principal Weaver?” Susan asked. She had stepped up to block Bruce from the older boys as well. The teacher was unnerved by what she’d already witnessed, but she wasn’t about to let it show.

“I’m coming,” called an almost cheery male voice from down the hall. She turned to see her administrative colleague wheeling a cart toward them with what looked like a bundle of gas canisters sprouting wires and boxes with dials attached to a metal framework. Another officer, who was taking off thick bomb gear, walked behind him along with one of the newer Assistant Vice-Principals she didn’t know. “It’s just like I explained when I called you Officer Jennings: it’s a total fake.” The officers seemed to relax a fraction, but the tension in the hall only seemed to shift rather than dissipate.

“Someone had better explain what happened,” Susan finally said, looking at the adults first then Bruce who had an oddly triumphant expression on his face as he continued to stare down the older boys. She would deal with him later. “Dr. Weaver?”

The Vice-Principal was in his wool suit and had obviously been perspiring for a while now. Susan thought Dr. Weaver seemed inexplicably jazzed about the whole situation. He pushed his thin hair back with his right hand and grinned at her, “Susan, that’s one smart boy you have. Let’s go in my office. Marty, please take Mr. Coulter and Mr. Bendis to the detention office and see that their parents are notified.” The younger administrator motioned for the two older boys to follow and the senior police officer gestured for his younger colleague to follow them since an investigation was no doubt pending.

“Just wait, Time Bomb, you’ll regret this,” the larger boy threatened, before the officer jingled a pair of handcuffs as a reminder and moved him along.

Once they were down the hall and had disappeared behind a door, Dr. Weaver addressed the older officer. “Well, Tom, I think we have enough to suspend them from school. Do you have enough to bring charges?”

Officer Jennings stroked his greying moustache, “What kind of video evidence did you say you have?”

The administrator turned to Bruce who opened up his backpack and handed over two VHS tapes then pulled a Dictaphone recorder out of his pants pocket and gave the officer the mini audio cassette out of it. He’d made copies of all of them, but Bruce wasn’t about to volunteer that.

“Bruce!” Susan gasped. It seemed pretty obvious that her sweet, 10-year-old, genius of a nephew had become some kind of junior narc or an undercover informer pretty much beneath her radar.

Dr. Weaver took her arm. “Susan, let’s go sit down. There’s someone I want you to meet in here. Bruce, why don’t you head back to class. Good work, kid.” Dr. Weaver fished a hall pass out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. Her nephew grabbed up his backpack and hurried away without meeting her eyes. Oh, we are going to talk all right. The two remaining officers headed down the hall with the tapes, looking satisfied. “Open the door, will you please, Susan? I don’t want to leave this evidence out in the hall. I’m sure they’re going to want it.” She opened the door, and he wheeled the cart with the “bomb” on it into his outer suite which was an unoccupied waiting area. “Just look at the detail on this, Susan. You should be so proud of Bruce. I can’t believe . . .”

Susan flat-handed her colleague with a slap on the back of his balding head. “What. The. Hell. Harvey!?!?” she said in a low, icy voice. “This is my nephew’s life, not an episode of Kojak orMission Impossible. You just put him in harm’s way. Suspending those two little thugs you’ve caught is not worth the damage you might have done to him.”

“Now, Sue, you have the wrong idea here. Bruce approached me back in December after he heard the two were planning something dangerous. The boys knew about what happened with your brother, and they were trying to use it as leverage over Bruce and then as blackmail. He had a pretty brilliant plan to turn the tables on them, so I helped him and oversaw the operation every step of the way. He wasn’t in any serious danger.”

“You put my nephew in the middle of a conspiracy to entrap those delinquents, Harv!” She was keeping her voice down, but she wanted to shake the older man until his teeth rattled.

“I empowered him to stand up to a couple of bullies who were one move away from blowing up our Science Department. Thank God, they weren’t that smart.”

“You used him like a tool.”

“I let him use that big brain of his to analyze and solve his problems in a creative way.”

“You made him a target at best. At worst, he’s going to think this is a way to solve his socialization issues.” She was so angry, she felt like throttling her colleague. Calm down! The boy is going to need you, the voice in her head reminded her. “Why didn’t you come to me back in December?”

“Leaving you out of it was his only condition,” Harvey explained.

“Harvey, he’s a child. Bruce shouldn’t have been the one dictating conditions. You’re going to be lucky if you and the school don’t get sued.”

