The sound of the trumpets.
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✎ Although many people pretend not to see them, all around us there are very singular beings

Let's take the case of a young girl who is different from her contemporaries in many ways.

Possessing her own world, the girl lives her own reality without suffering from it.

Seeing the universe that surrounds her differently from the rest of her family, as if she were enclosed inside a soap bubble, the girl sometimes has this strange feeling of flying lightly over a world that is not hers.

Weird, crazy, mentally deficient, ..., the qualifiers that were used to designate her are not lacking.

Often hovering in an alternative reality, rarely reached by words from the so-called real world, the young girl grew up quietly without worrying about what was coming from below.

Paradoxically, when she smiled at the birds that spoke to her, her father cursed his wife's genetic heritage while her mother, who reproached her husband for his uselessness, burst into tears.

In spite of the sadness of her parents, like her round cubes that despite her stubbornness she did not manage to get into the square hole of her toy when she was a child, her universe can't slot into that of the common human beings.

At one year old, unlike the so-called (normal) children, the little girl did not try to discover what was around her. Whether her parents were present or absent had no influence on her joy of living. Always smiling, already able to go for short walks alone, with her hands pointing to the ceiling, she sought to reach what only she could discern.

At two years of age, the girl was always even-tempered; no anger, no tears, never questions, no attention for the one who had carried her for nine long months. From her parents' point of view, the little girl had only one obsession: to reach the unattainable in this invisible world from which she could not detach her adorable little eyes.

Asperger's syndrome, attention deficit disorder, whatever it was, according to the child psychiatrist who examined her at the time, the child was too young to make a definitive diagnosis of her mental state. The conclusion that came out after 12 sessions and $1600 spent:

The child's case required special attention and to make a correct diagnosis, one had to wait for her brain to develop...

... and after so many years, the girl's brain had plenty of time to develop.

"Jenny? Jenny, are you with me? Jenny, what are you listening to so intently?"


April 16, 2020

If James Kovach, a school psychologist at Clems High School, poor suburb of NY, has been bored many times in his career since he began so long ago, for the past three years a most pleasant diversion has come to brighten his dreary life. Indeed, since this beginning of the school year, blessed by Freud, he has been meeting daily with the young brunette girl who is currently facing him.

Becoming a psychologist in a second-rate school was not in James' initial plans.

It goes without saying that a psychologist with a little bit of thought would never have chosen to bury himself in teaching.

After graduating with flying colors in England, he aspired to more, bigger, and better, such as opening his own practice in a modern Wall Street building.

He could proudly see himself stepping out of a German sedan wearing an elegant suit that a rising fashion designer would have made to measure for him. The wealthiest clients, the best gourmet restaurants, openings at the hottest art galleries in LA, invitations that the directors themselves would have sent him, and women so beautiful, that today, as a school psychologist, he can't picture them.

In other words, James dreamed of life with a capital L.

However, it is a pity that sometimes fate is capricious and in James' case, this cruel friend decided that the young man's professional life of this time would not be as he had dreamed.

James' dream of glory was shattered when a ridiculous mishap suddenly occurred. By the fault of a tiny strategic error, a too quick shot, his desires for greatness fell away as suddenly as they had taken shape in his young graduate mind.

The mistake in question is called Martha.

To be more precise, after this too quick night shot, the incident germinated in Martha's belly and forced the unfortunate James to look for a job wherever they would take him and as quickly as possible.

Once Martha was fertilized, the mistake that had been germinating blossomed and finally left the family garden eighteen years later, making James a small school psychologist in a very mediocre high school.

Time is often cruel to those who have not taken the path they desire.

Year after year, older and older, unmotivated and used to the routine of the high school bell that reminds him every hour how pathetic his life is, James stayed in the school where the unbearable smell of acne lotion wafts daily.

Twenty-two years of listening to muscular boys with moulting voices brag about their biceps and then looking sadly at his thin, white arms sticking out of his Hawaiian shirt.

More than two decades of putting up with idiot girls talking about their waxing and driving around in the same nissan he'd bought used for $348 from his father's neighbor back in the day.

So much time tolerating the nonsense of ignorant professors from the worst universities but whose main defect is that they are convinced democrats.

All those years of suffering...

All this time wasted between these originally white walls, now grey, where the most basic knowledge is dispensed.

Yes, if it weren't for that reassuring ringing, it's likely that James would have packed his bags long ago.

"Oh, the trumpets are sounding again." ✏