An Invisible Sign

I used to love my dad's stories,

until the one he told me on my tenth birthday.

There once was a kingdom

where everybody lived forever.

But the problem with nobody ever dying

was that the kingdom got very crowded.

And so the king,

getting squeezed out of his own castle

by his endless royal lineage,

issued a decree.

Everybody in my kingdom,

please pick one person from your family to die.

We will have a mass execution

that will bring forth much-needed space.

Sorry to bum everybody out,

but that's the way it goes.

- And each family showed up with their martyr,

all except one family.

Sire, we can't decide.

We love each other so much

that we would all like to die together.

Oh, no, they can't all die.

They run the bakery.

They make the best cinnamon buns in all the land.

- What if we each cut off a piece of ourselves?

And with all of these pieces combined,

it will be as if one less person lived in town.

- Interesting. Hmm.

Continue.

But the daughter refused.

But, Dad, I like my limbs.

Don't be selfish.

Would you rather one of us die?

You can have my arm.

I'll give my right ear.

- I see no problem losing some of my fingers.

I'll throw in my nose.

Guarantee me a leg,

and it's a deal.

Well, I do have another one.

Okay, I'm in.

- After the executioner had done the deed,

the family made an unsightly sight

and business went bad.

So the family started selling their cinnamon buns

by mail order to the next kingdom.

And since no one had to look at them,

they were a huge hit,

and they made heaps of dough.

And the father said to the daughter,

"You see what we can accomplish if we all stick together?"

The end.

- It was the last birthday party I ever had.

There were two things I loved

more than anything in this world:

Running and math.

My dad was a mathematician,

so loving math was loving my dad.

- What is this? What are you reading?

Pre-calculus? - Yep.

We both found safety in numbers.

In my family, 1 plus 1 equaled 3.

I hope when you grow up that you...

Life was good.

My father was a track star in college,

and I dreamed of the day that I would really and truly

run faster than he did.

But on the last good day my father had...

Dad!

Nobody won.

What's the matter?

That's when I started to knock on wood.

Each knock was a number,

and each number kept me safe.

Without them, I'd be alone.

Dad...

They know how to fix a body,

but would they be able to fix his mind?

My dad looked gray and gone,

but I knew he was in there somewhere,

and I was determined to get him back.

So I made a deal with the universe.

I would give up everything that I cared about,

and the universe would give me back my father.

I quit dessert.

I quit going to movies.

I quit my friends.

I quit flipping through atlases.

I even quit running.

The more I liked something,

the more I needed to ruin it.

The only thing I didn't quit was numbers.

If I could jump rope 43 times without missing

or if I could catch the ball 27 times in a row,

if the number of falling leaves I counted

equaled the number of letters in my dad's name,

then maybe I would get him back.

I never stopped counting.

I never stopped hoping.

Numbers:

Safe,

reliable,

perfect.

Then suddenly, my mother decided

that three was one number too many.

You're kicking me out?

You don't have friends.

You don't have a job.

It's time for you to go.

But I love it here.

You're lying, Mona.

And what's worse is, you don't even know it.

I have to take care of him.

You don't.

By the third night,

my math book and I called it quits.

- We can help you with the first month's rent.

I've saved a little,

and Dad has his disability check.

She'll never find an apartment

with a toilet as strong as ours.

Suddenly I knew what infinity felt like.

It was really long.

Mom?

Is this Mona Gray?

Yeah.

This is Ms. Gelband.

I was your elementary school principal.

Yeah?

Well, I just ran into your mother

in front of the bakery,

and our math teacher, Ms. Swordstrum,

suddenly flew off to Paraguay to become a revolutionary.

So your mother jumped in

and told me that you're living in town,

that you don't have a job,

but you have a college degree

in math.

You're it. - It?

Our new math teacher.

I remember at recess when you were a child,

while all the other kids were playing kickball,

you sat on the monkey bars doing long division.

You're perfect for the job, Mona Gray.

- Why would you tell her I had a math degree

when I quit college?

You need to find a way to pay rent.

Why?

You're the one who kicked me out.

You might like teaching.

I'll hate it.

- The welcome wagon officially welcomes you!

We like to think of ourselves as being ahead of the curve.

One teacher for each subject.

I guess that makes you our very own Ms. Math.

We may want to lighten up the decor,

something cheery and "math is fun"-ish.

You made a mistake.

I'm not a teacher.

I...

There's an old saying:

"No one is a teacher until they're a teacher."

- I had math in this room with Mr. Jones.

1, 2, 3,

5, 8,

13, 21...

Who can tell me the next number in this pattern?

Miss Gray?

34.

You are correct!

- I never saw him without a wax number around his neck.

The numbers varied according to his mood.

He'd go higher in a better mood,

lower if he felt lower.

I wondered if he had the numbers my dad needed.

To the world, they were just numbers.

But to us, they were invisible signs.

Mr. Jones quit teaching and opened a hardware store.

And I was the only one who understood why.

He was trying to get his numbers up.

We don't talk anymore.

So can I count on you?

Hi, first graders.

I'm Miss Gray.

Miss Gray, you're it!

Um, no.

Can we call you Mommy?

Second graders,

look at all the numbers on the wall.

Guys, please.

- No way! Check it out!

Pretty awesome numbers.

I like the 2.

I like the 9 a lot.

I like the 5.

Are you the third grade?

Yes.

What's your name?

Elmer Gravlaki.

- Okay. Thank you.