“Which is one more reason for keeping you out of it,” he pointed out with a knowing look.

“I’m not some delicate flower to protect,” she sputtered. “If anything, Bruce is the one who needs to be protected.”

“No, he’s not. Bruce is not some fragile basket case. The kid needs challenges and mental stimulation. He is bored to death in a normal classroom. You know deep down that’s true.” She couldn’t disagree. “This operation taught him how to make a plan and carry it out. He developed his social skills and used critical thinking to accomplish our goal.”

She was starting to pace the length of the small waiting room. “You taught him it’s okay to be disingenuous and lie about who he really is.”

Someone inside Harvey’s inner office cleared his throat and the two educators turned to face a tall Army Officer with sandy hair and a moustache that was much more impressive than the police officer’s had been. “He’s Brian Banner’s son, and he’s going to be more brilliant than his father.”

“Colonel . . . excuse me, GeneralRoss,” Susan said in acknowledgment of the new rank showing on his uniform.

“You already know Thunderbolt?” the administrator asked, sounding puzzled.

“Yes, we’ve spoken a few times,” Susan said. The last time was after she’d called him, and he’d come to the house to meet Bruce a few weeks later. Initially, their hopes had been high that Ross might sponsor Bruce, and they would find a way around the age requirements for the Science Academy. Unfortunately, that hadn’t panned out, so then they’d been left waiting and treading water until Bruce turned 12. At that time, they were welcome to present his case again for reconsideration.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Dr. Banner,” Ross said as he extended his hand to her, and she shook it firmly. He took a step back and looked appreciatively at Bruce’s false device on the cart, “Harvey, I’m having a serious sense of déjà vu here.” He walked around it, nodding and stroking his chin. “The only thing I see lacking is the payload.”

“And a working ignition switch,” the Vice-Principal added quickly. “Young Bruce explained in great detail the differences between what you see here and the real thing.”

Susan closed her eyes and took a deep breath; she was fairly certain where Bruce might have gotten the idea for the device’s plans, but she still had other questions. “When did he get the time to work on this and how did he get the resources, Harv?”

“Well, I’ve let him use his free period for the last term. The smaller workshop was unscheduled, so the shop teacher Mr. Eldridge helped us, and we worked there and then took it down to the basement to finish the details in the boiler room.” The administrator grinned as he recollected what had obviously been a positive experience for him. “It was kind of fun to do all the hands-on learning,” he admitted. “We made a list of required materials and tools, planned our budget, and recycled some components to cut costs. It came in a good 10% under projected costs.”

Susan tamped down her desire to throttle the man and added the shop teacher to her “shit list.” This was awful in so many ways. “Did it occur to you that this was not a good idea on any level? Harv, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that if I didn’t keep your nephew busy doing something that challenged him, he’d either be getting picked on in a study hall or building something that actually was lethal on his own time without any adult input or supervision. Great saints and great sinners are cut from the same cloth, Sue.” She folded her arms across her chest, but she didn’t argue, so he went on. “I took the liberty of contacting Thunderbolt here because I knew he was on the Advisory Board for the Science Academy.” He turned to General Ross, “I had no idea you knew each other, sir, but I hoped you’d take a look at the project and see what you thought about early entry into the Academy.”

The General chuckled, “We’ve tried it before, but I think, under the circumstances that it’s worth applying again. Dr. Banner, Susan, if I may, would you be willing to have another go at this?”

She walked a few steps forward and back, trying to gather her thoughts. “Look, I want my nephew to have a fair shot at the education he deserves, but this . . . this stunt isn’t the way to do it. You’ve rewarded him for behavior I don’t condone, and it was done behind my back.”

“Think of it as an advanced ‘Independent Study,’” Dr. Weaver said brightly. “That’s what it was on paper.”

She shot the Vice-Principal a withering gaze and turned back to the General. “Sir, I need to think about this and talk to Bruce. You know his past. I don’t want him to cut corners, trying to do the right thing for the wrong reasons. I can’t in good conscience start him down the morally questionable path, especially at this young of an age.”

The General ran his hands over the false bomb’s frame and Susan was shocked to see a look of—what? longing? desire?—on his face. It really struck her as odd. He looked over at her, and for a moment she was certain he was angry, but he quickly smiled at her. “That’s quite understandable, Dr. Banner. You have my home number. Please give me a call if and when you change your mind.”

