Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life

  Lizzy looks doubtful. “So how do you pay your bills?”

  He laughs again. “I didn’t say I gave it all away.”

  “Don’t you get tired of looking at the same things?” she asks. I was wondering that, too. “Like that picture. It’s nice and all, but it’s, like, the only thing to look at.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t get tired of looking at it. When each object is framed in space, when there are big blank areas around it, it changes, subtly, every day. When you have twenty of something, the individual object can’t shine. Plus, I believe that once you find something you love, something that works, why keep looking for more? People always think there is something better around the corner. I decided a long time ago I’d stop wasting my time looking for something better and enjoy what I had.”

  “Is that what your shirt means?” I ask. “It’s a joke, right? Or, like, sarcasm?”

  He looks down at the words on his shirt and smiles. “Yes. This is one of my favorite sayings. The sad thing is, I used to believe it was true. But you can’t take things with you when you go, so what is the point of accumulating them? I don’t expect you children to embrace this way of life at your age. It’s something one has to come to on one’s own, if the time is right.”

  I am glad he said that, since I don’t want to start feeling guilty over all my books, or my mutant candy collection, or my comics, or any of the rest of my stuff. Still, I can sort of understand what he means.

  “You’ve heard the expression ‘Go with the flow,’ right?”

  We nod.

  “Well, that’s how I’ve decided to live my life. If you go along with the flow of life, without trying to change others, or change situations that are beyond you, life is much more peaceful.” He suddenly picks up the lamp and hands it to Lizzy. “Here,” he says, “why don’t you take this.”

  Her mouth literally falls open. “Me? Why?”

  “I already have a lamp.”

  We all turn to look at the small blue plastic lamp on the table. It looks like one of those lamps you could buy at a drugstore for five dollars.

  “Wouldn’t you rather have this one?” she asks. “It’s so much nicer.”

  He shakes his head. “Mine is perfectly fine. It sheds light. That’s what a lamp is made for. Everything is at its best when it is doing exactly what it was created for. A lamp gives light. An apple gives sustenance and refreshment. A chair is perfect in being exactly what it is—a chair.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” Lizzy says, looking down at the lamp in awe. “But thanks for the lamp!”

  “Can I ask you something?” I blurt out.

  He nods with a smile. “Anything for such special guests.”

  “Is that the meaning of life? What you just said?”

  “Jeremy!” Lizzy exclaims. I knew she’d be shocked that I asked, but I couldn’t help it. If we never find those keys, I still want to know what’s inside the box. This man clearly knows a lot about life, and no adult has ever said these kinds of things to me before. I can’t leave until I know more of what he knows.

  Mr. Rudolph cocks his head and looks at me sideways. Then he laughs and gestures for us to follow him through the archway into the next room. “This visit is just full of surprises! I think we’ll need to sit down for this.”

  I glance back at the still partially open front door and hope James won’t mind waiting a little longer. The room he leads us into is similar to the one we left, only this one is much smaller with big, colorful pillows in the middle. A vase with the largest white-and-purple flower I’ve ever seen rests in the middle of the circle.

  “I meditate here,” he explains. “And if I have guests, this is where we visit. Pick a pillow and make yourself comfortable.”

  Lizzy carefully places the lamp behind her and plops down on a red pillow. I choose a yellow one, and Mr. Rudolph takes the white. “Look at the flower,” he instructs us. “What do you see?”

  “Um, a flower?” Lizzy says, then quickly adds, “A big white-and-purple one that smells good?”

  He turns to me. “Jeremy? What about you?”

  I stare at the flower, inexplicably wondering if it’s going to suddenly turn into something else, like a cat or a matchbook. When it doesn’t, I say quickly, “Same as what Lizzy said.”

  “Exactly right!” he exclaims, surprising me. “It is a large white-and-purple, sweet-smelling flower. An orchid, to be precise. Now wait here.” He unfolds his legs and strides out of the room.

  Lizzy leans forward and whispers, “What are we doing?”

