Me Being Me Is Exactly as Insane as You Being You
Page 30
“Rachel, do you think, I mean . . .”
“What?”
“Can we just be friends?”
“. . .”
“I’m sorry. Shit. I know that’s, like, crazily lame, to say that. ‘Can we just be friends.’ I can’t believe I just said it. But look, I mean it. I do. I want to be friends. You’re great. I just—”
“Oh my God. I’m so stupid—”
“No, you’re—”
“I can’t believe I bought you a ticket. I can’t believe I act—”
“No. Don’t say that. Don’t. Please. You’re, like, I don’t know, you treat me way better than anyone I know. You do. Way better than I deserve. I have no idea how I would have made it through the past few months without you. I’m totally, one-hundred-percent serious. Like, I owe you for that. And I really do like you a lot, seriously. But I feel like a dick pretending that—”
“Stop.”
“No, I mean it.”
“Okay. I get it.”
“So can we still be friends? Can we?”
“Darren. Stop.”
“Rachel, look, you might be my only friend. Who I can actually talk to.”
“Great. Fabulous.”
“But . . . I think I’m not meant for you. Or the other way around. You know, in that way. I don’t know if I even believe in people being meant for each other. But maybe I do. Please be my friend still.”
She’s crying.
“Please.”
“I should go, Darren.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“Bye, Darren. Happy birthday.”
And do they have rockets that don’t ever return to Earth? Would his odds be any better if he told them he’d be willing to go on one of those?
7 Sentences Ben Zwiren Has Recently Sent to Darren
1. Can I give you some advice?
2. Don’t ask people for advice.
3. Advice is overrated.
4. You’re the one who’s got to figure out what you should do.
5. So figure it out and then do what you should do.
6. Okay, yeah, I guess that was advice, but you know what I mean.
7. Good luck, man.
10 Fingers That Intertwine as Part of the “Mountain Climber’s Grip” Darren Initiates to Lift Nate up off Their Rock, This Grip Being Something the Jacobs Brothers Have Employed and Celebrated for Years
1. Darren’s right thumb
2. Nate’s right thumb
3. Darren’s index finger
4. Nate’s index finger
5. Darren’s middle finger
6. Nate’s middle finger
7. Darren’s ring finger
8. Nate’s ring finger
9. Darren’s pinkie
10. Nate’s pinkie
2 Members of Storied Brazilian Duo Who Escort Them Down into the City
1. TOQUINHO
Darren drives. Competently. Better than competently.
2. & VINICIUS
“Say anything about the music and you walk the rest of the way.”
“Me?” Nate asks. “What would I say? You’re your father’s son, what’s so wrong about that?”
“You’re such a douche bag sometimes.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
They drive on for a while.
“Damn,” Nate says. “These guys are good. Have you been intentionally hiding this shit from me?”
“Maybe.” Darren might actually be smiling. “Maybe.”
5 Signs That It Wasn’t a Particularly Good Idea for His Parents to Drive Downtown Together, or Even Be in the Same Place at the Same Time Ever Again
1. They’re both clearly waiting for Darren and Nate, but his mom is in her car, while his dad waits just inside the restaurant.
2. When Darren and Nate walk up, his dad exits the restaurant and his mom gets out of the car, so that soon the four of them are standing more or less in the same place. And Darren is certain he can feel a genuine electrical charge of some sort running between his parents, who both look remarkably unlike the people they looked like when they were still married only eighteen months earlier. But it’s not an electrical charge like the kind people talk about when they’re in love or attracted to each other. It’s like some kind of short circuit or live wire the two of them form. Darren can feel it in his legs, to the point he’s grateful to be wearing shoes with rubber soles.
3. His mom was definitely crying in the past ten minutes, and it’s possible his dad was as well.
4. When his dad, trying to smile, welcomes Darren first by asking, “How was traffic?” Darren for some reason steals a look at his mom before answering. And she’s trying to smile too but is doing an even worse job of it than his dad, because no matter what he says to his dad, he’ll be greeting him before his mom, or because the person who gave birth to him is not going to be joining them for his sixteenth birthday dinner, or because in two weeks she’s going to be living two thousand miles away.
Or maybe because of all those reasons.
“Fine,” Darren says, looking right into his father’s soft eyes, trying to say “fine” in a way that also might mean, I’m sorry about what I said on the phone before, and I promise never to say anything like that again, but that would be a way easier promise to keep if you at least tried to hide your freakiness just a little from time to time. Not the gay freakiness, which isn’t freaky, seriously, it isn’t. Just all the other stuff. But so, I don’t know, if you could just be a little patient and a little less weird while I figure that out and what to do about it, that would be great.
There’s a chance his dad understands. A chance.
