Post by cooper anderson on Feb 18, 2012 2:45:07 GMT -6
COOPER BERNARD ANDERSON ?!,
everybody’s got something to hide except for me and my monkey
twenty-five; coop; art teacher; hilarious
* * * * * * * * * *
everybody’s got something to hide except for me and my monkey
twenty-five; coop; art teacher; hilarious
* * * * * * * * * *
His parents are busy with whatever it is they seem to do all the time - drawing on papers and talking and yelling at the phone and sometimes inviting friends over and laughing loudly at jokes he doesn't understand, and Cooper can never really keep track of those two - when the little boy's insatiable curiosity takes over. No one is there to grab his hand and ask him what he's doing when he slips out of his crib (which he's really too big for anyway, and he's been begging for a big boy bed) and jumps for the handle of the nursery door. After four tries, it's open, and he's running on his still unsteady, new legs.
He lives in a ginormous house, and just when he thinks he's found it all, he uncovers a new room or a new closet or a new mystery. Maybe some other boys would be scared by this, but he's Cooper, the brave knight! And the brave knight notices a door that he can't remember seeing before - or maybe he's only just now noticing - left wide open. Giggling with excitement, he hurries towards the doorway without hesitation.
And there it is. There are a hundred its in this room, but Cooper only cares about one as his eyes settle on it. It's humongous and black and... beautiful. He approaches it cautiously, reverently, standing on his tip toes and trying to inspect it. His hands grasp an edge and there's a... Well, he doesn't have a word for it. It's a sound, but it's so much more than a sound. He squeaks in surprise and delight, reaching to make the noise again. What is it? Where is that coming from?
There's a bench and, after a moment of staring, he climbs on top of the seat with an open mouth. He blinks at the long line of black and white keys, and pokes one. That's what made it. He giggles and starts poking the keys one at a time, clapping at what he can do. Where has this toy been all his life?! It's the best toy in the whole house.
A thought drifts in the back of Cooper's mind. He's young, much too young to have the words to voice it or even properly think it. But it's there: this is what he's been missing in his young life. This... sound.
His mom will come in later and teach him the word "music."
SEVEN YEARS
"How are you doing today, Mr. Anderson?"
Cooper puts on a very serious face, leaning over to arrange sheet music on the piano and settling into what he hopes is a very gentlemanly pose on the bench. He likes it when Ellie, his piano teacher, calls him Mr. Anderson. It makes him feel important. "I'm good. How are you?"
"I'm doing very well, thank you. What are we working on today?"
"Well... I wanted to do some Mozart," Cooper begins, making his face with the squinty eyes that said he was still talking. "But..." He frowns.
"But what? I thought Mozart's your favorite."
Cooper nods. "He is." He really isn't. Coop likes Mozart, but he likes it much better when they play fun music. But he's not allowed to play fun music, so he settles for Mozart. "But, uhm... Yesterday, my mommy told me that I'm going to get a little brother or sister."
Ellie smiles, putting a hand on his shoulder. "That's great, Cooper!" She knows to then wait until he tells her why this is important.
"Yeah, I'm excited. And I want to write him a song."
"You want to write your new brother a song?"
Cooper nods, looking up at Ellie expectantly. He always has music inside of him, and his parents are buying all these things for the new baby to put in the nursery, and he wants to get something for his brother too. Why not write down some of the music in his head, and find some new music just for his new brother?
Ellie smiles. "I suppose we could do that... But I thought you said you didn't know if the baby is a girl or a boy."
Cooper shrugs. "Mommy doesn't know, but I think it's going to be a boy."
His teacher laughs, reaching over and thumbing through his sheet music. "Well, let's do some scales first, and work on the sonata. And then we can talk about writing a song."
TEN YEARS
Cooper's a young boy, and he likes sports and wrestling with his friends, and watching football with his dad, and running after girls and telling them he has cooties. But there's always been a special place in his heart for music. His father tolerated piano and guitar lessons, which his mother supported completely. But now it is time to pick an instrument for middle school band and his father is, predictably, not present.
The band room is magnificent. More amazing than Cooper could have hoped. Of course, it's a prep school, with money from benefactors decorating the walls and the equipment. Coop's mom stops, clutching Blaine's hand, to talk to the instructor, while Cooper continues on, watching with wide eyes the older students presenting the variety of instruments. He already has an idea of what he wants, after perusing picture after picture in his books of music, but it's another to see them all in person.
