Questionable Agency

Originally written Sunday, December 25, 2005

I called Patrick yesterday. He’ll be at his parents’ house well into next week. He confirmed that he had indeed made another clay replica of Bella’s charm and switched them out before I could retrieve the original. Although he couldn’t have seen my face redden and rise in temperature over the phone, I’m sure he could nonetheless hear the fury in my voice. He tried to protest that he didn’t think the charm would put him in danger while he was on Long Island.

“Kiddo, this is not about safety anymore. This is about you going over my head. What exactly do you think is acceptable about that?”

I expected him to make the same excuses he’d been parroting about the charm controlling me, which may or may not be true, but one thing was certain—there was no way to assume it would have any less of an effect on someone else, least of all a mortal, however exceptional he may be. Indeed, after my meeting with Medusa (who wrote “Melissa” on her business card before she gave it to me), I’m more convinced that Patrick is just using this characterization of me to justify his own desire for the object. However, I was mistaken:

“Em,” he said, “it is about safety. Thinking about the timing of things that night at the club. When you felt the charm vibrate and told it to stop. When that girl died. When you got Moshe to come outside. And meanwhile, you were making out with Jeanine. I think you’re right, that Moshe killed her. But Em," he paused, "I think you told him to.” Yikes. If he’s right, I could almost forgive him. He continued, “There wasn’t time after I thought of that to talk to you in person before my flight. I didn’t think you’d figure out it wasn’t the real one if you were in California. I was going to tell you right after break, I promise.”

Still seething, I simply told him I’d have to think about all of this in the next few days before coming back. I know he means well, but he has to learn that challenging another person’s self-determination is never acceptable. Assuming I could be the victim of false consciousness and acting on that assumption without consulting me falls within that brand of patronization that I could never easily excuse. I suppose there’s some kind of logic for him with respect to his belief that I wouldn’t discover the switch, yet his switching charms in the first place implied he thought I might use it. I’m not sure what that logic is, but I imagine he knows. At any rate, I made my disappointment in him very clear.

“Just because I’m not the sort of teacher that demands full, unquestioning obedience from my students does not mean you have the right to disrespect me,” I told him before hanging up.

Although his course of action was ill-advised, his concern was valid and his detective work as insighful as ever. Since our conversation earlier today, I’ve tried to review the events of the 16th to see if it seems feasible that I was responsible for Moshe’s actions that night. The words I uttered were along the lines of “Stop it,” and “Cut it out,” or something. I still know so little about how the charm interacts with Moshe that I have no idea whether that was enough to get translated into, “Sic, Rover.” My sense, from the other times I’ve used it, is that the kind of energy I was redistributing was at least as important as the words I spoke at the same time. And I truly don’t believe that I was invoking violent energy during that moment. My brain, to be embarrassingly honest, was buried somewhere in the depths of Jeanine’s cleavage. Still, every time I think I understand the charm, I’m shown to be mistaken. And although Patrick’s idea does not especially resonate with me, it would be irresponsible of me to jettison it entirely.

As for today, I called all the important people and wished them a happy holiday: Dennis, Jeanine, and a number of others I haven’t had reason to mention before. Patrick heard from me yesterday, and I have no interest in speaking to him again until I have to. Everyone else seems to be doing well. Including Richard!

I suppose Moshe’s abduction (or whatever it was) put me in the frame of mind to assume the worst of Richard’s disappearance, as well. It turns out his cell phone simply died. He has no landline at home. And he didn’t think there was anything so critical about immediate communication to call me for; he called me today to wish me a happy holiday. He simply left a note to one of the interns at the museum to deliver the charm to my flat and to drop it in the mailslot… and to do it during daylight. He apparently doesn’t know that the new player in town is probably not a vampire; he still thinks Moshe is the threat. I don’t stand to gain anything by telling him that the piece requires a pulse to function.

Anyway, he was only back in town for a very short time. He basically came in, left the charm for the intern, and headed out to his sister’s house. He’ll be getting home around the same time as me. I’m not sure why he thought that having someone else deliver the charm to my house when he knew I wouldn’t be there would be a good idea. Maybe he figured out that it was fake. I didn’t especially want to get into it over the phone with him. I’ll see him soon enough.

Ian’s with his family, so Aunt Elizabeth and I are celebrating Hanukkah early by renting a bunch of Adam Sandler movies and eating chocolate all day. That’s about it for now.