Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Quiz Time! - Arthur the Dog & Gifted

Episode Date: March 3, 2023

“Is Your Dog Your Boss?”Who doesn’t love a quiz? On this week’s episode of Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe, Jess introduces two favourite Stuart McLean stories from way back. In Arthur the Dog, Dave tries to assert his superiority, man over beast. Guess how well that goes? And in Gifted, Sam takes a quiz that he thinks may transform his life. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton, and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Café. Welcome. Today, two stories that start with a quiz. We're going to start with this one. This is Arthur the Dog. At five in the morning on a sticky Tuesday night in July. Dave woke up sweating. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't surprised to find he was alone. He found Morley downstairs sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper.

I was hot, she said. Me too, said Dave. It was cool downstairs. In fact, it was cool everywhere in the house except for their bedroom. I don't get it, said Dave. I'll call a guy again. The furnace guy came after lunch. He kneeled by the vent in the floor of their bedroom. He was there

for five minutes. It's working, he said, accusingly. For this, he charged them $50. But he was right. When you held your hand over the floor vent, you could feel it, the cool air. But every night, they woke up hot. This was the second time the furnace guy had examined the vent in Dave's bedroom in less than a year. He was there in the winter, too. In February, for the same problem, or almost the same problem, this July Dave's bedroom felt heavy and damp. The hottest room in the house.

Last February, Dave and Morley kept waking up freezing. In February, when the furnace guy came, he held his hand over the vent and he said, hot air, like they were crazy. And then, because Dave insisted, he vacuumed the vent. Half an hour, $75. And still, all winter they kept waking up cold, and now in the summer they were waking up hot. It was Sam who figured it out. One night Dave found Sam sitting on the vent in their bedroom. What are you doing, said Dave.

It feels good, said Sam, the cool air. It's where Arthur sleeps. Arthur the dog. Arthur the plug. Arthur the sleeping machine. When he was a puppy, Arthur used to sleep on Dave and Morley's bed. When he got bigger, they tried to stop this, but soon found they had a battle on their hands. Soon found that no dog in the world was more determined or skilled at insinuating himself into a bed than Arthur. He wouldn't start the night there. He'd start the night on the floor. But as soon as Dave and Morley were breathing rhythmically, Arthur would creep into their bedroom, keeping low to the ground as if he

were hunting. If he didn't like the way one of them was breathing, Arthur would bring his face right up to theirs and stare at them like a priest taking confession, his wet nose maybe six inches away. Once he was satisfied they were asleep, Arthur would lift one paw slowly up onto the bed and place it there without moving another muscle. And if no one stirred, the other paw would go up just as slowly. And then even slower, like a monster rising from a swamp, Arthur would pull his body onto the bed

and settle near their feet with a sigh, taking at first as little space as possible, but slowly unfolding and expanding as the night wore on, as if he were being inflated. as the night wore on, as if he were being inflated. He liked to work his body between theirs and his way towards the pillows. A few days later, Dave read the Reader's Digest while he was waiting in line to pay for groceries. Is your pet the boss. There was a test. Dave drove home, unpacked the frozen foods, and threw them in the freezer.

He called Arthur. The test was straightforward. He was to get down on all fours and stare at his dog. If Dave was dominant, Arthur would turn away. If Arthur stared back, it meant Arthur considered Dave to be his inferior. Dave dropped to his knees. The thing that makes bad news worse is when it comes unexpectedly. Arthur had always been, well, if not considerate, at least obedient. Arthur may have pushed the limits, but unlike Sam and Stephanie, he usually did what he was told. When Dave stared at Arthur, he fully expected him to turn tail.

He had harbored the possibility of a little staring match. What he hadn't considered was that his dog would hold his gaze for a full minute, then curl his lips, begin to growl, and begin to walk menacingly towards him. Arthur, said Dave. Before the alarming silence resolved, Morley walked into the kitchen and Dave looked up at her, or more to the point, away from Arthur. And the moment was over. But Dave's perception of the world had altered fundamentally. On Saturday night after dinner, Morley said, who wants to go out for ice cream? Sam said, yes. And then he said, ice cream, Arthur? Now, ice cream happens to be Arthur's favorite thing in the world.