He stops when he sees the black and silver keys, the eighth grader grinning at the peering kids, showing them the reeds and the bell and the case and the music they could play. Cooper grins and just watches. He doesn't really need the whole lecture. He knows. "Mom!" he calls, not able to tear his eyes off the instrument. An arm falls on his shoulder almost immediately, and a much smaller hand slips into his own. He looks down and grins widely at Blaine before looking up at his mother. "There you are!"
"Yes, here I am. So, what do you think?"
Cooper nods towards the clarinet.
His mother pauses, blinking. "Oh. You want... that one? The clarinet?"
"Yes," he says with absolute certainty.
She frowns vaguely, glancing around at all the much more exciting displays - the loud, brassy instruments, the crashing, clanging percussion. "Are you sure, dear? There are so many others... I mean, look at the trumpet-"
"I want the clarinet," he insists. He won't budge. The boy has made up his mind, and once Cooper makes up his mind, a hurricane couldn't move him. It was the same way when he decided he wanted the Batman bedsheets (and poster and pajamas and wallpaper).
She sighs, gazing at the clarinet. In her eyes, there is no issue. But she wonders what her husband will say when Coop comes home with something so small and meek. When he's one of the few boys (if the only one) among the undoubtedly many girls in his section at recitals. When he has to tell his coworkers that, yes, that was indeed his boy playing the clarinet. But then she looks down at her beaming, now nearly hopping from excitement son, and she can't say no.
"Alright, let's go to the music store."
"YES! THANK YOU, MOM!" Cooper yells, scooping his little brother up into a great big hug and carrying him as they go out. "Did you hear that, Blainers? I'm going to play clarinet! C'mon. Say 'clarinet.' Yes, clarinet in the band."
FOURTEEN YEARS
The door to the band director's office clicked shut as Coop took a deep breath and walked out of the music building. He didn't have to go in person, but it felt like the right thing to do. But now, what does he have? For years, his life revolved around music - hanging around the band room with his friends, extra practices after school, volunteering to clean the practice rooms or fix the broken stands. Now, he has none of that. Sure, there's choir, but the choir program isn't nearly as impressive as the rest of the music department. And it doesn't replace the sick feeling in his stomach and the threat of tears behind his eyes.
But there is no way Cooper is going home, so he walks down the length of the campus until he finds himself at the art building. He remembers his girlfriend - because he's fourteen and hormonal, of course he has a girlfriend - and he decides to see if she wants to go shopping or whatever it is girls do. Coop would rather watch her try on scarves than go home to his mother nagging him about schoolwork and his father giving him that constant silent - or sometimes not-so-silent - look of disapproval.
"Hey, whatchya doin'?" Cooper asks as he discovers his girlfriend in one of the art rooms with a canvas in front of her.
She smiles. "Painting a portrait for Studio Art." Putting her brush down for a second, she gazes up at him. Coop is smiling, but they've known each other since they were little kids, so she understands what is a real smile and what's a mask. But she also knows better than to simply ask him what's wrong. A light sparks in her eyes as the idea comes to her.
"What?" Coop questions as he sits next to her - he knows that look.
"Nothing... Hey, Coop, have you ever tried painting? Like, really painting, not just finger painting or doodling in art class," she asks, her smile growing wider.
Cooper shrugs. "Not really."
She pushes her paintbrush into his hand. "Wanna try?"
He tries to protest, but she's already pulling him closer to the easel and practically painting for him. Coop isn't sure why she's so insistent, but what's the harm in trying? He looks down at the array of colors, chooses a deep red and he has no idea what he's doing, but he just starts... painting.
Somehow, the motion of the brush against the canvas - random brushstrokes that Cooper is sure don't look like any sort of art - brings up everything. The pressure on him to be everything his father wants or for some reason needs him to be. That his dad made him quit the music that he loved because he thinks that will improve his grades. The worry already to get into a good school - aka, Harvard - and have a good career - aka, a lawyer. The feeling that his life isn't his own life anymore. It all rushes through him and pours itself onto the canvas. Cooper doesn't even notice that twenty minutes have gone by, and his girlfriend is just staring at him and the now not-blank canvas.
