The Importance of Being Wilde at Heart

by R. Zamora Linmark

  Is madness the other side of head rush?

  Sucks. Royally.

  Nonresponsive

  Monday, 25 March

  CaZZ and Estelle cornered me in the library today after school. Luckily there was a cartload of books to shelve and keep myself busy with while they took turns ganging up on me. I let them; I really wasn’t in the mood for an argument with the wonder twins. I was still upset, very upset, about Ran ghosting me this weekend. About me keeping myself in prison all weekend. About not knowing if Ran’s all right. About not knowing the status of our secret. About feeling hopeless and helpless. About having to lie to my friends. About the light at the end of my tunnel fading faster and faster.

  “So what, Ken Z? Still got the runs?” CaZZ asked.

  “What’re you talking about?” I completely forgot about the little white lie I told them. By the time I remembered, it was too late. CaZZ and Estelle were already on a roll spelling it out for me.

  “You know, the runs that made you skip out on our movie date.”

  The word GUILTY flashed across my forehead in bold letters, but I maintained my silence, afraid that if I said something I would regret it later. Sometimes no reaction is more effective.

  “Got the runs? Call Dr. Ken Z for a free consultation,” Estelle chimed in.

  Then CaZZ broke out into an oldie-but-goodie. “I want to run to you, ooooooh.”

  Not wanting to be beaten, Estelle jumped in with “Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron.”

  A knee-jerk reaction because I thought I heard Ran’s name. I was about to break my silence and tell them both to shut up when CaZZ started singing, “Lo-o-ving you is easy ’cause you’re byoo-tee-fu-u-ull.”

  Then she and Estelle cracked their voices reaching for the high notes; they sounded like a pair of mynah birds being choked to death.

  On an ordinary day, I would’ve laughed. But today was far from ordinary. I don’t recall having an ordinary day since I met Ran; it’s either been extraordinarily amazing or a fingernails-clawing-across-the-blackboard day. All I wanted was to finish shelving the books, then go home and lock myself in my room.

  My indifference must’ve tired them out, because they soon gave up. “Okay, Ken Z, show’s over,” Estelle said. “We love you too much to waste our angelic voices on you.”

  “So what did you do Friday?” CaZZ asked.

  “Who did you trade our movie date for?” Estelle butted in.

  “Already told you. I stayed home.”

  “Alone?” CaZZ asked.

  I threw an invisible dagger at CaZZ.

  CaZZ backed off. “Whew, Estelle, did you see that? Ken Z just gave me the evil eye.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, CaZZ,” Estelle remarked. I caught her winking at me, which was all I needed for the load of a heavy day to lighten. It’s amazing how one gesture like a wink or a smile is sometimes enough to make us forget our crazy situation for a moment.

  “Let’s go, CaZZ,” Estelle said. “I think Ken Z’s had enough of us for the day.”

  “You’re right, Estelle,” she said, “absolutely right.”

  They left, but not without Estelle throwing me another wink. “Cheer up, Ken Z,” she seemed to be saying. “Whatever it is, dude, it will pass.”

  MONDAY’S BARGAINING

  The list is finished.

  Autographed and all. So come

  Help me shave my head.

  Heart-Stopping Things He Says

  “Be random with me.”

  “Even if I twist your arm—gently?”

  “It’s not an Oscar Wilde fairy tale if beauty doesn’t come with pain.”

  “It’s de-ran-duran!”

  “More like ‘Ran over.’ ”

  “Sucks. Royally.”

  “It’s Latin for ‘from the depths.’ ”

  “Like a ghost playing with your mind.”

  “You and I can be a pair of Buddhist monks.”

  “It’s de-ken-ken dance.”

  “Can you reboot?”

  “It’s de-ken-ta-loupe.”

  “Transmission is a little choppy.”

  “Traffic inferno.”

  “It’s de-doop-du-jour.”

  “You keep breaking up, Ken Zarooni.”

  “Ever go beyond seventeen syllables?”

