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When the real Mr. Burton entered the room I had mixed feelings. The inquisitive side of me was disappointed; the fourteen-year-old in me positively delighted. He was more of a Gregory than a Mr. Burton. He was young and handsome, sexy and gorgeous. He looked like he had just walked out of college that very day, in his jeans and T-shirt and fashionable haircut. I did my usual calculations: twice my age could work. In a few years it would be legal and I would be out of school. My whole life was mapped out before he had even closed the door behind him.
“Hello, Sandy.” His voice was bright and cheery. He shook my hand and I vowed to lick it when I got home and never wash it again. He sat on the brown velvet armchair across from me. I bet all those girls in the posters invented all those problems just to come into this office.
“I hope you’re comfortable in our designer, top-of-the-line furniture?” He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he settled into the chair, which had burst at the side and had foam spilling out.
I laughed. Oh, he was so cool. “Yes, thanks. I was wondering what you would think my choice of chair says about me.”
“Well,” he said with a smile, “it says one of two things.”
I listened intently.
“First, that you don’t like brown, or second, that you like green.”
“Neither.” I smiled. “I just wanted to face the window.”
“A-ha.” he gri
“Ah, I’m one of those.”
He looked at me with amusement for a second, then placed a pen and pad on his lap and a tape recorder on the arm of the chair. “Do you mind if I record this?”
“Why?”
“So I can remember everything that you say. Sometimes I don’t pick up on things until I listen back over the conversation.”
“OK, what’s the pen and pad for, then?”
“Doodling. In case I get bored listening to you.” He pressed RECORD and said that day’s date and time.
“I feel like I’m at a police station, about to be interrogated.”
“Has that ever happened before?”
I nodded. “When Je
“Ah,” he nodded. “Je
I thought about that. I looked at the anti-bullying posters on the wall and wondered how to answer. I didn’t want to seem insensitive to this gorgeous man by saying no, but she wasn’t my friend. Je
“Do you miss her?”
I thought about that one, too. Would you miss a slap across the face every day? I felt like asking him. Once again I didn’t want him to think I was insensitive by saying no. He’d never fall in love with me and take me away from Leitrim then.
He leaned forward in his chair. Oh, his eyes were so blue.
“Your mum and dad told me you want to find Je
Wow. Talk about getting the wrong end of the stick. I rolled my eyes, OK, enough of this crap. “Mr. Burton, I don’t want to seem rude or insensitive here because I know Je
“Go on,” he encouraged me, and I wanted to jump on him and kiss him.
“Well, me and Je
He raised his eyebrows.
“Now, I know you probably thought that because Je
His mouth dropped open a little.
“Well, it’s a reasonable assumption, I suppose, Mr. Burton, but it’s just not me. I’m really not that complicated. It’s just a
Mr. Burton was silent and slowly moved back and settled into his chair.
“So let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You don’t miss Je
We both started laughing and for the first time ever, I didn’t feel bad about it.
“Why do you think you’re here?” Mr. Burton got serious again after our bout of laughter.
“Because I need answers.”
“Answers like…?”
I thought about it. “Where is the Scotch tape that we couldn’t find last night? Where is Je
“You think I can tell you where all these things are?”
“Not specifics, Mr. Burton, but a general indication would be fine.”
He smiled at me. “Why don’t you let me ask you the questions for a moment, and maybe through your answers, we’ll find the answers you want.”
“OK, if you think that’ll work.” Weirdo.
“Why do you feel the need to know where things are?”
“I have to know.”
“Why do you feel you have to know?”
“Why do you feel you have to ask me questions?”
Mr. Burton blinked and was silent for a second longer than he wanted, I could tell. “It’s my job and I get paid to do it.”
“Paid to do it.” I rolled my eyes. “Mr. Burton, you could have my Saturday job stacking toilet rolls and get paid but you chose to study for what, ten million years? To get all of those scrolls you’ve hung on the walls.” I looked around at his framed qualifications. “I’d say you went through all of that studying, all of those exams, and ask all these questions for more reasons than just getting paid.”
He smiled lightly and watched me. I don’t think he knew what else to say. And so there was a two-minute silence while he thought. Finally he put down his pen and paper and leaned toward me, resting his elbows on his knees.
“I like to have conversations with people, I always have. I find that through talking about themselves people learn things that they didn’t know before. It’s a kind of self-healing. I ask questions because I like to help people.”
“And so do I.”
“You feel by asking questions about Je
“No, I’m helping myself.”
“How does it help you? Isn’t not getting the answers frustrating you even more?”
“Sometimes I find things, Mr. Burton. I find the things that have just been misplaced.”
“Isn’t everything that’s lost, misplaced?”
“To misplace something is to lose it temporarily by forgetting where you put it. I always remember where I put things. It’s the things that I don’t misplace that I try to find-the things that grow legs and walk away all by themselves-that a