by TJ Klune
Gustavo lived in Oregon.
Gustavo owned many buildings in Oregon.
Josiah had been to Oregon.
Oregon had trees. In fact, Oregon had a lot of trees. In fact, Oregon might have the most trees of anywhere ever, per Josy’s approximation. Granted, he wasn’t a tree expert, but he did have eyes and knew trees when he saw them.
Abby, Oregon, the quintessential small town in the middle of a forest.
With trees.
“Holy crap,” Josy breathed. “I think I’ve just found a way to save our movie.”
Quincy squinted at him. “I’m not sure it needs to be saved—”
But Josiah barely heard him. He was already pulling out his phone. He highlighted a name on the screen and pressed it against his ear. The person on the other end barely had time to speak before he exclaimed, “I have the best news you’ll ever hear! We’re coming to Oregon to make a movie about… okay, I don’t really quite understand what it’s about, but it’s going to be amazing and rad and I need you to—sorry? Uh, this is Josy. Josiah Erickson? Isn’t this Casey? I’m trying to reach Gustavo in… oh. Oh crap. Sorry. My bad. I didn’t mean to yell in your ear. I must have called the wrong—who is this? Why do I have your number in my phone? Greg? I don’t know any Greg. Huh. That’s really—oh. Greg. Dude, it’s been forever! Man, you used to sell me the best weed, and then you just disappeared. How you been? That’s—oh. I’m so sorry to hear that. Uh-huh. That right? Three whole years in jail? That’s rough. Yeah. What’s that? Yes, I’ve heard about our lord and savior Jesus Christ. I don’t know what that has to do with—Greg. Greg. Stop. Greg. Look, dude. I’m glad you found Jesus, man, but I still smoke out, so. I really don’t think I’m going to hell because of—right. Uh-huh. Well, it’s been great catching up with you, but—Greg. Greg. What the hell. Oh no, I’m about to go through a tunnel. It’s… breaking… up.” He hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket. He looked up to find Quincy gaping at him. “My bad, dude. What were we talking about?”
Chapter 8
A brief interlude before becoming a movie star.
“NO.”
“Gustavo.”
“No.”
“Gustavo.”
“No.”
“Gustavo.”
“Did you find out where Michael Bay lives yet?” he demanded. “I tried to do it myself, but the Internet is useless and has failed me.”
“Nah, man. It’s not as easy as you think.”
“You are an actor. Idiot people keep giving Michael Bay money to make tragic mistakes in Hollywood. How is this so difficult?”
“Gustavo,” Josy said slowly. “Just because I’m an actor doesn’t mean I know every other actor. That’s not how it works.”
Silence. Then, “It’s not?”
“No. And I can’t audition for one of his movies because you told me if I did, you would never speak to me again.”
“Oh. Well, then. That’s disappointing. What’s the point of you, then?”
“You’re a storm cloud. I’m sunshine. I heat you up and make you leak rain.”
Josy could picture the scowl on Gustavo’s face when he said, “That’s not how weather works. The public school system has failed you.”
“Casey told me you—”
“Casey is often stoned out of his mind and thinks everyone should love everyone else. Margo Montana tried to tell him hugs not drugs, and five minutes later they were hugging and smoking a doobie. He knows how I feel about alliterative librarians!”
“Everyone knows. Gustavo.”
“No.”
“Please?”
Gustavo sighed. “You’re going to come anyway, aren’t you.”
“Yeah, man. Pretty much.”
“Fine. Whatever. Do what you want. I don’t care. You can’t stay at my house. I have everything where I like it, and your feet smell terrible.”
“This is so awesome!”
“I’m hanging up now. Don’t call me again. Until next Tuesday. And congratulations. I don’t know if you deserved it, but here we are.”
Gustavo hung up on him.
Josy was the happiest he’d ever been.
“AND I quit!” Josy bellowed.
“I’ll make sure you never work in this town again!” Frank screamed back at him. “At any Applebee’s that isn’t franchise-owned!”