“Thank you,” she said, and he didn’t waste any further time in leaving as he nodded to the flummoxed administrator and was out the office door. She listened to the sound of his military dress shoes retreating down the hall and prayed she hadn’t just thrown Bruce’s future away.

“Susan! How could you? He’s Bruce’s ticket into the Academy.” Now, Dr. Weaver was the one who was upset.

“Harv, shut up. You have foisted the most difficult choice possible on me by indulging a child’s revenge fantasy. There is no good option here. Did you tell Bruce you were contacting someone about the Science Academy?”

“No, I did not,” he said defensively.

“Well, that’s the smartest thing you’ve done today.” She rubbed at her temples with both hands. She needed some space so she could think. “Would you please find someone to cover my classes? Sandra is subbing for me till noon.”

“I’ll take care of it. Should I call Bruce down to the 6th-Grade Office?”

“You read my mind,” she said with a rueful smile. The Vice-Principal wasn’t a bad person, but she wasn’t going to forgive him for a good while. “Thank you, Harvey. Please don’t mention Bruce’s name if you are tempted to start talking to the press.”

“Of course not.”

“You realize what a mess this is going to be if it all goes in front of a judge, right?”

“That’s why Bruce is getting an AV credit along with the Independent Study.”

“I don’t think wearing a wire counts as AV.”

“You don’t know what we went through to jack up the mic on that Dictaphone.”

“I mean it, Harv. Bruce had to endure questioning by the police after the murder. Thank God there were adult witnesses, so he only had to give a deposition before they declared Brian unfit to stand trial.”

“Oh,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know that.”

Susan threw up her hands. “Maybe if you’d talked to me . . .” she let the phrase hang there in the air.

Harvey gave her a contrite look. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I’ll go call Bruce down to the office with his things. Look, I’m sorry, Susan. I honestly wanted to do the kid a good turn. He’s so much ahead of the other students here, and he does deserve a spot at the Science Academy. He’s got so much focus and drive to go with that intellect it’s scary, but I thought he needed a bit of a mentor and maybe a friend, too.”

“I know. Thank you for putting that amount of time into working with Bruce. I just wish you hadn’t cut me out of this.” Susan sighed, almost as weighty of a one as Bruce could make before she patted Dr. Weaver on the shoulder. “Now, I have to be the adult in the room and make sure he understands this is not a win-win situation and there are consequences.”

Susan walked back to her office much less briskly on her return trip. By the time she’d gathered her things and walked back to the 6th-Grade Office, Bruce was waiting on her. It was a Friday, so she didn’t feel too guilty about leaving with him early. The voice in the back of her mind suggested holding his hand until they reached the car was a good way to punish him, but she dismissed the idea, and they were silent the entire trip home in the car.

The moment they were inside the door, he ran up to his room, and she didn’t have the heart to stop him. After putting her things away, Susan sat down at the piano and simply started playing. She usually preferred Mozart or Liszt, but for some reason Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto no. 2, op.18 started coming out. It had been years since she played it in concert, but it all came flooding back. She was feeling mad about everything and not sure what to do, so she quit thinking and just played. She made it through the second movement with its familiar melody and the third that built into a crashing crescendo that pushed her to her limits before she finished and sat still, breathing hard from both the physical and mental exertion. She was still good, but she was out of practice and that depressed her more than she wanted to admit. Tomorrow, you’ll wish you’d picked the Mozart, her alter ego tisk-tisked at her. Those hands are going to hurt. At the moment, she didn’t care. It was worth it.

She’d put what she had to do off long enough. Susan got up and climbed the stairs to the second-floor bedrooms where she knocked on her nephew’s door. “Bruce are you hungry yet? I’m going to make PB&J sandwiches. Why don’t you come down and practice piano while I make them?”

She could hear him hop off the bed and pad over to the door before he opened it. “Okay. Could you use strawberry jam?”

“Sure, sweetie. Are you okay?”

Bruce opened the door and looked her in the eyes for several moments. “How mad are you?”

“Okay, I’m not happy, and it’s not you I’m upset with.”

“You’re mad at Dr. Weaver then?”

“I’m not happy with Dr. Weaver, but he was trying to do what he thought was the right thing.”

“I think we both were.”

“I’m sure youwere. Come down and practice, and we’ll talk after lunch, okay?” Bruce nodded and she stepped closer, bending down to get more on his level, and he hugged her as soon as her arms opened to him.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into her neck. “I just wanted to protect you.”

