If You Just Hold Your Breath

wiping clean the ketchup bottle labels

Preston Price was a genius.

Preston Price was also an idiot.

What most people failed to realize was that Preston Price was a lot of things.

He liked to read Agatha Christie novels and studied German enough to become fluent, even though he’d taken Spanish in school. He got all kinds of grades: As, Bs, Cs, even an F in World Religions, mostly because it was taught by one of those Catholics that make other Catholics cringe. His report card had said that he was antagonistic and disrespectful.

When his parents confronted him, he’d said it was only because Mrs. Fisher should’ve identified as an egotistical bigot instead of a Catholic Christian. Preston Price knew perfectly respectable Catholics, and Mrs. Fisher was not one of them.

He liked watching the Chronicles of Narnia movies, but he liked black and white Sherlock Holmes films just as much. He listened to country music and folk music and even a little bit of trashy pop once in a while just because. He didn’t have a wallet, preferring to keep everything in his pockets together with a rubber band. He preferred strawberry gum to any other kind, and was allergic to shellfish. He swam faster than anyone on the swim team, even though he wasn’t on it.

Preston Price was a human being, and took a while for anyone to see it.