24
A Knight, Errant
I had a thousand dollars in my bank account. It felt strange just to think that,
let alone say it. A thousand dollars. Extra. That I did not immediately need. It
took weeks for me to come to terms with this fact, but as I did, I began to
experience the most powerful advantage of money: the ability to think of
things besides money.
My professors came into focus, suddenly and sharply; it was as if before
the grant I’d been looking at them through a blurred lens. My textbooks
began to make sense, and I found myself doing more than the required
reading.
It was in this state that I first heard the term bipolar disorder. I was sitting
in Psychology 101 when the professor read the symptoms aloud from the
overhead screen: depression, mania, paranoia, euphoria, delusions of
grandeur and persecution. I listened with a desperate interest.
This is my father, I wrote in my notes. He’s describing Dad.
A few minutes before the bell rang, a student asked what role mental
disorders might have played in separatist movements. “I’m thinking of
famous conflicts like Waco, Texas, or Ruby Ridge, Idaho,” he said.
Idaho isn’t famous for many things, so I figured I’d have heard of
whatever “Ruby Ridge” was. He’d said it was a conflict. I searched my
memory, trying to recall if I’d ever heard the words. There was something
familiar in them. Then images appeared in my mind, weak and distorted, as if
the transmission were being disrupted at the source. I closed my eyes and the
scene became vivid. I was in our house, crouching behind the birch wood
cabinets. Mother was kneeling next to me, her breath slow and tired. She
licked her lips and said she was thirsty, then before I could stop her she stood
and reached for the tap. I felt the tremor of gunfire and heard myself shout.
There was a thud as something heavy fell to the floor. I moved her arm aside
and gathered up the baby.