  “This is the next plan on our list,” I explain, hoping she’ll understand. “We might never open my dad’s box. If I can figure out the meaning of life before my birthday, then at least it won’t be so awful if I can’t open it.”

  She doesn’t answer, only nods thoughtfully. “Okay, I get it. But what if this guy doesn’t know the answer?”

  “Then we’ll ask everyone we can.”

  At that moment, Mr. Rudolph returns. Surprisingly, he is carrying the photograph of the sunset under his arm. He leans it up against the wall and sits back on his pillow.

  “Now, what does this picture mean to you? Lizzy, you first again.”

  Lizzy fills her cheeks with air, and slowly lets it out. “What does it mean?” she repeats. “I guess it means that whoever took it is a good photographer. It’s pretty.”

  “How about you, Jeremy?”

  “I really don’t understand art,” I admit. “It’s nice? It brightens up the room?”

  “How does it make you feel?” Mr. Rudolph prods.

  “Er, kind of sad, I guess? Like it’s the end of something, but it’s kind of relaxing, too?”

  “Lizzy?”

  “Um, it makes me want to go to the beach?”

  Mr. Rudolph smiles. “Okay, great answers. To me, this photograph reminds me to treasure each moment, because they are fleeting. A minute later, and the sky would be dark. It also reminds me of the day I took the picture, and whom I was with. I can carry the beauty of this sunset with me, inside me, so that when I do not see much beauty around me, I can use some of what is stored inside. So we see that already, this one photograph of a sunset means different things to all three of us. But here’s my real question: what do you think it means to the flower?”

  At the same time, Lizzy and I ask, “Huh?”

  “Exactly!”

  “Huh?” we repeat.

  Mr. Rudolph reaches out and lifts the flower out of its vase. “To a flower, this photograph means nothing. So when you ask what is the meaning of life, there can be no answer that will apply to everyone and everything. What is a photograph, or a sunset, to a flower? We all bring our own perceptions, needs, and experiences to everything we do. We will all interpret an event, or a sunset, differently.”

  He pauses, and I am trying to keep up with him. “Basically,” I say slowly, concentrating on my words. “What you’re saying is that it’s all relative. The meaning of the sunset, or of life itself, is different for everyone?”

  “Exactly,” he says.

  “Nah!” Lizzy exclaims, getting to her feet. “I’m not buying it. I think there has to be some meaning that means the same thing to everyone. Otherwise, nothing makes sense.”

  Mr. Rudolph smiles and stands up. “Fortunately, you have a long time to find out.”

  “Not as long as you’d think,” Lizzy mutters.

  As we head slowly into the big room, I turn to him and ask, “But even if the sunset has different meanings for everyone, it still has meaning, right?”

  “That’s a tricky question to answer,” Mr. Rudolph says, stopping to replace the frame back on the wall. “That sunset will still shine just as surely, just as colorfully, whether it is shining on a wedding or a war. So it would seem that the sunset itself doesn’t have inherent meaning; it is just doing its job. If the sunset doesn’t have meaning apart from what we give it, does a rock? Or a fish? Or life itself? But just because a park bench, for
instance, doesn’t have meaning, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have worth.”

  “I’m starting to get a headache,” Lizzy mutters.

  We have reached the door now, and I’m not sure I’m any closer to understanding what’s in the box. My shoulders sag.

  “Maybe this will help clear things up,” Mr. Rudolph says. “You need to be sure of the question you are asking. Sometimes people think they are looking for the meaning of life, when really they are looking for an understanding of why they are here. What their purpose is, the purpose of life in general. And that’s a much easier question to answer than the meaning of life.”

  Lizzy is already halfway out the door. “It is?” I ask, pulling her back in by her sleeve. I’m not certain, but I think I see the tip of a white flower petal sticking out of her pocket.

  “You are the same as the lamp, the chair, the flower,” Mr. Rudolph explains. “All you have to do is be the most authentic you that you can be. Find out who you really are, find out why you are here, and you will find your purpose. And with it, the meaning of life.”