His backside began to twist towards his head, and his tail started wagging furiously, and he crab walked across the kitchen to Sam. The picture of a dog in heaven. Dave said, let's go to the Dutch place. Sam said, ice cream, Arthur. And Arthur's eyes started to roll back in his head. And that's when Morley said, Dave, Arthur doesn't like the Dutch place. They don't have soft ice cream there. they don't have soft ice cream there. They went to the Dairy Queen.

They took a bowl for Arthur's ice cream. Dave watched him snorting it down, ice cream all over the dog's face. Said to Morley, don't you think this is kind of peculiar? But she didn't understand what he meant. She looked at him strangely. Later in the week, Dave came home from work early, and he dug out the baseball mitts, and he said,

Where's Sam? He thought they could go to the park. He thought they could throw the ball before supper. Sam was in the yard. He had Arthur tied to his wagon, pulling it up and down the sidewalk. I'm busy, he said. I don't want to play ball now. And Arthur gave Dave a look that seemed to say, butt out, buddy. The next night, Dave said he'd make french fries for dinner,

but there were no potatoes. Check Arthur's basket, said Morley. Dave said, what? Now, when he's alone in the house, Arthur steals potatoes. Somehow, and no one knows how he does this because no one has ever seen him do it, but somehow he can paw open the cupboard door where the potatoes are kept. And once he gets it open, it's easy enough to get at the potatoes, which Morley keeps there, although once, when faced with an unopened bag, Arthur managed to break it open, and no one could figure out how he did that either. Anyway, when he gets a hold of them, he doesn't eat the potatoes. He carries them across the kitchen and drops them in his basket and he sits on them. There's something about the feeling of being near raw potatoes that Arthur likes.

The night he was trying to make the french fries, Dave found five potatoes in Arthur's basket. Five's enough, said Morley. You mean, said Dave, that you used potatoes that Arthur slept on? that you used potatoes that Arthur slept on? You're telling me I have eaten potatoes from the dog's basket? The final straw came a week ago. It was a week ago that Dave found the socks. He was looking for potatoes,

and he uncovered a stash of socks instead. Ten single, unmatched socks stuffed under the blanket of Arthur's basket. Dave stood in the kitchen holding the socks in disbelief. It was like finding an elephant's graveyard. He went through the pile one by one. Nine of the socks were his. He had already thrown their partners out. He looked at Arthur in horror. You, he said. Arthur as much as shrugged as he walked out of

the room. Sam thought this was funny. Morally thought Dave was overreacting. Stephanie said, why don't you just buy new socks? What's the big deal? Dave said, that's not the point. Maybe if someone in the family had taken his side. But no one took his side. And that night, Dave worked out what Arthur was costing them. Food, vet bills, shots, boarding when they went away, except they never went away because they didn't want to leave Arthur. Potatoes. Dave said, you know what he has cost us in potatoes? Dave said, where's the cost benefit here? Morley said, I don't want to hear this, Dave. Why don't you work out what the children cost? Dave said, this is not a healthy relationship. Morley said, that's for sure. Dave said, name me one useful thing that dog can do.

Morley said, he can shake hands. Dave said, you know what he is? He's a wolf. He is one small evolutionary step away from a wolf. Are you telling me you want to live with a wolf who can shake hands? On the weekend, Dave went to Canadian Tire and bought an aluminum doghouse. Arthur went out into the yard. Dave said, it's where the dog belongs, not Arthur, not where Arthur belongs, as if he didn't know his name, as if they hadn't lived together for five years. During dinner, Arthur stood by the door and whimpered. Dave said, no one say a word. On Monday, Dave bought home a bag of huge beef bones, and he threw one into the backyard and the rest into the freezer. Arthur fell onto his bone with wolfish delight.

See, said Dave. But at dinner, Arthur was back at the door whimpering. Morley said, eat your sausage, Sam. Sam said, I hate sausage. Morley said, you don't hate sausage. Stephanie said, he usually feeds his sausages to Arthur. Sam hit Stephanie. Dave smiled triumphantly. Tuesday night at supper, when Arthur appeared at the back door, he was holding his paw up to his chest. He looked like a beggar. Morley said, he looks pathetic. He looks like he's been beaten up. Dave said, he's faking.

