The Butterfly Ethic/3

Chapter 3

We were almost home. There were only three families left on the bus.

“Martin.” Corinne’s daughter said. “My mom says you have to make cookies tomorrow or you can’t ride the bus anymore.”

“Oh all right.” I said.

“You cooking them tonight?” Freya asked.

“Yeah.” I said.

“Are you not going to the party?” She asked.

“What party?” I asked.

“Sam invited us, his brother’s birthday party is tonight.” Freya explained.

“Oh, well maybe I’ll hurry and make them.”

“You’ll try to accommodate them into your schedule.” She said.

“Accommodate, hold on let me see what that word means.” I reached in my bag and pulled out the paper I had copied the definitions on. I wanted Freya to see what I saw and see what she thought of it. I eyed the list on the front of my paper, making sure Freya had a clear view of the words on the back.

“I guess I only got to abduct.” I said.

“You’re copying the dictionary?” Freya asked.

“Amber’s making me do it. It’s like writing lines except for its educational.” I said. She didn’t seem to notice what was on the back. “So um, what does accommodate mean?” I asked.

The word accommodate means make sure you change your schedule so you can make cookies, go to a party, and practice playing the national anthem on your clarinet. I only did two thirds of that. The cookies did not get made.My mom was upset that I didn’t make good use of my time, but let me go to the party anyway. Patrick drove us there.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">The place was called Deckard vending, which was started by Sam’s dad, well actually, he was in a partnership with a man named Tyrell, but he died and the partnership was dissolved. Deckard Vending was what resulted. The company made and sold vending machines and other lounge equipment, including arcade games, which were the only things anyone under twelve could tell you about the place.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I wonder if that fighting game’s still there.” Abinadi said in the car.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Soul Calibur?” Patrick asked.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Yeah, that was fun.” Said Abinadi.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Although I defeated you last time.” Said Freya.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“And I beat you all.” Rachel said from the passenger’s seat.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Yeah, well we’ll beat you this time.” said Abinadi.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“If it’s there tonight.” Said Freya. We emptied into the parking lot where we were bombarded with high-speed chilling winds. Everyone scampered inside The wind held the glass doors open and once Patrick forced the door shut, the sound of the wind was replaced by the dissonant sounds of the many consoles in the building. i There were franchise licensed pinball machines, fast-paced racing games, brutal fighting games, and even some of the classics like Pacman and Dig Dug. Just as they had hoped, Soul Calibur was there.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Yes!” I heard one of the players shout, followed by the obligatory Mormon-cursing from the other player. There was a crowd of about fifteen kids in the fighting games section, so I resorted to the less-populated pinball section, where people were playing on machines from Spiderman, X-Men, Indiana Jones, Lord of the Rings, The Simpsons, and Family Guy. There were no lines, but every machine was occupied except for the Lord of the Rings machine, which was turned off.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I should turn this one on.” I said.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Do it.” Freya said, not looking up from her Indiana Jones pinball game. I found a big blackswitch on the back and flipped it on, expecting the machine to light up and play a Lord of the Rings fanfare, but the machine did nothing. It didn’t even try to turn on. I then traced the plug to a nearby outlet.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Guess this one’s broken.” I got in line behind one of Sam’s half-brothers for the Spiderman game.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I’ve almost conquered it. The high score.” Said Freya. I heard her machine play the familiar Indiana Jones theme, then break off into some Temple of Doom music. Then a voice said: “He chose poorly.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Dang it!” Freya shouted. She stepped down from the machine. “Anyone else want to play?” There was nobody. “Well then.” She got back on the machine and the theme music started up again.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">I did okay on the Spiderman game. I didn’t beat the high score, but I didn’t expect to. When I was done, I took a look at Soul Calibur. Ross was playing against his brother, and losing, badly. He stepped down from the game and stood next to me.