  “See us tomorrow.”

  The Last of Us

  Tuesday, 26 March

  Tossed and turned all night, trying to remember if Ran and I officially made plans to see each other this past weekend. Did he actually say, “See us this weekend, Ken Z?” Or did I just dream up those words?

  * * *

  • • •

  Over and over, I replay in my head the last time we saw each other. It was two Sundays ago. We were in my room, talking about how much we hate goodbyes. Then I asked him why he only Zapped me once. He told me he couldn’t, then threw his arms around me to shut me up.

  * * *

  • • •

  But did we make any specific plans? I’m not sure anymore, though he did say he was going to keep seeing me until I got tired of him. I know; I remember; I wrote it down. I don’t let words like that get away from me. They mean too much. Like that lingering hug he gave me before walking away.

  * * *

  • • •

  He didn’t want to leave. I could tell by the way he looked at me, like he was afraid that once he disappeared down the corridor, I wouldn’t be there when he looked back.

  * * *

  • • •

  That is my last memory of us.

  Sometimes all it takes is a nervous twitch,

  a smile knocking on the front door,

  an accidental brush of his arm against yours

  for the memory to begin breathing again.

  DAWN

  Not quite morning

  Not quite wakefulness—

  My craving crows.

  SENT FRIDAY 3/29, 5:30 A.M.

  Hey stranger, you k?

  Are we on for tonight? Zap

  Back. Just me, Ken Z.

  Happily Never After

  Friday, 29 March. South Kristol High School. Bldg. H-204. Mr. Oku’s classroom.

  “They’re so heartbreaking,” Estelle says of Oscar’s fairy tales.

  “Yet so beautiful,” CaZZ says.

  “Very,” I say, remembering what Ran said—that it’s not an Oscar Wilde fairy tale if beauty does not come with pain.

  “Talk about Debbie Downer,” Tanya says. “They’re so depressing, but so addictive too. I couldn’t put them down.”

  “Me too,” Matt says. He was at a Christian youth camp for spring break and read the fairy tales between Bible study groups.

  “I spent the entire break crying,” Tanya says. “The stories made me so sad I had to see my therapist afterward.”

  “I had to talk to my pastor,” says Matt.

  “About what?” I ask.

  “About martyrdom,” he answers.

  “They’re so violent,” Estelle says. “I love it. It’s like watching an anime. I especially love that scene where the nightingale stabs her heart again and again with the thorn of a white rose. I can’t get the image out of my head.”

  “And the swallow plucking out the sapphire eyes of the happy prince statue, then peeling his gold skin until he’s nothing but lead,” I say.

  “Ouch.” Tanya flinches.

  “Make that a double,” Matt says. “Wonder what that says about me?”

  I’m about to tell him that maybe Oscar’s addicted to pain, but CaZZ beats me to it.

  “That makes two of us,” Tanya says.

  “Girl, you were into pain before Oscar Wilde entered your life,�
�� CaZZ says, laughing.

  “True.” Tanya laughs too. “I’m still dating the same loser, going on three weeks now.”

  We all laugh. Even Mr. Oku, who sits behind his desk, watching and listening to us with amusement.

  “But you know what?” Tanya continues. “I kept waiting for the ‘happily ever after’ part and it never came. What kind of fairy tale is that?”

  “Happily never after,” I answer. Estelle detects my sarcasm and wink-smiles at me.

  “Are these even fairy tales, Mr. Oku?” Tanya asks.

  “No, Tanya,” CaZZ retorts, “they’re memoirs with sacrificial birds and talking statues.”

  “What’s your favorite fairy tale?” Tanya asks her.

  And CaZZ answers, “Hands down ‘The Devoted Friend.’ ” Pause. “Because it’s about the unselfishness of true friendship.” She points her eyes at me, waiting to see whether or not I’ll react. I don’t, so she tries to provoke me some more. “I think anyone who’s ever had a friend like the greedy, self-absorbed, unreliable, undependable Big Hugh knows the kind of friend I’m talking about.”