  Why I am here? I have no idea why I’m here. Am I supposed to know that? Does everybody know that but me? What’s wrong with me? I always knew something was wrong with me.

  “Shhh,” Lizzy whispers. “You’re sounding crazy.”

  Had I said that out loud?

  “You shouldn’t leave empty-handed, Jeremy,” Mr. Rudolph says, kindly ignoring my ramblings. “That wouldn’t be fair.” He walks over the bowl and swoops up the apple. He tosses it to me, and I reach up just in time to catch it. To some people for whom such things matter, they might be jealous that their friend got a stained-glass Tiffany lamp while he only got an apple. Luckily for me, I am not one of them. Now if Lizzy had been given a chocolate bar and all I got was an apple, then there’d be a problem.

  Lizzy slips through the door and takes off down the hall. I know I need to thank Mr. Rudolph for trying to help us, but my brain can’t get past the idea that I don’t know why I’m here on this planet. Why do I exist? “Um, thank you for everything, your time, and all, but I’m still a little confused, I guess.”

  He smiles and pats me on the shoulder. He points to the apple in my hand and says, “A wise man once remarked that we can count how many seeds are in the apple, but not how many apples are in the seed. Do you know what he meant by that?”

  I shake my head.

  “Before an apple seed is planted, no one will know how many apples will one day sprout from it. It’s all about potential, and potential is hidden from all of us until we embrace it, find our purpose, plant ourselves so we can grow. I am certain you will find what you are looking for, Jeremy. Many blessings upon your head.”

  With that, he closes the door, leaving me clutching my apple so tightly that my fingernails have punctured the skin.

  Chapter 12: The Existential Crisis

  Lizzy yanks on the blinds, and light floods into my bedroom. I groan. It feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest. I just want to be invisible. If I can’t figure out why I’m here, then I’m just taking up space.

  “Come on,” she says, tugging at my blanket. “It’s eleven o’clock already.”

  I shake my head and strengthen my grip on the top of the blanket. “I’m not getting up.” If I were invisible, maybe I could see what other people were here for, and it would help. But since the only people I know who are invisible are comic book characters or have an invisibility cloak like Harry Potter, I probably don’t have much hope in that department.

  “I have a chocolate Vitamuffin for you,” Lizzy sings, waving the muffin in front of my nose.

  “Don’t want it.”

  Lizzy looks over at my desk, and then back at the bed. “Is that lump next to you your dad’s box?”

  I don’t answer.

  She reaches over and feels around it. “It IS the box! So you’re sleeping with it now?”

  How do I explain that I was tracing the words with my fingers and fell asleep? I know the curves of those letters so well by now I could copy them perfectly.

  “I’m going to call your mother at work,” she threatens. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Fine, I will.” She storms out of the room, and returns a minute later with the cordless phone held to her ear.

  “He just won’t get out of bed, Mrs. Fink,” she says. “No, I don’t know why. He won’t tell me.” She holds out the phone to me. “She wants to talk to you.”

  I shake my head and throw the stuffed alligator over my face.

  “He won’t take the phone. Okay, I’ll ask him. Jeremy, your mom wants to know if you’re sick.”

  I shake my head.

  “No, he’s not sick,” she says. Then she lifts up the alligator and yells into my ear, “Your mom insists you tell us why you won’t get out of bed or she’s gonna come home and drag you out herself!”

  I look at her doubtfully.

  “Okay, so maybe she didn’t say that last part, but you better tell me.”

  So softly that Lizzy has to lean over to hear me, I say, “I can’t face the world until I know why I’m here.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  I shake my head vehemently. “No. I need to figure out my purpose. Until I do, what’s the use of getting up?”

  Lizzy repeats my words into the phone, and after a long pause says, “Okay, I’ll tell him. Bye.” She puts the phone on my desk and says, “Your mother told me to tell you you can have your existential crisis—whatever that means—once you’re out of bed. I’m pretty sure you won’t find your purpose lying there with an alligator over your face. Get up!”