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Man, I just can’t beat him.” He said. We both watched Nephi go berserk on Ross’s brother. It seemed to be working, but his health bar showed us the truth; he was being pounded into submission.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“So how was that dictionary?” Ross asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Horrible. How about you?” I asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I don’t even want to talk about it.” He replied. I noticed that he wasn’t wearing his jacket, just a dark blue t-shirt with the US Navy logo on it.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“So where’s your jacket?” I wondered.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I took it off. I don’t need to wear it here.” He said.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Why’d you need to wear it during class?” I questioned.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“To hide this shirt.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“You wore that shirt during class?” I asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Yeah.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Why don’t you just wear school uniform?”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I was dared. There’s sixteen shirts and I have to time myself to wear them for sixteen days.” said Ross.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“So that’s why you turned the thermostat down.” I muttered.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Yeah, I don’t want to sweat to death.” Ross said.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“What do you get if you do it? The bet.” I asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Ten dollars.” He replied.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Just ten dollars?” I asked. “Don’t you have about a thousand dollars saved up?”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Pssh, I have more than that,” he told me. “But these dollars are tangible.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“What’s that mean?” I asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I don’t have to draw them out.” He said.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“What’ll you do with them?”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I dunno, probably turn them in.” said Ross. “But it’s good to have some money on you like that for when you need it.” That reminded me, I needed some for tomorrow, though, for what, I knew not.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Hey, Ross.” I said.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“What?” He asked, though he was watching Patrick play against his brother.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Haha!” Patrick shouted. He had just beaten Ross’s brother, and now the players lined up to play against him.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Never mind.” I said. I didn’t want to ask him for money. If he was going through with this bet, he probably didn’t have any, and even if he did, he’d want to know what it was for. I couldn’t tell him that. This was something so stupid, I couldn’t believe I was going through with it.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">ii It was cold, windy, and I was hungry and tired. I woke up earlier that morning to make the cookies. My mom had already put together the dough, I just had to lay it out on the pan and put them in the oven. This was a blessing in disguise since I was able to spend the morning looking for money for the flea market, though I still didn’t have enough time to eat breakfast. In the two hours I had, I pulled together five dollars and twenty-one cents. Only three of those dollars were dollar bills. I had to manage this money carefully if I wanted both the picture frame and the bus ticket to the college. I was a bit afraid of doing this, though. It was the fear of unknown consequences. The only thing that kept me going was the greater fear of not knowing what could’ve been.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">Normally I would’ve walked to my destination, but I felt a sense of urgency, either that or it was the cold. I had spent an entire night outside before and didn’t want it to be cold anymore. I was just about to turn around and go back to school when the bus finally arrived. I paid eighty-five cents of the loose change I had and sat down in the back by the heater. The page of copied definitions was in my backpack, next to the container of cookies, which was slightly unsealed. As I pulled the paper out, the sweet scent emitted from my bag. I ate a cookie while I studied the paper. Who would’ve thought that copying the dictionary, my worst nightmare, would become my ensign of hope?

