Johnny Anomaly

Alien Arms, Dihydrotestosterone, YouTube, and Grandads

I look up at the moon sometimes, and I think to myself, there's got to be more. And I wonder if I'm the only kid in the world who does. I mean, I know I'm probably not, but does someone like Chase, the captain of the varsity football team at my high school, think things like that?

Does he wonder at all about the things Carl Sagan said before he died? Does he wonder about the computer code found deep inside the equations used to understand the universe that inspired awe in Neil Degrasse Tyson?

Probably not. I'm an oddity. I know this about myself. I don't fit in. I'm all, I don't know how to let my arms just be arms, when I'm in an awkward conversation. And I'm even more that because when I say conversation, I mean the people around me that talk to one another while I'm thinking about the way someone's hair falls across the top of their ear and wondering if they feel it every second of that conversation.

Sometimes I'm an alien in my own skin. Sometimes I feel like an alien among everybody because I want to fit my entire being within that minuscule space between the fallen hair and the top of that person's ear and fall asleep.

No one else thinks these things. But if I slept there, I could dream their thoughts. And maybe I could find something in common with them.

I'd spent a minute thinking about that space, and then I gave up, which I do a lot. YouTube has these great videos, you know? And I needed to watch a few.

Anyway, that's where this story starts. I was going to grandad's the following day, and I knew there would be endless spaces to fill because he asks so many questions. I think he's genuinely interested. And that's just the way he is.

He's this grindy old guy with enough gray hair on his ears to pretty much account for all the dihydrotestosterone in our family lineage and then some. But I sometimes think I can answer well enough.

He's pretty awkward himself, so I don't feel so self conscious. I mean the guy wears these worn out, half sleeve, button ups from the sixties. I'm talking pale greens and browns, here, and he pulls his thinning dress pants way up over his belly button. They're pretty loose on him, so to top it all off, he wears red suspenders.

But, at least, he knows what to do with his arms during a conversation. He hooks his thumb on the underside of those suspenders and moves his hands up and down while he's talking. I think it's a contemplative gesticulation.

I also think he's perfect in a perfectly odd fashion. And maybe he's an alien inside his skin, too.