Rhinoceros: Ryon's story 21
Sunday
I had wanted to see Scopey again, but Frank said no. It was no longer appropriate, he said. I asked him what he meant by appropriate, but he went all distant, like I was some little kid who wouldn’t understand the adult world.
I said, “How come it was alright before, but now it’s suddenly not alright?”
“Well,” he said, playing for time, “we shouldn’t really interfere in the process of the law.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.
“You’ll be out of here soon, Ryon. I’m sure you’ll catch up then.” And then he changed the subject. I wanted to push him further, but there didn’t seem much point. I must be mellowing in my old age. To be honest things have cooled off a bit with me and Frank. I got bored with all his English assignment crap, and autobiographical detail blah blah, which he goes on about all the time. He wanted to do some sort of joint project, create some amazing annotated essay, make a big deal of it all. As if things aren’t Ok just as they are. I mean, what's a diary for? It straightens stuff out in my head, and I suppose it gets me computer time when I don’t have to talk. But I’m not writing a fucking book, Frank. Like everything else I do, it's for me. No-one else. Me.