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">This had better be real, I thought as I disembarked at the community college. If I was caught doing this, I’d be suspended.

<p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">I was in awe at the size of the campus. Every building had at least four floors, and it was probably at least a half a mile across. It was a good thing the paper told me where the flea market was; otherwise I’d be here all day.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Hey!” I called to a man carrying an oversized backpack. He yanked the earphones freom his ears and made a “huh” sound to show he was listening.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">‘Do you know where the finance classes are?” I asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“They’re in the building right in front of you.” He directed. Just forty feet in front of me was a five story brick building. I wrestled the door open against the wind, and managed to get inside. Inside, there was a student lounge with tables and vending machines, restrooms to my right, and an office to my left—wait, information offices. A woman who looked to be in her thirties was behind the desk. She wore spectacles and her hair was long, straight and red.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Can I help you with anything?” she asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Yeah, I’m looking for a flea market.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“A what?” she asked, confused by the question.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“A flea market.” I said. “To buy a picture frame.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Well, there’s a store in the student center, but it’s not what you’d call a flea market.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Where is it?” I asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Straight south of here.” She replied. I left her office in confusion. I fished the page from my backpack and checked the definition of a flea market. The campus bookstore did have picture frames for sale, but the store itself did not match the definition. There was a shelf full of picture frames selling at nine dollars each, but they were covered in plastic.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">Note to self, I thought as I walked out. Never trust a dictionary. I walked back to the bus stop with hundreds of ideas swirling in my brain. Maybe Rachel was taking a finance class, and she could help me buy picture frames and sell them for a profit at a flea market. That plan seemed too complex. When I got to the bus stop, I was starting to think that maybe I was only intoxicated with the school lunch, but I felt it was worth a try to ask people if they knew where a flea market was. As luck would have it, someone at the bus stop mentioned to me that there was a flea market a few blocks north of the campus at the drive-in movie theater, so I waited for the next bus to take me north. I bought yet another ticket and found a place in the back of the bus. I wondered what the people at school were doing now. That would depend on the time. I pulled out my watch, it was half-past broken. I figured my ticket would probably show the time bought, so I pulled both tickets out of my pocket. It was bought at 10:16, and was set to expire at 12:16. The other ticket was bought at 9:44 and expired at 11:44.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">Dangit, I probably don’t have enough money for the frame now, I thought. Oh well, by the time the ticket expired, I’d be back at school, riding in style. I disembarked at the movie theater, pulled my coat tighter around me and went inside, finding the place almost entirely deserted. There was only one merchant standing at his booth in the distance. As I approached, he looked me straight in the eye.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Why aren’t you in school?” He asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“There’s no school today.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I see,” he said. “My guardian angel must’ve sent you here, then. Do you want to watch this booth for the next ten minutes or so?”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Um, yeah?” I said. I couldn’t believe this guy was actually trusting me to do this. Oh well, At least now I’d have enough time to look for the picture frame. He got in his little blue car and drove off. I scanned the booth.. There was a large, black, scratched up urn, a stack of old National Geographic issues, and a table with a tarp tied over it. I reached down to the legs and pulled the knot loose. Immediately, the tarp flapped away with the wind, revealing the good stuff. Among them were a dragon pedestal cradling a colorful orb, a ring with a monster insignia on it, and an aquarium which I guessed was supposed to hold a toad, and many other treasures. One of them was a picture frame, and I just had to find it. I was interrupted from this task when a tan car pull up. A dark-skinned woman wearing a headscarf stepped out. She looked middle-eastern, perhaps she was a spy.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">iii She gave me a queer look and asked: “Where’s the one running this?”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“It’s me.” She looked puzzled. “For now anyway.” I added.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I guess I shouldn’t buy anything, then.” She started away.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Oh, no, you can.” I said. “What do you want?” I asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I saw a picture frame here on Sunday, is it still here?” she asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Umm, it might be.” I said. “You don’t go to college, do you?”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Yes.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Salt Lake Community?”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Yes.” She said absently as she picked up an oil painting. “How much for this?” she asked.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Do you take any finance classes?” I asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“How do you know that?” she asked. Oh no, she didn’t. I had to be united with that painting. I quickly developed a strategy to snatch the frame from this terrorist.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“The picture’s twenty dollars.” I said.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Twenty dollars?” she asked. “What if I just want the frame?”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Then it’s twenty dollars.”

<p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">She groaned.“I could get one from the campus bookstore for less than half of that, and it’ll be much nicer.” She reached into her wallet and pulled out a small wad of bills. “I’ll give you four dollars for just the frame. It can’t possibly be worth more than that.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Let me see it.” I said. She handed me the frame and I realized she was right. I’d seen this on TV before; someone buys something from a yard sale and finds out it was worth far more than what they bought it for. The frame wasn’t what I had wanted, but the picture.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Fine, four dollars, but let me pull the picture out.” I had a bit of trouble unscrewing the four rusted nuts that held the cardboard to the frame.. The fourth gave me the hardest time.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Hurry up, boy.” She said impatiently. I tried harder to unscrew it and then just broke it off. I then pulled the picture out with the cardboard attached and handed it to her.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“You broke it.” She said.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“One bolt was broken, it should still hold.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Can I at least get a discount?” I groaned and handed her one dollar back. “Thank you.” She said as she walked back to her car with her new frame. I looked down at the picture. It was too big to fit in my binder; I’d have to be careful with it in my bag.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">A strong gust of wind, blew the tarp away. I grabbed it, trying to put it back over the table, but I didn’t know how to tie the knot again. Soon the merchant returned, this time driving a White SUV.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“What’re you doing?” he asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I made a sale, and I’m trying to cover this table again.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Don’t bother with it. I’m putting this stand away.” I let go of the tarp, and it slid off the table. “Would you mind helping me pack up?”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Um yeah.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Don’t worry,” he said. “Shouldn’t take too long.” He gathered crates from his van. The merchandise was relocated into those crates, and the table was folded up and put in the back of his van. By the time we were finished, it was raining.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“How much did you make?” he asked. I pulled the money out of my pocket and handed it to him. “Three dollars?”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Yeah, I sold a picture frame.” I said. He put the three dollars in his wallet and handed me a ten dollar bill.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“This is for helping out.” I reached out for it and he held it back. “You know, when I was your age, I used to steal. Then one day, I sat down with myself and decided what kind of man I wanted to be. Now I run my own company, and this stand is just child’s play. Honesty pays.” He put the money in my hand. “Now go buy yourself a cheeseburger.” That sounded nice about now.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Hey, um, I accidentally broke the picture frame I sold and gave a discount, if you want, I could pay you back.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Don’t.” He told me.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I also have the picture that was in the frame. I was wondering if I could buy it from-“

