Pity Party

Odd

Immediately Julian knew that something was not right. He could feel it all over his body. And then he saw it. That. His head spun at the thought of how close he had come to stepping on it—he came this close.

Twenty-two dirty grey steps down to the subway, that’s how many there were supposed to be—there were always twenty-two dirty grey steps. Today, though, there were twenty-one dirty grey steps and one very shiny grey step with not one scratch or spot of dirt on it anywhere.

This shiny step meant that Julian now had a problem. There was only one step like it, and one meant odd, and odd numbers were the very worst numbers. Odd numbers made everything all wrong.

However, if Julian were to step over that one shiny step, he would then have to step over a second step in order to make it two steps that he stepped over, and the very obvious problem with stepping over a second step is that this second step would be a grey step: a single grey step: one grey step: odd.

Julian’s therapist, if she were here with him, would not only make him step on that one shiny step, which now appeared to be floating and swirling before his eyes, but she would make him say the number out loud. Sometimes, in her office, she made him read an entire list of numbers—terrible numbers—odd numbers. And every time, she would say, “See, Julian? Did anything bad happen?”

This was a difficult question to answer because, in a way, something bad did happen. There was the shaky dizzy feeling, and the cold sweaty feeling, followed by a tightness in his head, as if a giant hand had grabbed hold of his skull and squeezed. And always in that moment, Julian found it difficult to breathe, as if another giant hand had grabbed hold of his throat.

His therapist also liked to say, “Next time it will be even easier,” when he had never agreed to it being easy in the first place. And anyway, this was also untrue. Never was it ever any easier the next time.

It was difficult enough to just sort out which was worse—step on that one shiny step (awful) or step over that one shiny step (horrible)—because both possibilities gave him an equally terrible feeling in his head and chest. And so Julian felt it best to wait for a while, at least until the terrible feeling passed.

This presented an entirely new problem, however.

There were certain people from Julian’s school who also rode this subway, certain people who knew about his preference for even numbers, and if those certain people were to find him just standing here on the stairs, they might suspect that he was counting, which could lead to any number of possible cruelties, such as whispering odd numbers—or worse, odd—into his ear, as they had been known to do.

To avoid such a fate, Julian brought a notebook out from his backpack and looked at it with great concentration, as if he were puzzling out the most challenging of math equations—though why would he choose to work on his math homework while standing on the subway steps? No, what he was doing instead was searching his notebook for something… a paper he was to bring home… a paper that he just realized he might have accidentally left in his locker and so it was very important that he stop here on these subway stairs to search his notebook.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” That was another of his therapist’s favorite things to say. “Will the world end if you eat five potato chips instead of four?”

Personally, Julian did not feel that she was qualified to be his therapist because she had zero experience. Yes, she had college degrees—an odd number of them hanging on her wall—but she did not have any real experience. She did not know anything at all about being Julian.

Also, how did she know that the world would not come to an end? Was she an expert on world endings?

Oof. Someone just bumped into Julian and he nearly fell onto the shiny step!

It was a guy from school who did it, and now he was grinning, so Julian was pretty sure that he did it on purpose. Jake—that was his name. Jake P.

Julian waited for Jake to reach the bottom of the stairs and turn for the tunnel, and then he waited for these two girls from his school to pass by. They were not girls who knew about his counting, and Julian preferred to keep it that way.

It almost seemed as if Julian’s therapist herself had arranged to have this one step cleaned and polished, just so he would be forced to step on it. Just so he would finally learn that nothing bad could come of an odd number.

Fine! He would do it. He would step on that shiny step. It wasn’t as if he had much choice. The sky was beginning to darken, and soon his parents would grow worried.

He just had to check two things in his notebook and then he would do it. He would step on that shiny step.

He just had to check four things first and then he would totally do it.

Just six things.

Just eight things and then for sure he would do it.

Two deep breaths in, two deep breaths out.

Four deep breaths in, four deep breaths out.

Now for his foot. Foot out… foot out a little farther… just a little farther. And lower… lower… lower…

And this is where our story ends. For, as Julian had predicted—just as he had told his therapist so many times—as soon as his foot touched down upon that single shiny step, the sky went dark, the planets dropped like fallen apples, the trees and flowers drew themselves back into the earth, space and time collapsed into one (the most dreadful of all odd numbers), and the world as we know it came to a sudden end.