Arthur turned and limped back to his doghouse. Dave said, I'm not falling for that. On Wednesday, Dave said, he's just trying to get our sympathy. Sam said, I can't stand this. I hate trout. And he left the table. Morley said he's always liked trout before. On Thursday night, when Dave took Arthur for his walk, the limp was more pronounced. On Friday, after a block, Arthur sat down and wouldn't budge. Dave had to carry him home. The clerk at the clinic handed Dave a form. He said it's $75 for the examination. handed Dave a form. He said it's $75 for the examination. Treatment, if he needs shots or anything, it's extra. Dave paid the $75. The clerk said the vet was doing an emergency operation. It could be a while. The clerk said, you have to fill out the form while I weigh him. The clerk took Arthur into the examination room. He came back in under a minute, and he handed Dave Arthur's collar.

He had his front foot shoved through his collar, said the clerk. I don't know how he managed that. I had to cut it off. It's funny he could even walk. At that moment, the vet walked into the front office and looked around. Who's next, he could even walk. At that moment, the vet walked into the front office and looked around. Who's next, he said. Arthur was standing by Dave, staring at his paws as if he had never seen it before. Dave looked down at his dog and followed him into a small examining room. What's the problem, said the vet. Dave said, I just wanted you to check him over. He's been a little listless lately. He looked down at Arthur. His tail was wagging. He looked anything but listless.

The vet lifted him onto the examining table, looked into his ears, his eyes, his mouth, listened to his heart. Seems fine now, he said. Do you have air conditioning at home? It hasn't been working properly at night, said Dave. It could be the heat, said the vet. Keep him out of the sun. Give him lots of water. Outside, Arthur looked up at Dave, his tail wagging. Just before they pulled out of the parking lot, he licked Dave's hand. They passed a Dairy Queen on the way home. Dave pulled over. Dave had a vanilla milkshake.

Arthur had a soft cone with chocolate covering. The next night at supper, Sam said, How come Arthur's allowed in the house again? Because, said Dave, because I think he's learned his lesson. Now you eat your sausages. Thank you. That was Stuart McLean with the story we call Arthur the Dog. Oh, Arthur, is it weird how much I miss a fictional dog?

I don't think it's weird. It's not just me, right? Does everybody miss him as much as I do? That's kind of what dogs are like. They worm their way into our hearts. They're just sort of there until one day they're not. I had a dog like that, Spring, and I used to bring her out on tour. It was Stuart's idea. He loved having a dog on the tour bus. He used to say it made it feel more like a home.

He was right. During the shows, Spring would hang out backstage with me. She'd sleep at my feet, stage left, and she was the kind of dog that didn't need a leash. You know, she would just stay there no matter what. And only one time did she walk out on stage. Stuart had brought me out on stage for some reason or another. I don't know why. I never knew why. It was never planned.

But he would always find some way to bring me out there. It would drive me crazy. I did not like it. There is a reason why I'm on the other side of the glass, as we say. But anyway, he liked doing it. I know why he liked it. He was so good at sharing the spotlight. He was incredibly generous in that way.

He always wanted to show that this show was made by many people, not just him. So that's why he did it. Although I think there was another reason why he did it. So that's why he did it. Although I think there was another reason why he did it. There was always a bit of a surprise when I walked out and people saw that Jess Milton was a young woman and not an older man. Because, of course, with my name, it could go either way. And I think he kind of liked that some people were surprised that his boss was a woman who was 35 years younger than him.

I think he kind of liked that. I could be wrong. Whatever the reason, he'd call me out on stage most nights for one reason or another. And one night I was out there, I was telling some story and everyone started to laugh. Oh my gosh, I thought, I am on fire tonight. I got them wrapped around my finger. It took me a couple of minutes to realize that my dog, Spring, had wandered out on stage looking for me. The audience had completely stopped listening to me or Stuart. Spring had stolen the show. She walked right down stage to the front of the stage and laid on her back. And a few people from the front row kind of stood up and started rubbing her tummy. And she was laying there with her paws up, accepting their love.

