Know Not Why: A Novel

by Hannah Johnson

  “You’re ridiculous,” he tells me, still laughing, and he presses a few fingers under my chin and guides my mouth to his. He kisses me, this nice steady kiss, and then he breaks away. “And you taste like space juice.”

  “But you like me anyway,” I check, just to make sure.

  “I like you anyway.” He kisses me on the forehead. His mouth is like the greatest mouth. “I very much like you anyway.”

  “Mmmm.” Feeling really good, I lean back into my seat, let my head fall back against the headrest. It’s really fucking cold in here, but I still feel, I dunno, really comfortable. I think maybe it’s his fault, like, wherever he is, I’m good. “You know what, you might be a fuckin’ man and everything, but you’re still like the best girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

  “Girlfriend?” he repeats skeptically.

  Oh, right.

  “Boyfriend,” I correct. I don’t really like saying it. “Man, that’s weird.”

  “It’s a change,” Arthur agrees. I can’t tell if I pissed him off or not. God, I hope he’s not pissed off.

  I start feeling like, I dunno, I owe him something. An explanation. He’s really fucking nice to me all the time, with his smiling when I’m a crazy bastard, and his kickass kissing, so you know, fine. An explanation, he shall have. “You know Heather Grimsby?”

  “From the salon next door? Who sat in front of us tonight?”

  “Yeah, that’s her.” I sneer, thinking back to the shiny hair. Fuck you, shiny hair, and fuck the head you grew on. “She was my girlfriend. My first girlfriend. Senior fuckin’ year, man.”

  “You didn’t seem very friendly,” Arthur remarks.

  “Yeah,” I say impatiently. “That’s ‘cause I hate her.”

  “Oh really?”

  “She’s only the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” I scowl. “And having to be in the same room with her was just like, aaaaaaughhhhh!!, you know? I think,” I continue, sort of lying, because I know, man, know, “that’s why I drank the space juice. She got me so freaked out. She freaks me out, dude. I don’t usually ever drink.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I don’t. Or, like, I dunno, I’ll have a beer or whatever, but I don’t get drunk. Drunk I don’t do. I don’t do drunk.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  ”Yeah. I don’t like it, you know? I don’t like not being, like, in charge of me. I need to be the master of me, so I don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want people thinking I’m stupid. But I dunno, this isn’t so bad. I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?”

  “No more than usual.” He smiles at me.

  Oh, Artie.

  “What happened with Heather Grimsby?” he continues.

  Oh, shit. I can’t explain this part.

  “Prom,” I reply, and that’s it.

  There’s a long pause.

  “What about prom?” he finally asks.

  “I can’t tell you, man,” I reply. I feel kind of like frickin’ nauseated even thinking about it.

  “All right,” Arthur agrees easily.

  It gets all quiet, except for the music he’s got going on the stereo. It’s something nice and calm and piano-y. All I can think about is Heather now. Heather and that fucking night, Goddddddd.

  “Okay, fine, I’ll tell you,” I say at last, turning so I can look at him. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You swear?”

  “I swear.”

  That seems good enough.

  I look back out at the road in front of us, because I realize I don’t really want to tell him while I’m looking at him. All the street lights are on. They’re so nice against the dark.

  “So,” I say, “she and I like started going out or whatever toward the end of senior year. And I didn’t really like her. Or, well, I did, but I really was just like crazy about Celia Burke, who was one of her friends. She was so fucking pretty and smart and nice, like, Kristy-nice – she was a lot like Kristy – and everyone was just frickin’ all over Celia Burke. If you had to like a girl, Celia Burke was the perfect girl. For liking. But it’s like, she wasn’t ever gonna date me, you know? She went out with my brother for awhile. My brother was like friggin’ awesome. Everyone loved my brother. That hasn’t really changed, actually. But anyway. So, I used to think what it would be like if she suddenly decided she was into me or whatever, but she didn’t, and – okay, wait, but first, my best friend? Amber? She was totally in love with my brother, like, she’s been in love with him since we were all like ten. It’s fucking terrible but, I dunno, she just never really got over it. I wish she would get over it. It’s such a fucking sucky situation.

