In a far corner of my brain, I store a collection of characters. People I’ve known who belong in a book, who are larger-than-life and who move through the world, not without notice.
Sometimes when sleep eludes me, I call forth a character or two. Someone like Amos, as I’ll call him here, who was the first in my collection. Trouble walked into the room right along with him, a good kind of trouble that livened a hot afternoon in my first-grade classroom and made even the teacher smile. He bounced through recess. But also through spelling tests, even when he missed words. No matter what, the fun came out from under his skin. Amos was not like me, not like anyone else in first grade.
Amos has got to be my age now, but in my brain, he stays forever young, unlike Edna, who I met when she was old. She was a pillar of a woman. Time had cut fine lines in her face and veined her hands. Her whole bearing breathed refinement, her speech was as precise as her movements, and she set herself steadfastly to her life. She had none of Amos’s bounce. Instead, she saw what was wrong in the world and had the courage to say so. Her words were fueled by intended kindness. And people usually listened.
Elam had a wonderful face with deep fissures and strong features and perhaps the biggest head I’ve ever seen. Big and bald, completely bald. His voice bellowed like a bull, and he had the look, somehow, of an extremely intelligent dolphin.
“Strong minds discuss ideas,” Socrates once said. “Average minds discuss events. Weak minds discuss people.”
Elam’s mind, according to this scale, was strong.
There are other characters, too. The woman who, when she hears sirens in the street, goes to the attic and drags down a chamber pot and a kerosene lamp. The guy who likes separate food—chicken can’t touch potatoes, which can’t touch green beans, which can’t touch a dinner roll, who begins eating with his least favorite food and works up to the good stuff. The woman whose brain is always sending her off on missions, whether or not she wants to do them. The kid who either invigorates people or wears them out—one or the other with nothing in between. And many more such characters, all eccentric, original, nutty, weird, interesting, and amusing.
They’re good company for a sleepless night, partly because they make me think. But mostly because I enjoy their quirk.
Apple to Apple 