The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know

Who was M.C. Moneybags?

Who was M.C. Moneybags?

With everything that had been going on in my life, midterms snuck up on me, meaning that I had to spend most of my afternoons that October week holed up in the library, searching for a purpose as I looked through my pages of notes. I still went to the Aubergine each night, but I could never stay for long, as much as I wanted to. I always had more studying that I needed to do so that I could keep my GPA up.

As it was, my grades were fine, and what was the point of grades anyways? They didn't accurately assess my intelligence because nobody thinks what I think, especially not my professors. However, my mom desperately wanted me to succeed in college, and her definition of success put a lot of emphasis on a high grade point average. I just didn't want to let her down.

Despite all of my efforts to focus on my studies, if only for that week, Brendon wouldn't leave my head. Every time the door in Beauregard Library opened, I imagined that it was Brendon entering the library, clad in one of his sparkly suits. I envisioned him sliding into the chair next to mine and asking me about my classes, as well as telling me a little bit about his coursework. Maybe he was even taking one of my classes, and we could study together. In my daydreams, we would take turns quizzing each other on important terms from philosophy. He would always do a little bit better than me, but he was surprisingly modest about it. "Come on, Ryan," he would tell me. "You're doing amazing, but you just have to remember what Cartesian Interactionism is."

For the record, it's the theory that the non-physical mind and the physical body can affect each other. That's one of the handful of vocabulary terms that I do know.

Unfortunately, Brendon never did show up in the library, but I did see some of my other friends there quite a lot. Frank was there all the time, and Gerard usually tagged along. The two of them frequently distracted me while I tried to study, usually by talking rather loudly about Halloween, comic books, dogs, punk rock, or some combination of those things.

One day, while the two of them were sitting next to me arguing over whether Batman or the Doom Patrol would win in a fight, apparently as part of some sort of card game that I didn't quite understand, I asked, "So Gerard, how's that painting coming along?"

Gerard simply ignored me and kept arguing with Frank. "You have got to be kidding me, Frank," he said. "Robotman is immune to bullets, Elasti-Girl would kill Batman easily, and The Chief would mastermind it all. I don't know how you could even argue that Batman could win."

"Batman would run them all over with his Batmobile," Frank replied.

"Your cards don't say that Batman has a Batmobile," Gerard said. "It does say that he has no depth perception though, and that would definitely make it way easier for the Doom Patrol to beat him."

"Well, I think that Batman has a Batmobile, because that's kind of part of being Batman," Frank said. "Also, if we're going to argue cards, I don't think it's fair that your card said 'pick your favorite superhero' and you picked a whole team."

"I couldn't pick a favorite member of the Doom Patrol!" Gerard whined. "Ryan, what do you think? The Doom Patrol would totally beat Batman, right?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," I said.

"I'll take that as a yes, the Doom Patrol would absolutely beat Batman," Gerard said. "Frank, I think I won."

"Fine," Frank said. "You had better cards anyways."

"Ryan, I think you asked me a question while we were playing," Gerard said as he put the game away. "What was it?"

"How's your painting coming along?" I asked.