“Whatever! I’m going to be famous! One day I’m going to come back here and you’re going to beg for my autograph. And I’ll give it to you, because I will never forget where I came from and I’m always going to be appreciative of my fans!”
“We’ll see about that!”
“I guess we will! Oh, and I’m actually not quitting for another few weeks. I just wanted to give you notice in case you needed to hire someone in my place.”
“Thank you. That’s big of you. Can you check on table sixteen? Jasmine took her break, and I think they need refills.”
“On it. Let me drop off these mozzarella sticks first and I’ll get it.”
Frank sneered at him. “Damn right you will.” He turned and stalked away.
Josy really fucking hated that guy.
THE PHONE rang in his ear. He wasn’t surprised when it went to voice mail. He was happy the phone number was the same, at least.
He waited for the beep. “Hey, uh. Mom and Dad. It’s me. Josiah. Long time no talk! I hope everything is going well for you. I just… I just wanted to say that it’s happening. Um. It’s finally happening. I got a movie role! And it’s not even in the background or anything. I’m one of the main characters. I get lines! Like, lots of lines. So. I just wanted you to hear it from me so you wouldn’t be surprised if paparazzi appeared on your doorstep someday, asking questions about me. Ha ha, that was a joke. It—that probably won’t happen. But this is a big deal for me. And I know you said that you didn’t think it would ever happen and that I was wasting time and money on all this or whatever, but I did it. Okay? I did it. And no one can ever take that away from me. Just—my number hasn’t changed, if you ever want to call. So. I guess… I’ll talk to you later. But hey! Maybe one day you’ll see me on the cover of a magazine and you can tell everyone that it’s me. Your son. Anyway. That’s it! So. Bye.”
“WE’RE EXCITED,” Casey said over Skype. “I can’t believe you’re going to come here and stay here. Man, it’s going to be like old times.” He grinned. “And maybe you won’t ever want to leave. You could stay at Baked-Inn & Eggs, and we can smoke together like we used to and maybe eat pie. Lottie makes this really good rhubarb that tastes amazing when you’re stoned. Not so much sober, but don’t tell her that. Gus told her because he doesn’t know how to not say what he’s thinking, and she didn’t bring him lunch for a week.” He shook his head fondly. “You should have seen the look on his face when he went to apologize. It was far-out. Like, totally epic. Holy crap, I love him so much. I’m so happy. Goddamn, I need to hug someone. You need to get here fast so I can hug you!”
Josy liked that idea quite a bit.
“IT’S NOT a lot,” Starla said, frowning down at the contract on her desk. “But it’s still more than you’ve ever made before. And there’s a clause in here about back-end stuff in case this movie goes big. And who the hell knows if that will happen. If you’d told me that Madea Goes Boo at Kwanzaa Part Twelve would have made as much money as it did, I would have thought you were nuts. But this… it’s solid, kiddo. I’ll have the attorney look it over, but I think it’s solid. This is the real deal. Maybe Roger Fuller doesn’t quite have the clout he once used to, but everyone loves a comeback story. I mean, look at Mel Gibson. He’s anti-Semitic and misogynistic, but people keep putting him in crap. Roger isn’t any of those things, but he is queer as balls and doesn’t give a damn who knows. You know you live in America when people can hate who you love, but then can turn around and hug a damn racist. Fuck them. You go out and show them just how stupid they are.”
A KNOCK at his door.
A man stood on the other s
ide. “Josiah Erickson?”
Josy was ready. “No paparazzi!”
“Um. What.”
“You can’t take my photograph! I’m a human being, just like everyone else. This is my home. I just want to have a peaceful day without being harassed!” Josy grinned at him. “And that, my friend, was acting. Josiah Erickson, nice to meet you. I was just doing a scene. You’re welcome. You can take my picture if you want.”
“I hate this town so fucking much,” the man muttered. “I have a delivery for you.” He reached into his courier bag and pulled out a thick folder. He placed a small tablet on top of it before he handed it over. “I just need you to sign right here on the line to confirm receipt.”
Josy winked at him. “Better ways to ask for my autograph, man. But anything for my fans.”
“I have no idea who you are.”
