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joel beck

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doyle eugene livingston

JOEL BECK

Joel was 14. He was beginning to realize that now. 14. In a few years, why, he'd be a man of 20; or maybe not that old, say, only 19. People wouldn't let you grow up to yourself until it was too late to matter. Boy, 21. Anyway, Joel was 14. Maturity was only 5 years away; eternity was 5 years. Joel. Joel Beck, a boy going on 15. 15. Joel was 14.

Joel didn't know why he broke the mirror; he felt like it, so he did. It had stared at him all his young life, mocking him, taking away his privacy. He'd threatened it enough to, that one of these days, boy. Yeah. But they grew old together and shared the same thoughts and wore the same clothes, slept in similar beds, and woke again to worlds of similar discomfort. Wash your ears. Eat all your oatmeal. Drink your milk. Then school.

But the mirror did not wash ears, swallow lumpy cold oatmeal, or go to school:

one

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