  I ignore her remark.

  “Tell me about it,” Tanya blurts out. “The cheerleading squad is full of backstabbing competitive bitches. We all pretend we’re best of friends when we’re actually the worst of enemies.”

  Estelle nods. “We call people like those ‘abuser-friendly.’ ”

  “Well, does Little Hans even know he’s being used?” I ask. “I don’t think so. He keeps giving and giving until he ends up with nothing. He’s so naive, so ignorant that everyone takes advantage of him. Like Big Hugh sending him on errands at ungodly hours, or bombarding him with favors, or never leaving him alone so he can tend to his garden.”

  “That’s because Little Hans is blind as a bat,” Tanya says, “and people like him become perfect victims for assholes like Big Hugh.”

  “Speaking from experience, Tanya?” CaZZ says.

  “Damn right, CaZZ.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with naivete,” Matt says. “I mean, what’s ignorance to you, Ken Z, is innocence to others. That’s what makes Little Hans so admirable and special in the first place.”

  “Good point, Matt,” Estelle says.

  “Would you rather be naive, like Little Hans, or corrupt and deceptive, like Big Hugh?” Matt asks.

  “Neither,” I reply.

  “It’s one or the other, Ken Z,” CaZZ says.

  “Those choices are so limiting,” I say. “Besides, I don’t think that’s the point Oscar is trying to convey.”

  “Really?” CaZZ says, sarcastically.

  “Yes,” I say. “I think Oscar is trying to show us the thin line between devotion and stupidity.”

  “Want to expound on that more, Ken Z?” Mr. Oku says.

  “If Little Hans were less ignorant and more assertive, then, maybe, he could’ve saved himself from death.”

  “At least his funeral was packed,” Tanya says.

  I’m about to say something when CaZZ says, “Little Hans has low self-esteem, Ken Z. That’s why he can’t be assertive.”

  Estelle takes over. “You’re right, CaZZ. Little Hans doesn’t know how wonderful he is. He’s always downplaying himself, always thinking he’s never good enough, that his ideas will never be as beautiful as Big Hugh’s.”

  I am speechless. Estelle’s and CaZZ’s words sting. It’s obvious they are talking about me, telling me to my face that besides being ignorant and naive, I also have low self-esteem and don’t know just how special I am.

  “In fact, Little Hans is as perfect a friend as anybody can have,” Estelle says. “Right, CaZZ?”

  “Absolutely,” CaZZ says.

  “If I could be one of the characters in Oscar’s fairy tales, I’d choose Little Hans,” Matt says. “What about you, Estelle?”

  “That’s a tough one,” Estelle replies. “They all die—”

  “Violently,” CaZZ interjects.

  Estelle nods in agreement. “That’s almost like asking me how I want to die violently,” she says. “Let’s see. Do I want to be skinned to death like the Happy Prince?”

  “Or drown like Little Hans?” CaZZ says.

  “Or bleed to death like the nightingale?” Tanya suggests.

  “I guess I’d rather go like the selfish giant,” Estelle says.

  “Why?” Tanya asks. “He just drops dead. How boring is that?”

  “True,” Estelle says. “But at least he was able to make peace with the children and die a beautiful, yet uneventful death.” Pause. “What about you, Ken Z?”

  I sit on Estelle’s question for a moment. “The Nightingale and the Rose” is my favorite, hands down. I can never forget the image of the nightingale impaling its heart on the thorn of the rose, deeper and deeper, while it serenades the night with its song. But I end up going with “The Happy Prince.”

  “Interesting, Ken Z,” Mr. Oku says. “Why is that?”

  “We could use a couple of happy prince statues in South Kristol,” I say. “Feed the poor. Shelter the homeless.”

  “Then we won’t need aid from North Kristol,” CaZZ says.

  “And, maybe, just maybe, South Kristol can rise from its ashes like a phoenix and make this place like it was during the olden days, when the native Pulas were the only ones on the island,” Estelle says.