“Sure, sure.” He signed the tablet with a flourish. “Hold on to that, okay? It’s gonna be worth something someday. Just think! You’ll get to say you knew Josiah Erickson at the very beginning. You know what? We should take a selfie together! That would be—and you’re already leaving. Do I tip you, man? That sucks, because I don’t have any cash. I have coupons for—is your moped not starting? Do you need help? I don’t know anything about—you’re just gonna walk? That’s great, man. Walking is good for your body! Get those steps in!”
He closed the door.
Took a breath.
And then opened the folder.
Inside was a script.
FROM THE Beans and Weenie Morning Show:
“—and wow, this must be a hard one today. Sorry, caller! That is not the right answer. Eighty thousand people are absolutely not bitten by vampires every year because vampires don’t exist. Funny, that. Let’s move on to the next! Caller, you are on the air with Beans and Weenie in the Morning on 104.7 the Butt Rock Station. Are you ready to get your butt rocked?”
“I sure am!”
“Awesome!” Annoying sound effects. “What’s your name, caller?”
“It’s me, Josy!”
“Josy! We were getting worried, man. We haven’t heard from you in three days. Are you dying?”
“Nope. Even better.”
Pause. Then, “Wait. Hold up. That… doesn’t make sense. What’s better than dying?”
“I got a role in a movie!”
Many more annoying sound effects. “For real? Is it a porno?” Beans asked. “Are you gonna show your schlong?”
“Ha!” Weenie cried. “You’re gonna show your weenie!”
“Boo-yah!” Beans shouted.
“It’s not a porno,” Josy said. “It’s better than that, if you can imagine.”
“No such thing,” Beans said. “But since it’s you, I’ll take your word for it. What’s it called?”
“I can’t say, because it’s being kept under wraps.”
“Boo,” Weenie moaned. “Are there going to be naked women and crap blowing up?”
“I… don’t think so?”
“Sounds boring,” Beans said. “I can’t wait to see it. Josy, do you know the answer to the Beans and Weenie Super Hard Trivia Question brought to you today by Yarwood Honda? Let’s remind everyone again.”
“Eighty thousand people get bitten by this every year,” Weenie said.
“Is it… other people?”
All the annoying sound effects in the world happened at once. “Ladies and gentlemen, Josy has done it again! It is. Eighty thousand people are bitten every year by other people, the freaking weirdos. Weenie, what has Josy won?”
“Josy has won a free tire rotation and oil change at Yarwood Honda!”
“Thank you,” Josy said, getting choked up. “But I won’t be needing it. There’s no Yarwood Honda where I’m going. I’d like to donate it to charity. And also, I need to tell you that if it wasn’t for Beans and Weenie in the Morning, I wouldn’t have gotten this far. I’ll never forget you. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry. I have to go.”
FROM JOSIAH Erickson’s Instagram Story
“Hey, followers! I hope you’re all doing well. I’ve got some big news! I signed on for a part in a big movie. Okay, it’s not, like, Hollywood big, but it’s big for me. It’s an indie flick that I think is going to be amazing. I have to go meet with costume people and everything! I even get to keep my beard, which is pretty rad. I’ll be posting a lot from the set, so I hope you’re ready! Hashtag Instagay. Hashtag actor life. Hashtag my rising star. Hash—oh. Right. I’m not supposed to say hashtags out loud. I forgot. My bad.”
HE WASN’T stalking.
He wasn’t.
He was sort of friends with Quincy now.
So if Quincy (as Q-Bert) had a new blog post on his website, Josy should read it, right?
Right.
It wasn’t stalking.
It was research.
Some changes are coming, something I’ve never done before. And I’m sorry this is going to be so vague, but it’s still a work in progress, so until I get further into it, it almost doesn’t seem real. I don’t want to jinx it by speaking of it too soon.
I am stepping out of my comfort zone in a major way with a new project, something that I’ve always wanted to do but convinced myself would never happen. I tend to do that: tell myself the things I want are too big to be anything more than a dream. When I first started writing, I thought nothing would come of it. And when something did come from it, I thought it was a fluke, a onetime thing that would never be repeated. But it has been, over and over again, and I still pinch myself, sometimes, sure that I’m asleep.
