When my mom is mad at me, she'll ask rhetorically, whatever became of cute, lil' Carl. He was a funny kid, precocious in some ways, incredibly immature in others. He would wonder about the meaning of death before he learned how to tie his shoes. He'd then lose his shoes and socks, forget what happened all day, and question why his soul was born into his particular body instead of someone else's. He was really as cute as a button.

In some way, Lil' Carl is still around, I think. I'm always doing stuff for him. I take the pickles off his hamburgers. I eat cereal in the morning, since I know he hates eggs. I buy him toys every once in while. I get him all the old Super Nintendo games he wants. I try not to be a conformist, because I know how much he dislikes playing in big groups.

When I was Lil' Carl, I spent a lot of time wondering. People, adults mostly, would tell me I was in a world of my own. That seemed silly to me. I tried to maintain a couple of separate universes at any given time. Sometimes, I would wonder about Big Carl and construct a world for him. I'd wonder what he looked like, which was important to Lil' Carl, since he had a low opinion of his appearance for some reason. Jobs and houses and morning schedules were all dreamed up. Computerized lifestyles with solar-powered servant robots catering to Big Carl were explained in detail.

I wish I had a time machine. I wish I could talk to Lil' Carl. I wish I could sit him on my lap and tell him about the future and give him a big hug and say it will all be OK. I wish I could warn him about puberty and glands. I wish I could tell him how not to be suspended. I'm sure Lil' Carl would love to see me too. It is a shame when two people are separated who belong together as much as he and I do. We would have such a grand time. Oh well, c'est la vie.