The calls would come sporadically to AJ Nola from one friend here, another there, about his magnolia stalk-thin youngest son, Aaron. They tended to have the same comic theme, too. To those that didn’t know, it might have appeared as if Aaron was going through some strange gyration in a parking lot, or at a bus stop, or waiting in line at a restaurant. AJ would laugh. He knew. He saw those same “strange gyrations” almost every night for about 20 minutes from Aaron throughout the Nola house, whether it was in the kitchen, or the den, in front of the TV, but mostly glaring at his bedroom mirror before he went to bed.