  “True,” Tanya says. “After all, this entire island was theirs first.”

  “Before it was stolen from us,” CaZZ says.

  “How can the Pula natives govern if they can’t even get along with each other?” Matt asks. “They tried, remember? But they only ended up killing each other.”

  Sadly, Matt’s right. But what Matt is forgetting is that it was in the Pula blood to be a warrior. The race was divided into warring tribes, and regardless of which chiefdom one belonged to, a Pula was born a warrior, which means he was born to kill—or be killed.

  “True,” CaZZ says. “But we didn’t kill as many as those killed by the white man.” Pause. “Besides, Matt, it’s our land, it’s our kingdom, however divided we were. And should we reclaim this island, how we plan to govern ourselves is up to us—not you or anybody else.”

  “Highly unlikely,” Matt says. “Let’s be practical, CaZZ. With all the wars happening around us, South Kristol cannot protect itself from foreign invasion without the help of North Kristol. If not for them protecting us, we’d probably be in worse shape right now.”

  “True,” Tanya says.

  “Hello?” Estelle chimes in. “The invasion of the North Kristol snatchers!”

  “We’re practically prisoners in our own home,” CaZZ says. “Every move we make is recorded by surveillance cameras.”

  “True that,” Tanya says.

  “Those cameras are for our safety,” Matt argues. “Crime has gone down because of them.”

  “True that too,” Tanya interjects.

  “Those are their cameras, Matt,” CaZZ says. “They’re probably monitoring us from the other side of the mountain.”

  The cameras! I’ve forgotten about the cameras. What if they recorded Ran and me? What if that’s the reason why Ran’s stopped Zapping me? Oh no. Calm down, Ken Z. We didn’t do anything bad. Calm the heck down.

  “Welcome to South Kristol, Big Brother,” Estelle says.

  “Except scarier,” CaZZ adds.

  “Pretty soon, they’ll be controlling us,” Tanya says.

  “Hello?” CaZZ says. “They already are.”

  A dark cloud of silence hangs over our heads. Mr. Oku sweeps it away by telling us not to lose hope.

  I raise my hand.

  “Yes, Ken Z?”

  “How did you end up here, Mr. Oku?” I ask.

  He thinks out loud. “Let’s see. How do I simplify th
is? After I got my degree from Oxford, I couldn’t go home because a civil war had broken out there. I also didn’t feel like staying in England, so I decided to travel. I didn’t know where to. Then, one day, while I was perusing a travel magazine, I came across an ad promoting Kristol as the ‘New Paradise of the Pacific.’ ”

  “You mean North Kristol?” I ask.

  Mr. Oku nods.

  “So you came here as a tourist?” Tanya asks.

  “Duh,” CaZZ says.

  “North Kristol was second only to Hawaii as the most popular tourist destination in the Pacific. It was also deemed one of the safest in the world.”

  “How can it not be?” CaZZ says. “Practically everyone there is wearing fatigues and toting a machine gun.”

  “NKRA mania!” Estelle says. North Kristol Rifle Association.

  “I heard about their army, but I wasn’t expecting the entire island to be one huge military base,” Mr. Oku says. “This was before the Internet, and the tourism brochures did not focus on the military. So you can more or less imagine my shock when I got off the plane. Bases everywhere. Soldiers on the streets, inside the malls, on the beaches. There were cops, but the majority were soldiers. I’d never seen so many in my life. One cannot set foot in a mall, or even a fast-food joint, or go hiking without running into them. It was as if I were vacationing in Army paradise. The irony, of course, is that I did feel safe. And the beaches, waterfalls, and botanical gardens were simply majestic.”

  “But you stayed?” I ask.

  “I didn’t plan on it,” Mr. Oku answers. “I couldn’t go home. To top it off, the cost of living was still affordable, unlike now. It also just so happened that they were recruiting teachers. The salary was too good to turn down. I applied and, well, the rest, as they say, is history.”