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Just keep it.” He said.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Thanks.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“No, thank you.” He said. “What’s your name?”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Martin.” I said.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I’m Eldridge.” He held out his hand and I shook it. “Do you need a ride anywhere?” he asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“No, I’ll take the bus.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s chilly out here.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I’m fine. I already paid for the ticket.” I held up the first ticket I bought.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“That’ll expire soon.” He said.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“The ride’s not that long.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Let me at least give you a ride to the stop.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Okay.” I got in the car.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Where are you going now?” he asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Schoo- um I mean, home.” I said. “I’m just so used to going to school. The stop’s next to it.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I see.” I was afraid he was going to ask what I was doing at the flea market, but he seemed to know it was none of his business. When we reached the stop, I waved farewell and took the bus to the nearest stop to my school. iv If only I knew what time it was, why did Patrick have to break my watch, but I used my second ticket, so it couldn’t have been past lunchtime. I had to avoid being located until then. Doing that involved staying a safe distance from the school to avoid being seen through the windows and fences. Of course, some people had already seen me on the school bus that morning, so I might have already been trapped, but it was worth a try.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">Normally, I would cut through the nearby neighborhood, then journey through a swamp, but today the rain had turned the dirt into mud. Not wanting to get evidence all over my shoes, I went around the swamp and to the sidewalk.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">The path was easy until near the end where a tall man stood in the middle of the sidewalk. He had long white hair, wore a dull, pointed hat and held an iron staff in his hands. His head was bowed. At first glance, it seemed he was praying, but instead of folding his hands, he was instead tapping his fingers together like a tyrant conspiring against his people. I started around him, but he thrust the staff out against me so I could clearly see the opal embedded at the end.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Could you move aside?” I asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“No!” he refused.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Why not?” I asked. “I need to get to school, and learn, and interact with-.” Maybe I didn’t want to go to school after all.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“So do all who live to see such times,” he said kindly. “but that is not for them to decide.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“Who the heck are you?” I asked.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“I am a servant of the sacred fire! Wielder of the flame of Anor!”

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">I gently pushed the staff aside and he pushed me into one of the bushes on the roadside.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">“YOU! SHALL NOT! PASS!” he slammed the staff against the ground. I untangled myself from the branches of the bush and ran past him; he grabbed onto my coat. I gave the coat a hard yank and stumbled over. I didn’t think his grip would be that loose. I got to my feet and ran about forty feet, then slowed into a brisk walk. I glanced behind me several times. The crazy guy followed me for a while before giving up.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">When I got to school, I was exhausted. I opened the only front door that didn’t lead to a classroom. Instead, it lead to a deserted section of the school next to room ten. It once held the after school math classes; now it was home to an old television, broken ceiling tiles, and a wrestling mat with a scratched whiteboard laid across it. I lay back on the mat and ate more of my cookies, but, by now, I was sick of them. I needed something raw. From the hall, I heard the the eighth grade boys dash from the captivity of Amber’s classroom. It was lunchtime.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%"> I listened to them trample their way down the hall and through the back door. I slipped through the front door, stepping across the parking lot and keeping a safe distance from the glass doors. I snuck inthe front door to the cafeteria. I found this to be a mistake, since it led straight to Amber and Cassandra. I saw Amber in line and hid behind a stack of produce boxes. At my feet was a tray of raspberry cartons distributed by the Houari Boumediene Partnership. They were big and red, with not one bit of mold on them. I took four of them, then remembered what the merchant said. I put three of the cartons back and scampered back to my retreat. If they weren’t for us students, then who were they for? I’d probably get some later anyway. I sat on the mat again and ate the raspberries. It was a very nice break from the cookies.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">When I finished, I wiped my hands on the mat and pulled out my notebook, slipped the unharmed painting and its cardboard backing from of the notebook and wrote down what had happened today. I then safely placed the picture back in the notebook and laid it carefully in the space between the mat and the wall.

<p style="text-indent: 0.49in; margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 100%">By the sound of it, there were eighth grade boys hanging around in the halls. I recognized one of the voices to be Robert Korjuse, Giovanni’s half-brother. Soon, Amber came in and ordered them to go back outside. That was my cue to leave. When I was sure the front door wasn’t in Amber’s line of sight, I went to eat lunch.