Alfred liked to compartmentalize his life, break it down into digestible chunks with clearly marked sections on a time line. There was life, in the beginning. It was the fuzzy period with half-memories and strong emotions. Then there were the years when he was older, but still so small, where days had stretched forever and the sun never seemed to wane.

Middle school bumbled along after that, sitting all day at a desk while learning about Missions and the gold rush and singing 'My Darling Clementine' on a warm Friday night to an auditorium full of parents. He tried to blot out the chunk where they'd all been forced to learn the recorder, and he'd gotten a red check-mark next to his name for writing down letters next to the notes. Cheating, they called it.

He was supposed to understand those fat, oval dots, but their language escaped him. It was the first problem he'd ever encountered he could not sway with his big blue eyes and blond, batting lashes. It was unswayed by crocodile tears and whining and compromising. And it was the first of many.

Parents, he soon found out, eventually became immune as well. Especially dads. Moms knew it too, that was why they always said to ask dad. Dad was the last stop, ruler of the realm, King of Suburbia and its children inhabitants. And then one day your mom could leave and dads went from ruler to flat out tyrant.

Alfred was still experiencing the tyrannical era with his old man. It was an era where nothing was ever good enough. The bed was never made right, the floor still needed vacuuming, and having your friends over was as welcome as harboring enemy spies.

That was why the new guy was so nice. The guy that moved next door into the Mason's old house, with its blue trim and dark roof and half-yellowed lawn. Alfred had watched from his window, peeked between venetian blinds to watch the show. The new guy was tall, broad, built thick and strong and made Alfred think of the term 'good stock.'

His hair was white in the sun, matching nearly perfectly with his skin. Maybe he had a condition that made him look like that. Maybe he had a cool, interesting condition like that kid in Alfred's Spanish class who had eyes that were two different colors.

And the neighbor kid only had a dad too. A scary one, sure. Probably a tyrant like Alfred's. He was bulky and hairy and wore too much clothing for the beating heat of early spring. He made the new guy carry everything inside while he stood around and looked imposing.

Alfred didn't introduce himself. That wasn't what you did nowadays. You nodded, or waved if your gazes met, but the whole ringing of the doorbell and gifting of apple pie was something in the past. And maybe it would have been better if Alfred and the new guy stayed that way, familiar strangers that lived next to one another. But they didn't, and it was what started what Alfred liked to call his Is-This-For-Real? phase where everything was so wrong and right all at once.