“It’s okay,” Susan reassured him. “I’m the one who needs to do the protecting. I just wish you’d come to me and told me what was happening. I’m amazed you kept it secret all these weeks.”

“I didn’t want to upset you. I was afraid you’d say no, too.”

“I probably would have, but I didn’t get the chance to listen to you and help decide what to do. You’re still ten, Bruce. Dr. Wallace should have known better.”

“He was trying to be nice, and those two boys were going to do something bad. I don’t care who knows about my dad, but I couldn’t let them hurt other people.”

“So, you dug into your father’s journals that I was saving for you to have when you were older and used one of his weapon designs?”

“I did. I saw the box had my name on it. I only used his notes for the basic stuff. The other half I improved on. I made a new kind of detonation switch. There just wasn’t anything real to detonate.”

Susan ran a hand through the hair on top of his head, which was cut a shorter than it had been when he came to her almost two years ago. “Bruce, this kind of stuff is absolutely above every 10-year-old’s paygrade—you included. Come on down stairs.” He had a stubborn look on his face, but he complied with her request.

She made their sandwiches and listened to Bruce play through his piano exercises. He was progressing well, especially on scales and, now, chord progressions and arpeggios. He seemed to really get into the rhythm and flow in an almost hypnotic way. It was that way with her, too. The boy was right handed, but she’d noted he was just as adept with his left hand. As she listened closely, she realized he was talking to himself.

“I said slow down and do it right. No, I like to do this fast. Stop it. You’re messing me up. You are such a butt-munch. You need to relax, killjoy.” There was a pause as he switched books. “I told you not to cut her out. Now you get to deal with the consequences. It was worth it. You really hurt her! Do not screw this up with your dumb ego trips.” There was silence after that as he played through a couple of older pieces he’d mastered and finished up.

Susan finished by quartering his sandwich on the diagonals and waited until she heard Bruce put up the music in the bench before she told him to wash up. He had gone from unhappy to sullen, directing his thoughts inward. Ten was a little too soon for the teenage attitude, but something was going on in his head that was starting to spill over. They’d gone through three counselors and a psychologist so far while waiting on the psychotherapist to have an opening. She contemplated giving the current one a call, but she decided against it. No reason to pull someone else into this if they could work it out. It all depended on whether or not he would talk.

“Celery or carrot sticks or both, Bruce?”

“Both . . . please.”

He always fell back on formality—probably because its patterns were safe and familiar. Susan filled a melamine bowl with cut vegetables that matched the plates and placed it in the middle of the kitchen table then got out the buttermilk ranch dip. She poured them both iced tea and they sat down across from one another. Almost as a reflex, she bowed her head and said a quick formulaic grace, but she was pretty certain Bruce had remained silent and not joined in, even with the “Amen” at the end. Oh boy, this was new. Susan genuinely hoped she was not going to have to deal with an existential crisis on top of everything else today. Still, she couldn’t help but give him a discerning look, which he avoided rather guiltily.

Bruce had a unique way of eating the crust first on his sandwiches that she’d been meaning to ask him about for a while. “Why do you always attack the crusts first? Most people your age go for the middle.

He paused and thought about it. “I guess it’s like I want to save the best part a little longer because I’ll appreciate it more after eating the edges.” Then he shook his head as if to clear it, “And because I like to prove I can control myself, too.”

“Hmm, delayed gratification. That sounds like the Marshmallow Experiment that I read some psychologists are conducting at Stanford.”

“What’s that?” He asked after he’d swallowed his bite of food. “Not Stanford, the experiment, I mean.

“They took preschoolers and sat them down with a marshmallow in front of them. They could eat the marshmallow or earn a second marshmallow if they waited 15 minutes.”

“Sounds pretty easy. I could get the whole bag if I weren’t really, really hungry.”

She laughed, “I’m not sure it worked that way.”

“What were they measuring? Self-control or how hungry the kids were?”

“Hmm, it was self-control, but you do have a good variable there. I’m not sure how they accounted for that.”

“You know, Grandma Walcott had a dog with puppies when I was there. All five of them competed a lot for food and attention. If kids are like that, I don’t think they would wait.”

“So, kids with more resources have better self-control?”

“Maybe, but if some were tested before lunch and some after lunch, I’d expect there to be a difference. They should test each kid both before and after lunch more than once and compare.”