And more people started walking down from out of the audience and started rubbing her tummy. It was such a fantastic moment that I'm sure there were people in the audience who thought that we'd planned it. We hadn't. She never did it again, despite our encouragement. Like the best moments in shows,

when you come to think of it, in life, it just kind of happened. come to think of it in life, it just kind of happened. We're going to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a minute or so with another story. So stick around. Welcome back. Time for our second story. This is Gifted. The year has hardly begun. Sam's still 10 years old, but so close to 11 you could call him that. He does. Sam's still 10, but almost 11, has already had two major crises. Sam's best friend, Ben, moved over the summer to Texas. Before they left, Ben and Sam worked out a plan which would have allowed Ben to stay in Canada. It involved Ben sleeping on a

futon in Sam's cupboard. He wouldn't be any trouble, said Sam to his mother morally. Ben's very quiet. He hardly eats anything. We could do our homework together. We wouldn't talk at night, honest. But Ben's family left in July and Ben went with them. And on the first day of school, Sam found himself entering grade six without a best friend, without a friend in the world, it seemed, or in his class at least, which for the best part of every day is Sam's world. On the first morning of school, Sam dragged into his new homeroom and he chose a nondescript seat in a nondescript part of the room, not too close to the front and not too close to the back, a seat where he thought no one would

notice him. As he sat down, he looked around the room and he felt a dark cloud settle upon him. Anyone who had a remote chance of being a new best friend was in the other grade six, in Mr. Jackson's grade six. There was 12-year-old Mark Portnoy, who had already done grade six last year. Mark Portnoy, who looked like he should be in high school with his low-slung baggy jeans, his underwear poking up at his waist, his belligerent scowl. Here there was Bucky Zaharis, whose father drove a BMW. Bucky, who was bigger even than Mark Portnoy. In grade five, Bucky used to make kids show him their lunch boxes

so he would help himself to whatever caught his eye. And here there was Ian Morrison, who had bumped into Sam deliberately on his way into class. Worst of all, here there was Mrs. Esther Brooks, the new teacher. Mrs. Esther Brooks was not understanding Sam at all. On the very first day of school, the very first morning, Mrs. Esther Brooks gave Sam a detention for no good reason, for nothing. Sam was sitting in his nondescript seat minding his

own business when Mark Portnoy chucked an eraser at Bucky Zaharis. The eraser bounced off the blackboard. Sam laughed. Everyone laughed. He wasn't the only one who laughed, but he was the only one laughing when Mrs. Estabrooks turned around. And he was the only one that got a detention. But I didn't do anything, he said. Sam had never, never in seven years of school had a detention. He got a second one before the first week was over. He didn't do his math homework due on Friday morning, and Mrs. Estabrooks made him stay behind at the end of the day to do it.

I didn't know he had math homework, said Sam. That's because you were too busy fooling with erasers, said Mrs. Estabrooks. Sam hated Mrs. Estabrooks. She made him stay while she corrected the math, and then she told him he was a bright boy. She told him she wasn't going to let him slide away. You're not going to slide away, she said. Watch me, muttered Sam under his breath. Watch me, he muttered as he left the room, his backpack bouncing on the doorframe. I hate my class, he said at dinner. On Thursday of the second week, Sam came home at lunch,

and for the first time in his life, no one was waiting for him. Usually his mother or his father was at home. Sam stood in the hall and called, but there was no answer. There was a note on the kitchen counter beside a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread. He'd never made his own lunch before. He felt grown up. He opened the jar of peanut butter. It was brand new, the surface smooth and glistening and oily.

He sunk his finger into it, right up to the second knuckle. And he bent it, and he pulled it out again, and he brought it up to his mouth. Arthur the dog, sitting at his feet, began to whine. And Sam got another finger full and held it high in the air above the dog, and Arthur began to twitch, his tail thrashing, his rear end bouncing off the counter. Sam shook his head and said, bad dog. And licked the second lump of peanut butter deliberately off his finger. Arthur looked so crestfallen that Sam scooped out

an even larger finger full and he bent down and he smeared it on the floor like he was finger painting. Here, Arthur, he said, and then he dropped to the floor, and he watched Arthur lick the peanut butter up. When he'd finished, Arthur looked at Sam, and he cocked his head, and Sam took another lump of peanut butter, a lump the size of a golf ball, and he stuck it to the wall about four feet off the ground. and he stuck it to the wall about four feet off the ground.