  “Fine!” I tell her, pushing the blanket off of me and sitting up. I’m wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday. When I’m depressed, little things like changing into my pajamas seem to slip away. “But will you promise to leave me alone today? I want to be by myself.”

  “Sorry,” Lizzy says, placing the muffin on my lap. “We have to be down the hall in ten minutes.”

  “Huh? Where are we going?”

  “Samantha’s apartment. Now get up!” She drags me off the bed, giving me barely enough time to grab my muffin before it falls to the floor.

  “I’m not going to Samantha’s apartment!” I inform her. “I’m spending the day trying to figure out why I’m here on this planet. You might want to do the same.”

  “I already know why I’m here,” Lizzy says, standing in the doorway.

  “Really? You do?” That doesn’t seem fair. Everything comes more easily to Lizzy than it does to me.

  “I’m here to get you because Samantha and Rick are waiting for us!”

  I push her out into the hall and turn the lock. She knocks hard on the door. “Come on, Jeremy, just hear me out.”

  I put my hands over my ears, but it doesn’t help. Now I’m trapped in here, and I really have to use the bathroom. I might as well eat the muffin, too.

  Her voice is only slightly muffled by the door. “This morning when you wouldn’t answer any of the notes I sent, I went downstairs to sit on the stoop.”

  I glance over and see that my solar system poster is in fact pushed a few inches from the wall. I must not have heard her knocking on the wall to announce the notes.

  She continues. “The twins were outside, too, so we started talking. One thing led to another, and I told them about your box and how we can’t find the keys.”

  At that, I yank open the door and glare at her. Pieces of muffin fly out of my mouth as I yell, “You did WHAT?”

  Lizzy backs up a step to avoid being hit by half-chewed muffin morsels. “I didn’t think you’d mind,” she argues. “Well, I actually didn’t think about how you’d feel till after I had already told them, but I’m glad I did because Samantha had a really great idea.”

  Before I could respond, she says, “Samantha said if we need to know where the keys are, we should go directly to the source and ask your dad!”

  My stoma
ch twists a little. “What are you talking about? Didn’t you tell her about the accident?”

  “Of course I told her,” she says hurriedly. “Samantha said we can hold a séance, and then we can ask him. She has a Ouija board and everything.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Lizzy shakes her head. “It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? We’ve tried everything else.”

  “But Rick is so obnoxious. Do you really want to hang out with him?”

  “Maybe he just acts like a jerk because he’s lonely. Mr. Rudolph turned out a lot different than we thought he’d be. Maybe Rick will, too. Let’s go, okay?”

  I lean against the hallway wall. What if Samantha was right? What if I really could talk to Dad again? That would be worth having to hang out with the twins. And to be honest, I hadn’t done so well with the whole why-I’m-here enigma. After contemplating the question ever since James dropped us off yesterday, I came up with only three possible answers. I’m here to be my mother’s son, to be Lizzy’s best friend, and to eat a lot of candy. Somehow, that doesn’t inspire greatness. “Okay, I’ll meet you on the stoop in five minutes and we’ll go in together.”

  “Cool,” she says, hurrying away. “You won’t regret it.”

  Why do I doubt that?

  I find Lizzy on the top step, her face tilted up to the sun. Little Bobby and his mother are there, too, sitting in the shady part.

  “Jeremy,” Lizzy says, “why don’t you ask Mrs. Sanchez the question you’ve decided to ask everyone?”

  Now that we’re back in our regular non-limo-riding, non-returning pawned-items lives, asking people the meaning of life seems kind of embarrassing.

  “Go on,” Lizzy urges. “And then we have to leave.”

  Mrs. Sanchez looks up from combing a squirming Bobby’s hair. Instead of asking what the meaning of life is, I ask, “Why are we here? You know, here, on this planet. Not like, here, on this stoop.”

  She smiles, apparently not surprised at my question. “You don’t know this?” she asks. I shake my head.