Boj was really Tret's only friend. Tret did not much care for Boj. Tret liked to keep Boj close to him, so that he could make Boj feel excluded. Boj always came when Tret called, except for those rare occassions when Golda flatly refused to let him get hurt again.
"He turns you around, twists you in the wind and sets you outside the circle when he pleases," Golda would tell Boj, mixing her metaphors. "You are worth ten of him. Stop trying to save him. Stop it. Just stop it."
Boj grinned shyly and ducked his head at her chiding. He had thought he could not love her more the second day than he did the first time he saw her but Boj was wrong. He loved her more every time she spoke.
"Boj is my fall back position," Tret often bragged. "If nothing else is happening for me, I call Boj."
Tret grew to be the ultimate user.
Tret saw himself but darkly, as if through a thick, colored glass. His leering smile soothed through the dark glass into a pleasant smile. Tret never held a regular mirror to his soul.He preferred the smoothing effect of darkness. In the half-twilight of his heart Tret could see himself as he wanted others to see him.
"People just like me," he often told himself. "The suckers."
"I can make good use of a good heart," he added, but he did not mean his own. Tret never worked on himself, not inside. He was full grown at seven, when he climbed out from between the washer/dryer in his family utility room, having met God. He never questioned himself. He often offered suggestions to God after that day.
God always listened.
Tret became the alpha manipulator.
He was a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways. He could never remember who he was or what he believed. He believed what he believed at the moment. He was the person he talked to just then, the mirror image of the need of the person he needed.
The most dangerous part of Tret's lying nature was exposed whenever he found himself in conflict with words from his own mouth, echoed at him by two witnesses, different persons who had him in his falsehoods. This happened to him fairly often for he was the worst kind of liar; facile but wordy. He could never stop talking. Often by the time he wound down he had contradicted the earlier part of his speech in the later part of his speech.
Tret was the kind of man who believed he was in control whenever he was talking. He needed control, above all, so he seldom stopped talking. Tret was not a fool, for a fool is worthless. Tret was just a little man, full of himself, burdened with his own mouth, never fully engaged intellectually, never searching the deep things of his heart, even to see if there were deeps to be found in him.
Tret dithered and called his dithering serendipitous.
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