“We’ll have to read their published work to find out how the scientists did the setup then.” She took a drink of tea.

“I think it would matter where they went to school, too. Sometimes people with more money or talent go to certain schools, so kids might test differently in one school or another.” She smiled and shook her head. He really couldn’t seem to help reasoning questions like this through. “I think there is also a really basic question: do all the kids even like marshmallows?”

His aunt chuckled, “So there are circumstances when a bird in the hand is not worth two in the bush?”

He shook his head. “Not if you don’t want the bird. Then it’s not worth anything to you.” He frowned, “Unless you could trade it for something you did want.”

“True. Is it fair to test kids only while they are hungry?” she posed to him.

He thought a moment. “Only if everyone is hungry, but I think it would be better if everyone were full first.”

“By ‘better’ do you mean ‘moral’?”

“Yes, it’s more moral and ethical. If it’s going to be accurate, they’d need to treat all their subjects the same or it’s bad science. I think they’d also use fewer marshmallows, so it’s more economical, too.”

“I can’t really argue with that,” she decided. “Let me ask you this, is it more important that the kids are treated the same or that the experiment does them no harm?”

He didn’t hesitate, “Both, they’re not mutually exclusive. I never want to do harm if I work with people or animals. I don’t think I want to work with human subjects that much anyway, but I’d be careful if I did.” He looked troubled. “Why are you asking me about this? My Science Festival project on saltwater filters is all done except for the posters.”

“No, I’m trying to pick your brain because I have some decisions to make.” The boy looked suddenly panic-stricken. “Don’t worry. You’re fine, Bruce. I want to make certain you understand that taking shortcuts as a means to an end is not the way to do experiments or other projects or to approach life either.” They were both finished eating, so Bruce collected the plates, and Susan put away the leftover carrots and celery and dip. She washed up the plates, and Bruce dried them as usual before she spoke again. “My dilemma is, because of the timing of what you and Dr. Weaver did, if something really important for you happens now, I don’t want you to associate what you did that was questionable with the positive thing since it’s not an outcome of your problematic behavior. I know I’m not making much sense, but I don’t want to withhold the good thing like it was a punishment either.”

Leaning back against the counter as she watched the boy finish putting up the plates, Susan noted Bruce had gotten taller. She could see his mind puzzling through the possibilities. “Does it have anything to do with the black Lincoln Town Car with the uniformed driver and the government plate I saw in the circle drive at school when I went back to class?”

As the description came tumbling out, Susan ruefully raised an eyebrow and nodded. The boy was just too damn sharp. “Yes, did you see General Ross was there?”

“GeneralRoss?”

“He’s been promoted,” she explained.

“No, I didn’t see him. Why was he there?”

“Dr. Weaver knows him and wanted the General to have a look at your ‘Project’ before, I’m sure, the police would have to cart it off as evidence.”

“Why as evidence?”

“Honey, those tapes you turned over may prove those two delinquents intended to commit a crime that’s way more serious than truancy.”

Her nephew looked a bit stunned. “But it was fake. It was just a way to get them to leave me alone.”

“Dr. Weaver believed they thought it was a real explosive device, and they intended to use it.”

“I wouldn’t have let them. Nobody was in any real danger. They weren’t smart enough to know there was nothing to blow up. In fact, we just sprang the trap and got that on tape this morning.”

“Bruce that’s probably not going to matter for their case. If they thought it was real and they intended to set it off, they are likely going to be charged with attempting to commit a crime or conspiring to commit a crime.”

“No, listen, Aunt Susan. This morning, we faked a malfunction. I used dry ice to make it look like a meltdown, and they ran away when they thought it was going off. It’s on the tapes. I think they just wanted to scare everyone enough to avoid taking finals, but we never let it get that far.”

Susan shook her head. “Bruce, try and look at it from Vice-Principal Weaver’s perspective. You had different agendas for your ‘Project.’ You wanted the boys to leave you alone, right?”

“Yah, and I thought they would hurt people if we didn’t do something. I was hoping to teach them a lesson, I guess.”

“Okay, it’s not that Dr. Weaver didn’t have those same goals, but he wants to put those boys into detention and possibly expel them from school.”