And he sat and he watched Arthur jump and snap. And when Arthur had finally dislodged the lump of peanut butter, he carried it into his mouth into the living room and he dropped it on the rug. Sam made himself a sandwich, honey, mayonnaise, ketchup, peanut butter, and he made chocolate milk, and he carried the glass of milk and the sandwich

to the kitchen table, and he sat down. There was a pile of mail lying on the table, a few bills, a Canadian Geographic magazine, and on the top of the pile, a large envelope with a clear plastic window. Sam flipped the big envelope over and read the big red letters printed on the back. They said, is your child gifted? back, they said, is your child gifted? Now, this was something Sam had never wondered about himself. Ray Abood was gifted. Ray was the only gifted person Sam knew. Ray was in grade four with Sam, and Ray was always getting in trouble. He used to push people, and he never did his homework, and he was very funny in class. One day, Ray was whisked off during gym, and the

next week, Ray announced that he had gone for tests, and the tests showed he was gifted, and Ray now takes a bus to a school across town for gifted kids. Sam had never thought about what might go on in a gifted school. As he sat staring at the envelope with the red letters, it occurred to him that whatever it was, it wouldn't involve Mrs. Esther Brooks or any of the kids in his stupid class. He turned the letter over. It wasn't addressed to anyone in his family. He turned the letter over. It wasn't addressed to anyone in his family.

He opened the envelope. There was a brochure in it with pictures of children his age reading books. And there was another sealed envelope attached to the back of the brochure. He stared at that envelope carefully. Find out if your child is gifted. Give them this simple test. He heard someone coming in the front door. Sam shoved the test and the brochure in his backpack.

He did the test that night. Sitting at his desk in his bedroom, his door closed, his legs swinging earnestly under his chair, his math homework spread out beside him in case someone came in the room. There were 10 questions, and he already knew the answer to three of them. If you were in a square house with four walls and four windows, and if you were looking south no matter which window you looked out of, and you looked out of one of the windows and saw a bear, what color would the bear be? Sam was smiling as he wrote the answer with a specially sharpened pencil. White. The bear was white. The house was at the North Pole. He checked the mail every day, and each day he flipped through the pile of envelopes on the kitchen table with his heart pounding. It took three excruciating weeks. On a Thursday, three weeks after he had sent in his test,

he came home and he found what he was waiting for, a large envelope with his name on it from the Reed Wright Educational Institute in Boulder, Colorado. He opened the envelope in his room with the door closed. Dear sir, thank you for your recent inquiry. We at the Reed Wright Educational Institute believe nothing is more important to the fabric of society than the academic success of our children. One of our educational consultants has scored your son's results.

Sam's heart was pounding. consultants has scored your son's results. Sam's heart was pounding. We are delighted to inform you that his score makes him eligible for our enriched study program for gifted students. Sam sighed heavily. He began to nod slowly. He wasn't surprised. But he was relieved. As a successful applicant at the grade 6 level, we have enrolled your son in our monthly program for accelerated study. Each month, your son will receive a workbook designed to challenge and advance his learning. Sam smiled. This was just what he needed.

We will invoice you a low monthly charge of $6.99, plus shipping and handling. You may cancel at any time. Sam looked at his bank book lying on his desk. He could afford $6.99 a month. This was, after all, an investment in his future. A sure-fire ticket away from Mrs. Estabrooks and her class of losers.

After a few months of the program, when he was really accelerated, Sam would get the school to give him the same test that Ray Abood had taken. That night as he lay in bed, Sam imagined what a gifted school would be like. They surely wouldn't waste time on things like math and social studies. Gifted students like him wouldn't need that. There'd probably be trips. Sam, imagine getting on a gifted bus to go to places like the circus. And it wouldn't be one of those yellow buses.