5. Hugging each of them feels like some kind of test or performance or both, and the only way he feels like he can pass the test or get approval from the audience is by making sure neither hug is anything special, which means just sort of squeezing both of them really briefly, which in both cases means kind of underhugging his parents, both of whom were clearly expecting and maybe even needing more.
And then he just stands there, in between his underhugged parents, who each place a hand on one of his shoulders at precisely the same moment. Like they had choreographed the thing before his arrival. His shoulders, they begin to smolder. As does everything in between.
43 Ingredients of a Fight That Ignites All at Once, Such That Darren Isn’t Sure Ten Seconds Later If This Is Exactly How It Started, but It More or Less Went Something Like This
1. Mom: So I’ll pick you guys up around nine thirty.
2. Dad: Why doesn’t he just call you when we’re finishing up?
3. Mom: How about ten o’clock, then?
4. Everyone:
5. Mom: Ten thirty?
6. Darren: Uh.
7. Mom: Look, call me when you’re ready to be picked up, okay?
8. Dad: Brenda, why don’t I just drop him off with you once we’re finished? Where are you going to be?
9. Mom: Whatever, Howard. Do what you want.
10. Nate: Ridiculous.
11. Dad: Nate, please.
12. Nate: Dad, please.
13. Dad: Please, Nate, I’m asking you.
14. Nate: And what, exactly, are you asking me?
15. Mom: Cut it out.
16. Nate: No, I want to know. Tell me.
17. Mom: Nate.
18. Nate: Tell me.
19. Mom: Nate. Cut it out!
20. Dad: Please don’t yell, Brenda.
21. Mom: Are you serious?
22. Dad: Yes, Brenda, I’m asking you, please don’t yell.
23. Mom: You need to grow up. You do.
24. Nate: And you need to move to California already.
25. Dad:
26. Mom:
27. Darren:
28. Mom: You know he quit his job today? You know he can’t—you can’t even hold a job as a fucking pizza delivery boy!
29. Dad: What happened?
30. Nate: It was a shitty job.
31. Dad: What happened?<
br />
32. Mom: Tell him, Nate.
33. Mom: Go ahead, tell him.
34. Dad: Brenda, stop.
35. Ray: Howard? What’s going on here?
36. Nate: Well, hello, Ray.
37. Mom: Tell him, Nate!
38. Dad: Brenda!
39. Ray: What is this? You can’t—
40. Mom: Ray, this doesn’t concern you.
41. Dad: Brenda, stop!
42. Ray: Howard.
43. Nate: Hey, Ray. Could I ask you to, uh, fuck off for a few minutes?
5 Perspectives from Which Darren Feels He’s Witnessing This Fight
1. That of a mute stranger.
2. That of a five-year-old immigrant boy unable to understand anything but everyone’s tone of voice.
3. That of an otherwise healthy person who just finished having open-heart surgery but is presently waiting to have his chest closed back up.
4. That of an invisible sixteen-year-old.
5. That of a person slowly backing away from the scene.
4 Storefronts Darren Walks Past Until He Can No Longer Hear Them
1. Bryon’s Liquor
2. Suds Coin Laundromat
3. Saturn Café
4. Fifth Third Bank
10 Numbers Darren Dials Manually
1. The
2. Numbers
3. In
4. Zoey’s
5. Number
6. Which
7. He
8. Memorized
9. Long
10. Ago
4 Rings Darren Hears
1. The first
2. The second
3. The third
4. The fourth, but only in his head, because someone actually answers before this day can get any worse
1 Finally
1. “Hello?”
“Zoey?”
“. . .”
“Zoey?”
“Darren?”
“Yeah.”
“Hi.”
“You answered.”
“Yeah, I’m home.”
“Home?”
“Yeah.”
“Like, Chicago home?”
“Yeah.”
“For how long?”
“. . .”
“How long are you here for?”
“My flight’s in a few hours.”
“Oh.”
“They let me come home for Thanksgiving.”
“From Savilleta?”
“What? Yeah. How did you know?”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“Why do you have to leave so soon?”
“Visits aren’t supposed to be more than two days.”
“Oh.”
“It was a big deal they let me. And we’re not supposed to see, you know, other people.”
“. . .”
“I . . .”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“What?”
“I got your messages, Darren.”
“So did . . .”
“And your letter.”
“. . .”
“And your playlist.”
“I got your drawings.”
“. . .”
“You’re an incredible artist.”
“Thanks.”
“You are.”
“. . .”
“I didn’t take your drawing off my arm for a month.”
“I shouldn’t have . . . I’m really sorry about . . . Ann Arbor and—”
“Zoey.”
“Yeah?”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“Can I see you? Tonight?”
“I . . . Darren.”
“Huh?”
“We’re not supposed to.”
“I know.”