It's the head of something vaguely human, vaguely animal. It's mostly the same dark red, with some black and splashes of color. There isn't much technique but she understands now. Coop expressed himself with paint in those twenty minutes than he ever had with words since she'd known him.
"Coop... This is good. Do you draw ever?" his girlfriend asks, watching him with a wondering smile.
"Hm? Oh, uh... sometimes? I dunno, I doodle and stuff."
She grins at him. "You should come hang out here more often."
And Cooper does. He starts coming to the art room regularly, almost everyday. He's banned from music, but it's much harder to keep him from art, especially when his grades go up and his father has nothing to complain about. Coop would never tell him this, but he thinks the art actually helps with his grades - he can attack his work more creatively, find other ways of memorizing that work much better than charts and diagrams.
SIXTEEN YEARS
It's another Friday night, and Cooper's parents are, as they often are, out to dinner or at a party or something rich and adult like that. As usually happens at least once a week, Coop is left to watch over Blaine for the evening. But he's a teenage boy, and he figures his eight-year-old brother can watch himself for a couple hours, and there's a girl waiting outside and his hormones are taking over his brain.
He has a brilliant idea.
"Hey, Blainers," Coop calls with a grin, leaving a giggling girl behind him as he kneels down in front of his brother, who is curled up on the couch. "You can take care of yourself for a few hours right? Right. I'm gonna be in the basement with Lizzy for a bit. Okay, buddy? Don't tell Mom and Dad she was here, it's going to be our little secret," he ends in a whisper, trying to give his brother a very convincing, puppy dog face. His little brother is no idiot, but Coop likes to think he still has some sway, being his coolawesomebigbro and all. "I'll take you out for ice cream tomorrow," he adds, ruffling Blaine's hair. "Be good, B."
Lizzy smiles over at Blaine, giving him a wave, before Cooper grabs her hand and starts tugging her downstairs eagerly, grinning over at her. Yeah, this is an amazing idea. Best idea he's ever had, really.
SEVENTEEN YEARS
The mail leaves his mother's hands, she yawns and wanders out of the kitchen, and Coop leaps up from the breakfast table, attacking the pile of envelopes. Bills, bills, something addressed to his mother, bills, advertisement - ah! Mr. Cooper Anderson.
A nervous grin spreads across Coop's face, but before he can rip open the envelope, he hears footsteps, and he shoves the letter in his pants and jumps back to the breakfast table, going back to shoveling cereal into his mouth.
"Slow down, son, you look like a slob," his father grumbles as he shuffles in, picking up the coffee that was already made for him as he peered at the pile of mail.
Coop swallows. "Sorry, sir," he mumbles, spooning up a smaller, slower bite of corn flakes.
Silence falls back down in the kitchen, Cooper's father never a talkative sort in the morning. Just the sound of shuffling papers, sips of coffee, and the slurp of cereal.
The shuffling stops. Coop can feel his father's gaze on him. "There's a letter from Harvard in here. For you."
Cooper blinks, drops his spoon, stands up and walks over to his dad. He reaches for the letter with shaking hands. His father watches him with bright, eager eyes, though the rest of his body stays composed. Coop swallows, cuts through the envelope. Unfolds the letter. Takes a deep breath and reads it.
"I'm in," he breathes.
"They accepted you?"
Coop nods, unable to form more words.
"Of course they did! You're an Anderson!" Coop doesn't think he's ever seen his father this happy. The man grabs him and pulls him into a strong, quick hug. "We'll make a lawyer out of you yet."
Cooper smiles, still clutching the letter. "Yeah... I'm gonna go... tell Blaine..." he says, and leaves the kitchen. He goes upstairs, but he bypasses Blaine's room, heading straight for his own, where he pulls the other letter out of his waistband.
Maybe they didn't want him. Maybe he's worried for absolutely nothing. Maybe he really isn't that good, and he's only wasted his time. What does he want anyway? He's almost scared of what the letter will say. Maybe he shouldn't...
You wouldn't be scared if this wasn't what you wanted.
Coop rips open the envelope, nearly dropping it twice with his shaking grasp. He tries to breathe, tries to focus his eyes so he can read the words.
We are very interested... come by to see some of your artwork... next show in a month.
Despite everything, Cooper is grinning. There is a gallery interested in his art. His work. They might want to show some of it. They might even sell some of it. It's a long shot, but he's closer than he's ever been to his dream. The dream he found when he realized how much art meant to him. Since art went from doodling in his textbooks to becoming the only way to express himself.
