Person? No. Object? No. Place? No. Feeling? No.
The left corner of my mouth dropped off to the side, morphed my pursed lips into a crooked curve, and scrunched my chin to dot it. A question mark. Big eyes ran from the empty lines of my white paper, searching faces to find solice in someone else's question-mark-lips. I thought Mr. Heidkamp was kidding.The possibilities seemed endless.
Ring. Ring. Two minutes gone. Is your word silence? No.
I spent two minutes asking questions but worked my way no closer to a correct guess. All I was really sure of was that the word was something. It was not Nothing.
Categorization acted as the premise of the mode of communication that we experimented with in class today. It was my immediate instinct to find categories that the word I was searching for could be placed in. The problem was that the word - cold (the sickness) - did not really, truly, 100% fall in any of the basic categories that came to mind. Emma #2 glanced at her hands tentatively, rocked in her chair - little left, little right. She had no "Sort Of" hand. She couldn't explain the answers that she was giving. I was sent on a wild goose chase of obscurities.
For just two minutes, we lived the life of Thomas Schell. We spent two minutes communicating and got no where. In the novel, Extermely Loud and Incredibly Close, Thomas lives life explanationless. He has been forced into a life that leaves him unable to explain all of the "Sort Of." It seems that because he is unable to convey thourough explanations, those around him can never really know him. "I've tried in my own way to explain myself, but when I think of your mother's life story, I know that I haven't explained a thing, she and I are no different, I've been writing Nothing, too" (132).
It's strange. Thomas comes to the conclusion that he writes Nothing. The one thing that I was sure of at the end of our "game" was that the word I was searching for was Not Nothing.