“Oh, and the officers have different goals, too,” he said, catching onto what she was saying. He stood there next to her with the gears turning in his head. She hated having to do this to him, but Bruce needed to find it out now before something more nefarious happened. He looked at her with a dawning understanding of how he’d been played and used by adults. “I think I feel sick.”

Susan wrapped her arms around her nephew, and he hugged her around her waist. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I know it hurts, but people always have an agenda and the quicker you learn that, the wiser and the better off you’ll be.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have believed me if I just told you, genius or not, you don’t know everything yet?”

“No, probably not.” He shrugged then straightened up. “You were right. We shouldn’t have left you out. Ishouldn’t have done that. It’s my fault.” He looked up at her, “I really made a mess of things. What’s going to happen?”

“Bruce you’re not responsible for others’ actions. To be honest, I don’t know what’s going to happen, Bruce. I hope Dr. Weaver doesn’t get into trouble over this, and I hope the boys have learned their lesson. I also hope you haven’t made some serious enemies. At the moment things are out of our hands.”

He hoped Dr. Weaver wouldn’t get into trouble, too. “Why did Dr. Weaver ask General Ross to look at our fake bomb? I can’t reapply to the Science Academy until I’m 12.”

“Well, that’s the ‘sort of’ good news. The General said he would be willing to support it if we reapplied to the Science Academy.”

“Really? We went to a lot of trouble last time, and they didn’t want me.” They’d both felt pretty crushed at the time, but they’d picked themselves up, dusted each other off, and moved on.

“Yet,” she emphasized. “The General seems to be ready to push things harder this time.” She brushed the hair back from his face. “I told him we needed to think about it and talk first.”

Bruce nodded, “We’ll probably have to do the paperwork again.”

“And the interview,” she noted. “I’m sure Dr. Weaver will write you a very fine letter of support.”

Bruce smiled, “Maybe I should find a better character reference?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find another person if we need to.”

Then Bruce became very quiet for a moment. “What do you think is the General’s agenda?”

Susan had been wondering about that since the funeral. “I don’t know, Bruce. He might be doing this for altruistic reasons or out of guilt, but I think he might want other things from you at some point. I’m sure there will be strings attached to it somehow.” She smoothed his hair back again. “Remember that, okay?”

“I won’t forget, Aunt Susan.”

“I promise you, I won’t either, Bruce. How about a movie? I think the new Herbie the Love Bug flick is at the dollar theater.”

“I wish the new Star Wars movie was out, but it won’t be till May 20th,” he noted with disappointment.

“Well, why don’t we rewatch the first one? That way you’ll be ready for the new movie.” They relocated to the living room, and Bruce turned on the television and the VCR. “What’s the new one called?” Susan asked as she sat down.

Bruce pulled the tape off the shelf. “The Empire Strikes Back.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s supposed to be the middle of three films, so things are going to get messed up.” The boy put the tape in and pushed “Play.” He sat down with his aunt on the couch. She’d already slipped out of her shoes and rested her feet on the coffee table. Bruce did the same and slouched a little bit, so his feet would reach the table’s edge.

“Do you think it will be like in The Two Towerswhen all seems lost?” Susan leaned forward and scooted the table closer for him.

“I hope not, but that seems pretty likely.” He frowned in thought as the legal warning and a bumper played through before the feature started. “I’m not sure how they could get worse than Luke losing his Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru then his mentor Obi-Wan, but I guess we’ll find out.”

“Yah, he’s had it pretty rough, but I’m sure he’ll find other people to teach him. He still has Leia, Han, and Chewie.”

“And C-3PO and R2-D2, too. I guess it could be a lot worse. We were talking about Joseph Campbell and the Hero’s Journey in class last week, and the teacher pointed out how many adventure stories fit that pattern.”

“Right, a lot of them do.”

“Star Wars and The Hobbit fit the pattern. Sometimes I think my life is kind of like that. I’ve had bad things happen, but then I came here, and you’ve been like my Obi-Wan Kenobi, Aunt Susan.”

“Aww, come here,” she reached over and hugged him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “I love being Obi-Wan to your Luke, but I’m not going to let a Darth Vader get me yet,” she promised. “Not for a long, long time.”

“Good, because I love you, and I still really need you, Aunt Susan.”

“I love you too, Bruce. You are my best Jedi Apprentice.” She hugged her nephew tighter, and they smiled together, quite content in each other’s company. As the words began to appear on the television and then scroll up the dark screen, they read them together though they knew the whole thing by heart.

“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away . . .”