  “But anyway, for junior prom, the two of us, we just went together, me and Amber, and it was great, but then for senior prom, Dennis wasn’t dating anybody, and he always got along well with Amber – but as a friend, just as a friend, and she just doesn’t get it – and so he wound up asking her. And it was like the greatest thing that had ever happened in her whole life, so she was all like, ‘Yay, oh my God, I get to go to prom with Dennis.’ So then I was like fuckin’ screwed and I didn’t have anyone to go with. So finally, I just like mustered up all this courage or … I don’t even fuckin’ know, man, I don’t know how I did it, but I finally just asked Celia. And she already had a date – like, of course. It was fucking Ryan Thompson, like, ‘Ooh, I’m so fuckin’ special, I can bounce a fuckin’ basketball!’ but whatever, whatever. I’m over it. The point is, Celia, because she was so nice and everything, told me that Heather Grimsby didn’t have a date and I should go with Heather Grimsby. So she like set us up.

  “And it was a few weeks before prom, when we got that all set up and all, so it’s sort of like she was just my girlfriend for awhile. And, I dunno. This girl kissed me once on a dare in like seventh grade, but that was just like whatever, so I’d never even really kissed anyone ‘til Heather. And that really fucking sucked, you know? Like, that’s weird. Like, it’s sort of okay if you’re a girl, I guess, but if you’re a guy, that just isn’t gonna fly. That’s just not okay. And by the time you’re a senior, you know, it’s like if you haven’t had sex you’re some kind of weird pariah leper thing. You know what sounds a lot like pariah leper? Piranha leopard.”

  “That’s true,” Artie allows, graciously.

  “Piranha leopard. That’s awesome.” God, I don’t like telling this story. But whatever, whatever. Might as well finish. Then I will just like move the fuck on. “So, I dunno, Heather was the first girl I ever really did any of that with, but I didn’t sleep with her, but then after the prom her parents were out of town, so she had this party. And she just got like totally wasted, man, it was ridiculous. And then she wanted to like go fool around or whatever, so we were in her parents’ room and she was just like all over me, which was good, because it was like, ‘Finally,’ right? Like, I was finally just gonna like get it over with. But then when she started, like, getting really serious about it, I just – I dunno, she was so drunk, and she kept giggling, and so I said maybe she should just get some sleep or whatever, and she got all, ‘What? Don’t you want to?’ And it’s like – she just wouldn’t shut up about it, after that. ‘Don’t you want to, Howie, why don’t you want to, Howie, haven’t you done it before, Howie?’ And I wasn’t really even saying anything back, because what the fuck are you going to say back?, you know. And then.”

  I stop, because I’ve never said it before. Not ever. It’s the thing that I don’t ever, ever say. You don’t just go around saying the thing you don’t ever, ever say.

  It’s like I can still hear her, though. And see her, too. In the dark, her makeup kind of smudged and her fancy prom curls going limp like they’re giving up on life. She’s too close, half-on my lap, one hand on my shoulder and her face too open, in that loose drunk way, all covered in laughter. And then, that stupid whisper. Are you gay?

  And then that moment where all I had to do was say no.

  And then whoosh, there that went,
and it was over, and her eyes went all big, and it was like, Oh my God, oh my God, you are, you’re gay, you took me to prom and you’re GAY!, that is so fucked up, does anybody else know, is that why your best friend’s a girl, who do you like, holy shit, why haven’t you told anyone? and the only thing that shut her up was suddenly realizing she had to puke, and doing it all over me because the toilet was too far away. And I put her to bed in her prom dress, not really friggin’ caring if it got wrinkled or whatever, and changed her parents’ sheets as best I could with my hands shaking so hard and then I went home and I never talked to her again.

  “Howie?” Arthur says. He reaches over with his right hand and rests it on my knee.

  I spit it out. “She asked if I was gay. And that’s why I didn’t want to jump her lady bones or whatever. And I didn’t say anything, because it’s like, even though I wasn’t I just couldn’t tell her no for some reason. Like, I knew I had to – I knew it, man – but I just couldn’t for some reason. Like her hair was a bad influence on my voice and they decided to give up on life together.” I remember that I didn’t say that part out loud, so I helpfully add, “Her hair totally looked like it was giving up on life, at that point. And so – she just decided that I was. But it’s okay, because then she threw up all the fuck over me, and pretty much passed out, and who even knows if she remembers. But just in case, I stay away from her, because it’s like – what if she does? You know.”

  He squeezes my knee. God, his hands are so the best ever thing. So I guess she was right after all.

  “Whatever.” I’m suddenly really fuckin’ tired of talking about this. We should be talking about something cool. We should go back to hats. “Maybe she made me gay.”