It would be a bus with toilets and video screens. Mrs. Esther Brooks would regret the day she was mean to him. Ben's parents would rue the day they moved away. The first installment of Sam's self-improvement program arrived the following Monday. It was a thick workbook, 156 pages long. To finish it in 28 days, read the instructions, Sam would have to complete six pages every night. That night after supper, he shut his bedroom door and he opened the book at mode one. It was a math module.

He felt exhilarated as he picked up his pencil. He felt special. He felt at the top of his game. He felt special. He felt at the top of his game. He felt gifted. It took him an hour and a half to complete the six pages. He was exhausted when he was finished, but he was very pleased with himself. He went downstairs and he said, I finished my homework. I'm going to bed now. Dave and Morley looked at each other, puzzled but delighted.

Dave and Morley looked at each other, puzzled but delighted. Before he turned off his light, Sam picked up an essay that had arrived in his package from Colorado. It was about gifted people, just like him. He learned that just because you had difficulty in one area didn't mean you weren't gifted in another. He read about Albert Einstein, who, for instance, was not without his own difficulties. He learned that Albert Einstein hated shoes. Albert Einstein used to wear sandals without socks, or if he could get away with it, no shoes at all. Thursday night was Scouts.

Morley was late coming home, so they ate after Scouts. And that meant Sam didn't have time for his workbook. On Friday, when he came home and Morley said, we've rented a movie and we're going to order Chinese food, Sam shook his head and said, I don't have time for a movie. I have homework. And he went to his room, and in two hours, he only got eight pages of his workbook done. When he got up on Saturday morning, he did four more pages, and still he had four pages to catch up. He was exhausted, but he could feel himself getting smarter. That was the Monday Morley got a call from the secretary at Sam's school. We were hoping you could bring him a pair of shoes. He didn't wear shoes today.

I hate shoes, said Sam when Morley arrived at school. Well, you have to wear them, sweetheart, said Morley. What about socks, said Sam? Do I have to wear socks? I hate socks. That night, Sam stared into the bathroom mirror and decided he just didn't look gifted enough. Albert Einstein had a big mustache and wavy hair and deep-set dark eyes. Albert Einstein wore glasses. Albert Einstein issued theories. Sam found a pair of scissors and cut random hunks from his hair. When he was finished, he had a pleasing hedgehog sort of look. When Morley saw him, she tried to be calm. She said, what happened to your hair?

Sam said, I have a theory about that. He tried to stay awake as late as he could. He lay in his bed with his eyes pried open. And then first thing every morning, he peered at himself in the bathroom and stared in the mirror, looking to see if the lines under his eyes were darkening. That was the week he got glasses. He bought them at the drugstore after school.

Clear-framed like Albert Einstein. The weakest they had,.5 magnification. He took them to school the next day, putting them on with some ceremony when math began. My eyes are very weak, he told Mrs. Estabrooks. The eye doctor thinks I strained them when I was very young. He said I read too many big words before my eyes were ready for big words. I read too many big words before my eyes were ready for big words. My parents didn't know any better. He carried his comic collection downstairs and dumped them in the recycling bin. I don't read comics anymore, he said. When she went to bed, Morley found Dave sitting on the floor with a comic spread around him.

I'm saving the Uncle Scrooge's, he said. What, he added defensively. You can't throw out Uncle Scrooge. Things were getting better with Mrs. Astorbrooks. Sam was getting his homework done. There had been no more detentions. Nothing, however, had changed with the other kids in his class. He spent his recesses alone. He didn't play soccer or tag. Sometimes he stayed at his desk and read. When he went outside, he would walk rapidly around the schoolyard with a preoccupied frown as if he were going somewhere, weaving around the

playground like he was on an errand. A strange boy, said the gym teacher, Mr. Lovell, one morning. Lonely, said Mrs. Esterbrooks. By the end of the month, when the second workbook arrived, Sam still had 18 pages left in the first one. He read the letter to parents with a sinking heart. Do not let your child fall behind. It's imperative they keep up. The letter gave a list of strategies to motivate recalcitrant children. Sam looked up recalcitrant in the dictionary. He made himself a new schedule.

If he followed this schedule, he'd be caught up by the middle of the second week. He folded the schedule and hid it under his mattress. That Thursday, he didn't go to scouts. Too much homework, he said. I think I should speak to your teacher, said Morley. Don't do that, said Sam. Don't do that. Mrs. Esterbrooks told him he couldn't stay at his desk at recess. You have to go out with the others, she said.