But he's also been accepted to study pre-law. At Harvard. His father's alma mater. The place he needs to go in order to make his dad happy.
He has a big decision. But he feels as though the decision is already made for him.
NINETEEN YEARS
Christmas. In some ways, Coop's favorite holiday, if only because of his friends. His family always seems to bring out the cynic in him. Not because of fighting or malice. Actually, it's how nice and civil everyone is. Christmas is the most fake holiday in the Anderson household. This is the time of year when his parents get away with being more absent and more plastic and more of an imitation of parents than they ever were. Sure, there's been a couple good holiday seasons, but the bad greatly outweighs the good.
Yet, Christmas is still beautiful, in its own right. It simply makes Cooper realize who is true family and friends are.
"Hey, Blainers," he greets as he slips into his little brother's room, collapsing onto Blaine's bed as his brother is hunched over a textbook on his desk. "What is that? Homework during break?"
The eleven-year-old boy sighs. "Yeah, it sucks. How're you doing in school?"
Cooper shrugs and grins. "Oh, everything's great! I love it. I dropped out. What's up with you?"
Blaine stares at him. "Wait.. what? When?"
"Few weeks ago. I didn't really drop out, but I transferred," Coop responds nonchalantly, sitting up. His dad was going to see it as dropping out.
"Transferred to where?"
Coop grins. "Ohio State. Go Buckeyes!" Why in the world would anyone transfer from Harvard to Ohio State? Cooper has several reasons, but mainly, he wants to study art. He could study art at Harvard, but at the risk of getting disowned by his parents, and there is no way he could pay for a school like Harvard by himself. But Ohio State accepted him with a pretty decent scholarship - Cooper suspected they didn't often get to steal a student from Harvard - and he's planning on getting a job to make this all work. It's going to be a rough, considering his parents pay for everything, but he has to do this.
"Dad's going to kill you when he finds out."
Of course he's going to find out. Cooper is surprised he's managed to keep it from his parents for as long as he has, especially considering his dad as friends at the school. Part of him worries they already know, and they're planning something behind their back. But he's learned to be paranoid with his parents. "Yeah, buddy, I know. I'm just trying to hold out until after Christmas."
A few moments after this remark, Cooper's smile falters slightly, and he gives Blaine a more serious look. "This might be the last one. You know... with all of us." His dad isn't going to take this news very well. In all likelihood, Coop will get disowned in some manner. Even if he isn't, he doesn't think he'll want to come home, even to see Blaine. His visit would only turn into a battle about his faults and his mistakes, and he can't ruin Christmas even more than his parents already have.
But he will have one last, somewhat good Christmas at home.
TWENTY-ONE YEARS
"Who is this girl? Cooper! Talk to me! Who is she!"
Coop frowns as he throws clothes into drawers and books onto shelves, digging through piles of papers and cups once full of coffee that he really needed to throw away. "Can we talk about this later?"
"You always say that!" the girl yells at him, crossing her arms as she steps inbetween him and the door to their apartment. "Why can't we talk about this right now?"
With a sigh, Coop finally produces his keys from a pile of trash and stuffs them in his pocket. "Because I'm going to be late," he explains, glancing at his watch. He couldn't do that to Blaine. He promised.
"Late for what?" she almost growls with narrow eyes. "Meeting with this stupid girl?"
"She's an old friend, Allie," he says as calmly as he possibly can while pushing past her into the hallway of the building.
"So you are going to see her?" she accuses as she follows Cooper out of the apartment.
"I never said that."
"Why do you think I'm so stupid? I know what's going on, Coop!"
He groans and shuts his eyes, leaning against the wall as he tries to contain his anger and frustration. Why does this always happen to him? Can he never have one relationship without yelling matches and jealous accusations? Why is his relationship status permanently set at "it's complicated"?
"No, you don't know what's going on! You're so fucking possessive! You never listen. I told you, that girl is just an old friend who texted me the other day. And I told you yesterday where I'm going," he finally explodes, unable to contain emotions that have been boiling for weeks.
She glares at him through her confusion, waiting for Cooper to finish.
