Nirvana Is Here. Aaron Hamburger

they could hear direct testimony from the claimant and the respondent. The decision surprised Ari since no one said anything openly to indicate that they agreed with him—perhaps they didn’t dare. The art history professor often called people out on Twitter. However, he noticed the two that had voted with Ari gave him sympathetic looks while Aimee was preoccupied with dropping her cane on the floor before getting out of her chair.

      The battle-lines were becoming clear: Aimee and another committee member leaning toward lowering the boom, Ari and the other two disposed toward leniency. Though Ari could tip the balance the other way with his vote if he so chose.

      A mistake of judgment made on a drunken night. A few fateful minutes. Bad enough to end their marriage. Should it also wreck a man’s life? Ari feared that he already knew the answer, yet could he trust himself to be impartial? Not just because of his relationship with M, but also that other reason, that horrible history Ari carries with him everywhere.

      ARI’S ALMOST AT THE END OF his run, and his cheeks are hot pink, burning from the cold air. There’s no one chasing him, though whenever he passes a boy or worse a pack of boys, about the age of fourteen, he feels a deep sense of panic. Sometimes they show up at his front door, carrying boxes of candy to raise money for their high school, or offering to shovel the snow out of his driveway for a few bucks. Every time they ring the bell or pound his door, he freezes, closes his eyes, and waits for them to go away.

      And while he’s waiting, he reminds himself that he’s not a teenager anymore. He’s safe.

      He recites his mantra over and over, hoping that if he repeats the words enough times, he’ll believe them.