She found him the next day sitting alone under a tree in the corner of the playing field. He had his shoes and socks off. I'm reading Charles Dykens, he told her. Ah, said Mrs. Eabrooks, which one? Hard times, said Sam. Ah, said Mrs. Estabrooks, nodding sympathetically, that's a good one. I've always liked Deikins. Sam nodded. You look tired, said Mrs. Estabrooks. Really, said Sam? Thank you. And then he said, would you mind if I took my shoes off in class?

I seem to work much better in bare feet. When I have shoes on, I seem to be recalcitrant. Then he yawned. Mark Portnoy and Bucky Zaharis cornered him the next day. Hey, Einstein, said Mark. Want to play tag? Sam kept walking. But Bucky Zaharis slapped him on the back hard. You're it, he said.

Sam didn't want to have anything to do with any of these kids. Sam didn't want to be noticed, but he had made himself so noticeable he was becoming an object of ridicule. He was too exhausted to care. He did care. He wanted to cry. He did cry. Murphy arrived at the beginning of the next week.

Murphy from Winnipeg. Small boy for his age who sealed his fate on his first morning in school by striking out three times in a row during a gym class baseball game with men on base each time. The next day at recess, Sam settled into his spot under his tree at the far end of the playground and began to take off his socks and shoes. And when he looked up, there was Murphy peering at him over his glasses. Sam said, what?

Murphy said, how come you're not playing tag? Sam said, because I'm gifted. Murphy said, how do you know? Sam said, because I was tested. Murphy said, I'm gifted too. Sam said, have you taken the test? Murphy said, no. And Sam said, then how do you know you're gifted? Murphy said, I can just feel it. Sam said, I have a test. Murphy came home with Sam that day after school. Sam had another test that came with a first workbook. It says it's for siblings, but I don't think it matters, said Sam. Murphy nodded. It costs 52 cents for a stamp to the state, said Sam. Murphy said, I know. Sam said, do you want to play on the computer?

Murphy came over again the next afternoon and again the next one, and then two afternoons the following week. And then Sam went to Murphy's house twice. Murphy was making it more and more difficult for Sam to keep up with his workbook. Every night he fell a few more pages behind. When he received the third workbook, he was barely a quarter of a way through the second. He was trying so hard, but he was falling further and further behind. He worried that maybe he was getting recalcitrant. When Murphy got his letter from the Reed Wright Educational Institute, he called Sam right away. Same as you, he said. Same letter, same score, same everything. We should talk, said Sam.

Bring the letter. They met in the schoolyard. It was five o'clock and the only other person around was a man hitting tennis balls against the school wall. They went around the corner to the tree where Sam was sitting the recess he met Murphy. He didn't sit there much anymore because usually at recess Sam and Murphy played or sometimes just walked around talking. When they got to the tree, Sam took out his letter and took Murphy's letter from him and then he reached into his pocket and got out a package of matches he had snuck from home. Murphy said, what are you doing? Sam lit a match and said, we're burning these. Murphy thought he was joking. His jaw dropped when Sam put the match to

the first letter. What are you doing, he said again. I know what I'm doing, said Sam, as the letter flared under the graying sky. He waved it away from his body, and then he let it go, fluttering orange and black bits onto the grass. It's better this way, said Sam, inhaling the sweet smoke in the late afternoon. It's better no one knows. We'll wait until we're older to be smart. Being gifted is too much work. Thank you very much. That was the story we call Gifted. We're going to take a short break right now, but we'll be back in a couple of minutes

with a sneak peek of next week's episode. Stick around. Well, that's it for this week, but we'll be back here next week with two more Dave and Morley stories, including this one, a story about the time Dave took Mary Turlington's Lexus to the car wash. What could possibly go wrong? His shirt was torn off. His pants were in tatters. He was half naked, beaten, and brosed. But he was exceptionally clean. That's next week.

You can hear the whole story next week on the podcast. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Theme music is by Danny Michelle. The show was recorded by Greg DeClew and produced by Louise Curtis and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now.