"My little brother's eighth grade promotion?" he offers in a deeply bitter tone. Sure, he's only graduating from middle school, but there is a whole ceremony at the school for him, and supposedly Blaine is getting awards, and Blaine managed to make it to his college graduation, and how is it that his little brother is so much more responsible than he is?
"Whatever," she groans, rolling her eyes and stomping past him and out the door. Part of Coop wants to run after her, but the promotion is starting right now, and it's going to take at least twenty minutes to get there, and he really hopes that, at the very least, their parents are there for Blaine. Because he deserves someone. Probably someone not nearly as irresponsible as his older brother.
TWENTY-THREE YEARS
For the past year, Cooper has been worried about his brother. He'd known, when Blaine came out to him, that his little brother would have a harder road to travel. But he didn't quite imagine the toll Blaine's ninth grade year would have on him. He agreed to keep it secret from their parents - of course he agreed to that, he knows those two, and he isn't exactly on speaking terms with them anyway - but he sees that his brother isn't quite right, and he doesn't know what to do. He talks to him, he tells him to have courage, he sends him pictures of art he thinks he'll like (which is often art created by the kids at the preschool where he teaches). But he feels like there isn't much he can do.
It's his school's fall break, and Cooper is visiting some friends in New York, where he can for once focus on his own art and bounce ideas off other artists. He loves his job, but he loves feeling like an actual artist too, if only for a few days, and he surrounds himself with art and friendship and manages to forget most of his problems. And when he gets a text from Blaine telling him he has a date to Sadie Hawkins, he starts to think that everything will be okay.
He's sitting in the apartment with friends and friends of friends when he gets the phone call. Casually drawing in a sketchbook, Cooper half pays attention as everyone else chatters and drinks and some indie band plays in the background. In the midst of a debate - something about '80s punk rock and Mozart's operas - Coop feels his phone vibrate. He peers at it casually, but confusion floods his face when he sees MOM on the screen. She never calls. He doesn't think he's talked to her in months, maybe a year. The nagging worry starts then, and he has no choice but to answer.
"Mom? What's goi - wh- Mom, slow down, I can't... Wait, what? What do you mean, did I know? Know what?"
Giggles and sneers die away, the room fading into quiet as Coop's friends peer at him, shushing each other and whispering. The woman sitting next to him - who's sometimes his girlfriend, and sometimes just his friend, and at the moment seems to feel emotionally invested enough to choose the former - furrows her brow and watches him carefully.
"Mom, start over. Say that again." Cooper is standing up now, his eyes wide, his voice starting to shake. His friends have never seen him this way - Cooper Anderson, always so composed, always smooth and cool, with the right thing to say at the right time and the right punchline to every joke. Calm, cool, collected Cooper. The proper Anderson that buries his emotions and acts fun and witty to hide the deeper stuff. His friends have never seen him lose control.
"Where are you right now? Can you - can he - Put him on the phone. Mom... No, I just... Mom... put him on the phone mom just put him on the fucking phone right now just... now please jesus mom--"
The group frowns, looking around at each other. They want to move, to do something, to say something, but they don't know what's going on, and they wouldn't have anything good to say even if they did.
Coop's voice is frantic and harsh, liking he's beating it back with a bat, trying not to yell at his own mother, but growing ever frustrated. And then it softens. "Blaine, hey - No, it's okay. You don't have to talk. Listen, Blaine, I'm gonna be there soon, alright? No, no - stop it. I'll be there, buddy, okay? I'll be there." Cooper sighs. There's a pause, more harsh whispers.
"Mom, we will argue about this later, I'm coming home," he nearly yells, and then he hangs up. No one dares to say anything until Coop seems to remember everyone that's there.
"I need to... I need to go," he mumbles.
"Go? Go where?" his sometimes girlfriend pipes up with a soft, soothing voice.
"Ohio. Westerville. Home My brother... I... I-" He wants to go back right now, but he doesn't have the money to fly back, and he drove to New York. "I'll just drive..." He's wandering around the apartment now, stuffing his wallet and his keys in his pockets, grabbing anything vaguely important that he may have left somewhere. If he's forgetting anything, he can get it later. He doesn't know what to do in this situation, but he has to go. Everyone's watching him with worried expressions, and he doesn't really think to respond until he's practically out the door. "My brother's in the --" He can't say it. He just can't.
"Wait, are you just leaving, right now? Going back to Ohio?" another friend asks.
