"Like the tree falling in the forest," says Ira.

"Huh?"

"You know, it's the old question—if a tree falls in a forest and no one's there to hear it, does it really make a sound?"

Howie considers this. "Is it a pine forest, or oak?" "What's the difference?"

"Oak is a much denser wood; it's more likely to be heard by someone on the freeway next to the forest where no one is."

I know I'm in over my head here, because Howie's logic is ac­tually starting to make sense. "What does a tree in the forest have to do with the Schwa?" I ask Ira.

And the Schwa says, "I know."

We snapped our heads around so sharply, it's like whiplash. The Schwa was there, leaning up against my backyard fencel It's like we're all too dumbfounded to speak.

"I know what it has to do with me," he said. "I'm like that tree. If I stand in a room and no one sees me, it's like I was never there at all. Sometimes I even wonder if I was there myself."

"Wh-when did you get here?" I asked him.

"I got here before Howie and Ira did. I was hoping you'd notice. You didn't."

"So ... you heard everything?"

He nodded. I tried to run the whole conversation through my mind, to see if I had said anything bad about him. His feel­ings didn't appear hurt, though—like he was used to people talking behind his back in front of his face.

"I've wondered about it myself," he said. "You know—being observationally challenged ... functionally invisible." He paused for a second, then looked at Manny all strung up like a scare­crow. "You ought to find a seam in the plastic, and tape the M-80 there."

"Huh?" It took a few seconds for me to drag my mind back to the reason why we were all here. "OhI Right." I went to Manny, pulled off the duct tape, and felt around his bald head for the plastic seam. I retaped the fat firecracker on the back of his head, relieved not to have to look at the Schwa. Ira fiddled with his camera, and Howie finished up our protective barri­cade.