“It’s just . . .”
“Ben Zwiren told me. I know.”
“You know Ben?”
“Sort of. Yeah. He told me.”
“The program I’m in. I’m mean, we’re not supposed to.”
“To what?”
“You know.”
“. . .”
“Have boyfriends.”
“I know. I’m not—”
“You don’t know.”
“What?”
“What happened.”
“I don’t—”
“Why they sent me away.”
“I want to see you, Zoey.”
“I’m a fuck-up.”
“I really want to see you tonight.”
“And I’m trying not to be.”
“. . .”
“Darren, I’m sorry.”
“. . .”
“Sorry.”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“Zoey?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s my birthday.”
“Today?”
“I’m sixteen.”
“Happy birthday.”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“It’s been a shitty birthday.”
“Sorry.”
“A super shitty birthday.”
“Sorry.”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“Zoey, my life . . . I don’t think it could be much better than yours right now.”
“Darren, you—”
“No, I mean, it’s a mess. I’m a mess.”
“I’m sorry.”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“I’m going to be there in a half hour, Zoey.”
“Darren.”
“Will you sneak out for me?”
“Darren.”
“Please? For me?”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“Darren.”
“What?”
“I’ve been working hard.”
“Okay.”
“To not be like I was.”
“That’s good.”
“So, I can’t.”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“What if I promise to help after?”
“. . .”
“To help you keep working and stuff.”
“. . .”
“And you’ll help me.”
“. . .”
“And then I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
“. . .”
“I’ll wait. I promise. As long as you need me to.”
“. . .”
“Please.”
“. . .”
“For me.”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“Okay.”
“You will?”
“. . .”
“Will you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
“Hurry.”
“I will.”
“Wait, Darren.”
“What?”
“I missed you so much. I’m so sorry I—”
“It’s okay.”
“Hurry, please.”
“I will. I promise. I will.”
3 Things Darren Does Before Walking to Ray’s Car
1. Walks back to the fight, which is ongoing. Ray has disappeared. His three family members are speaking all at once, each of them at a volume located precisely halfway between talking and screaming.
2. Says, “Hey.” Says it again. Says it a third time. Actually, he screams it this time.
They all stop and, still heaving, look at him. Everyone’s expression is some version of Where’d you come from? or What are you doing here? or Oh, right, Darren’s part of all this too.
“You want to know what I want for my birthday?” Darren asks. “You want to know? I want to be somewhere else right now. With someone else. I”—he looks into the restaurant, at all the people calmly eating their delicious vegetarian dinners, people who look totally normal and not insane—“I love you guys, I do, I mean it, but I can’t . . . I can’t.” He digs his hand into his pocket and feels for his
keys.
“Dad”—he looks at his father, and ignores the muscles in his own neck that seem determined to swivel his head over to his mom—“if you want . . . if you want, I’ll go to Dr. Schrier’s with you every week until I graduate. I’m serious.”
“Darren,” his dad says, “that’s not necessary. We can just—”
“So whatever is. Whatever’s necessary. We’ll do that. I will. Okay? I promise.”
Then he lets those muscles do their thing.
“Mom,” he says to a wet and shiny face that apparently belongs to her. She runs her sleeve over it. “I’m okay.” He’s trying so hard to mean it. “I’m okay.” Maybe saying it over and over will eventually make it true. “I’m okay if you have to move. I am. So go. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I’m okay.”
He has to close his eyes. It’s the only way he’s going to make it through this.
“Nate.”
“What, D?”
“You’re my only brother. You know that, right?”
“Duh. Yeah. So?”
“You’re my only big brother. Okay? The only one.”
“Yup.”
“Right? The only one.”
“Yeah,” Nate answers quietly.
Darren opens his eyes. Looks back into the restaurant. Where he won’t be eating tonight.
“Look,” he says, turning back to all these people with whom he shares every last bit of his genetic material, for better or for worse. “I need to go see someone. I’ll come back. I promise I will. But”—he swallows—“don’t wait up.”
3. Hugs them, like he means it.
6 Great Things about Lake Shore Drive
1. The way it curves gently.
2. The park it cuts through.
3. The lake that sits on one side.
4. The buildings facing it on the other.
5. How it’s exactly the right place to drive when you’re listening to Bill Evans play “Lucky to Be Me” all by himself. Like somehow the whole thing turns the car into a time machine.
6. And the way all that makes it possible for you to believe, even for just a moment, that maybe, just maybe, you could be happy living in this part of this planet after all. Assuming Zoey feels more or less the same.
14 Ways This All Ends, for Now
1. He pulls up in front of Zoey’s house, and there she is, stepping out from behind the garage and rushing toward the car.
2. He unlocks the door and she hurries inside. “Go,” she says with some urgency.