He nods, and he opens the door, and he shuts it behind him. He's shaking, and he wishes he could teleport himself right to Blaine side, because he can't even imagine what his brother is going through at the moment. But it's nine hours to Ohio, and he'll have manage. He'll get some coffee on the way.
Somehow, even with the stench of you failed your own brother permeating through his car, he manages not to cry the whole way there. He's listless, focusing on the constant task of not crashing and not breaking traffic laws, and hoping that his shitty car doesn't fall apart on the way there. It keeps him from breaking down completely until he gets to the hospital.
TWENTY-FOUR
Cooper can't ever remember having butterflies in his stomach. At least, not to this degree. And definitely not in this obvious way. Maybe, in secret ways, he felt nerves the day he went off to college and lived by himself for the first time, or when he realized he was finally going to defy his father and live his own life, or his first day as a teacher. But never like this.
Of course, he also never showed in a gallery before. Sure, he's had some very small showings in not-really-proper-galleries, he's sold some art on the street when he got desperate during college, but this is a somewhat sort of important gallery in Los Angeles. What if something goes wrong? What if nobody likes his art? What if he comes off as a total dumbass? They're trains of thought he can't allow himself to follow, and he tries to swallow down the butterflies - slowly morphing into atlas moths - with a gulp of black coffee as he stares at the display of socks strewn across the room.
He's staying with some friends in Los Angeles for a few weeks this summer in his attempt at being more than just an elementary art school teacher. Whatever that means. But today is the big day, and Coop has to keep reminding himself what he's been working for.
The artist wants to look good for the showing, but he doesn't own very many clothes. He has one semi-suit-looking-thing, so he decides to wear that. But wearing a suit means black socks. The problem with black socks? No two ever match up. No matter how careful you are with the laundry, you always end up with a hundred different black socks, no two exactly alike. Can Cooper show up to the gallery wearing socks that aren't quite the same shade of black or the same pattern?
Coop groans to himself, throwing away the already empty cup of coffee as he attacks the groups of socks. These two? No, different stripes. Maybe... this one... and that one? Nope, not the same black. What about that one over there? Not even the same size! Cooper sighs, collapsing onto his bed. This is ridiculous.
He is normally not so obsessive and manic. But this is a big deal. This could be confirmation that he's actually kind of good. As much as Cooper acts confident and insists as long as he knows he's good, that's all that matters, he's still had this dream in his head of hundreds (or thousands or, God, millions) of people seeing his art and loving it. The pressure drives him crazy, and he leaves the bedroom unsatisfied with two socks the same shade of matte black but not quite the same size. Cooper really has no idea what he's doing, and he wishes he had someone to call and get advice from, or at least someone to tell him it will be okay, but he doesn't want to bother anyone. All he can do is gulp down a few more cups of coffee and grin and bear it.
TWENTY-FIVE
For the past year, Coop has been working as an art teacher in Ohio. Somehow, he managed to get a job at a pretty good middle school, but he's not sure he likes teaching the older crowd, especially in middle schools where drama is at its height. He prefers introducing art to the innocent, adorable youth that doesn't tell him to go fuck himself. And he also doesn't have many friends in this part of Ohio, and at the moment he doesn't like being so far away from Blaine. The texts from his brother seem to be getting more and more cryptic, and Coop senses he's needed, whether Blaine will admit it or not. So, he gave his notice towards the end of the last school year.
Cooper stuffs as many of his possessions as he can in the back of the beat-up car he bought after he sold the car his parents gave him before he told them about dropping out of college. That seemed so long ago, like he was a different person back then. Though, Cooper knows that isn't really true. He's just as immature, disorganized, and stubborn as he always was. Incredibly inappropriate when he's not at school. At the very least he has a job, but the rest of his life is a thinly veiled mess. He still can't keep his love life in order - his list of crazy ex-girlfriends now rivals Ramona Flowers'. He doesn't really know where he's going. He can't fix everyone's problems, as much as he wishes he could.
It's been years, but it's time for Coop to come back to Westerville, back to teaching K-5 and to bugging his brother as much as he possibly can. Mark Twain Elementary recently lost an art teacher, who simply left the state without much notice (Cooper's afraid to ask questions about that one), and he was more than happy to take the job once he heard about it. Now he just needs to decide how he's going to surprise Blaine.
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