Something happened last year. An idea that I couldn’t get out of my head. I almost talked myself out of it, sure that I was dreaming too big again. But then I looked back on everything I’ve written on this blog, about my strengths and weaknesses, about taking charge of my own destiny. There are days when the anxiety is crippling, days when that old black dog is nipping at my heels, wanting to latch on and drag me back into bed to pull the covers over my head.
It’s part of me, but it doesn’t define me. Sometimes it wins. Sometimes the very idea of leaving my house makes it hard to breathe. There’s a voice in my head that says my life is crap, that the work I do is crap, and that I should just stop now before I make things worse.
It’s not easy.
But it doesn’t define me.
Which is why I didn’t let it take this moment away from me. This idea. This chance. So I pushed that voice to the back as much as I could and went for it.
I’m not going to lie. It was harder than I expected it to be. I made mistakes. But when I finished, I was proud of myself for what I’d created.
This is going to be something amazing, I think. Something unlike anything you’ve ever seen. And I’ve got a good group of people helping me make my dream a reality.
I know it’s frustrating how much I’m not telling you. And my updates might get a bit more sporadic. But I promise you it’s for a good reason. Soon I’ll be able to show you why.
In the meantime, remember that you matter.
You are loved.
You are wonderful.
And if you have those bad days like I do, you will get through them, because you are stronger than you know.
I promise.
Talk soon,
Q-Bert
The comments were filled with all kinds of speculation.
Josy normally didn’t like secrets.
But he thought this one was okay.
JOSY FELT like he was on top of the world and did his best to put it into words. “And, like, just… you know?”
“Yeah,” Serge said, exhaling a heavy stream of smoke toward the ceiling.
“Exactly,” Xander said, eyes glassy and bloodshot. He looked down at Josy, whose head was in his lap. “Right on.”
“Yeah,” Josy said, feeling fine. “And it’s just gonna be… whoa.”
“Whoa,” Serge agreed. “Wait. Hold on. Do you ever think of—”
“Pizza?” Josy aske
d. “All the time.”
“No,” Serge said. “That’s not what I was going to—I want pizza.”
“Oh,” Xander groaned. “Me too. Holy crap. And none of that stupid hipster crap with goat cheese and kale and bullshit. I want to get fucking gross with pepperoni.”
Josy sat up quickly, eyes wide. “Xander! You can’t say that. We’re hipsters. We’re supposed to like goat cheese and kale and bullshit pizza!”
Xander waved his hand in dismissal. He almost fell over. “Yeah, but like. Dude. It’s… it’s like. Okay. Think. Who… who are we?”
“Wow,” Serge said. “I have no idea. And I spent eight months in India.”
“We’re us,” Xander said. “But why are we us? People say we’re hipsters, even though we don’t call ourselves that, not really. What does that mean? Like, you know? What does that mean?”
“It means we’re part of a demographic that tries to set itself apart from culture as a whole while paradoxically trying to remain in that culture at the same time,” Josy said.
Xander and Serge stared at him.
Josy frowned. “I have no idea what I just said. I’m so stoned.”
“I’m going to miss you,” Serge said, reaching over and squishing Josy’s face. “All parts of you. Your nose. Your face that’s attached to your nose. Your hair. The way you laugh.”
“You’re going to make me cry,” Josy said, sniffling. “And you know that I’m an ugly crier when I’m stoned. It’s not forever. It’s only for six weeks.” His eyes widened. “You can come with me. Both of you can!”
“Yessss,” Xander hissed. Then, “Wait. No. We can’t. I have to draw on people with needles.”
Serge groaned. “And I have to help white people with disposable income put their legs over their shoulders in poses that probably aren’t good for their overall health.”
“Dammit,” Josy said. He lay back down on the pillows they’d spread out on the floor at Xander’s house. “I didn’t think of that. Well, when I get famous, I will hire you to be my assistants, and we’ll travel all over the world and smoke in exotic places like Milwaukee and the Vatican.”