  “It sounds like you were already gay.”

  “I don’t know if I’m gay,” I make sure to say, because hey, I don’t. “Maybe I’m just like … up for anything.”

  “Maybe,” Arthur agrees, but I can tell he doesn’t really think that. “Speaking of.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Were you … involved with Cora?”

  “She tried to hook up with me to prove that I wanted to hook up with you.”

  “Ah.” He maybe sounds relieved a little; I do like that. “That sounds like Cora.”

  “Yeahhhh. Hey. About that.”

  “About what?”

  “Hooking up with you.”

  “Aren’t we hooked up already?”

  “I mean, like—” I feel myself starting to blush, jeeeeeez. “Hooking up is sex.”

  “Oh,” Arthur says. He sounds a little flustered too. “I have trouble keeping up with all that. You young kids these days.”

  This, this is something that has been bothering me for awhile. Pretty much ever since one makeout round got intense enough for me to notice that, hey, Arthur definitely doesn’t have girl parts in his swimsuit zone. And this seems like the time to ask, since talking is like remarkably friggin’ easy at the moment.

  “I feel really fucking good with you,” I say, ‘cause I do. Better than any guy should with another human with boy swimsuit zone parts. “But that … I don’t really … y’know, it’s not like I ever even knew anything about … okay, fine, I found this Kirk and Spock fanfiction one time, but that was seriously just like a googling accident and morbid curiosity all the way, it’s not exactly like that makes me a fuckin’ expert, and it’s not like I wanted to— So how does that all go?”

  “You want me to explain the technicalities?”

  Jeeeeeeeeeeeeez.

  “I get the technicalities, thanks. I dunno. I just. Like … maybe it shouldn’t even work—”

  “It works.”

  “’Cause it sort of seems—”

  “Some things aren’t different,” he interrupts simply. “Some are. Overall, the sentiment remains the same.”

  Well, when he makes it sound like that. “Huh.”

  “I haven’t made a habit of throwing up on anyone,” he adds, a wry smile curving his mouth.

  “Yeah,” I say, ‘cause I can believe that. “I like you.”

  “I like you.”

  “You think I can come back to your place?” I add. “I don’t really want my mom to see me drunk.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m not like coming onto you or whatever,” I make sure to throw in, ‘cause seriously, seriously, who knows what this one’s gonna think? “I’m not trying to seduce you.”

  “Dear friend, you’re not in the position to seduce anybody.”

  “But sleep,” I say, “sleep is good.”

  “Sleep it is.”

  +

  He helps me up the stairs – hard stairs, slippery stairs, stairs of death – and it feels pretty damn miraculous when we make it all the way to the top. We go inside, and I sink down onto the futon, and after he’s got his coat off Arthur sits down next to me. He turns the TV on and starts flipping through channels. I slump against him and listen to his commentary on what’s on: he gets, like, for real pissed at how lame everything is, and it’s hilarious. Scawesome. For someone so bony, he sure is comfy to lean all over.

  After awhile, my eyes start getting heavy. “Okay, you, time for bed,” Arthur says. I don’t put up a fight; I just let him lead me down the hall and into what dimly registers as Kristy’s room. Pink. Lots of pink.

  “Kristy sleeps here,” I mumble.

  “Not tonight,” Arthur murmurs back. “Don’t worry, I don’t think she’ll mind.”

  He pulls the covers back and navigates me into the bed – mmmm, bed. Soft, nice bed. I settle in against the pillows, turn around a little. The sheets, I see, have pink apples all over them.

  “You people are the best,” I declare, because, man, they are. Who would have thought that getting a job at an arts and crafts store would have resulted in knowing so many great humans? My life, I dunno, all of a sudden it’s just better with them in it. Maybe even almost good.

  “You aren’t so bad yourself,” Arthur replies, tracing the line of my jaw lightly with his fingertip. Even in the dark I can see him smile.

  And as I doze off, I don’t feel so bad. I don’t feel so bad at all.

  +

  I wake up at twenty minutes to noon the next morning, feeling like what shit wants to be when it grows up, not really able to manage any coherent thought. My brain is pretty much one endless EEEEEEEEEUUUUUUURRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHH.

  But the bed smells nice – flowery and fresh and Kristyish – and there’s actual sun glinting through the pink gauzey curtains, and out in the kitchen, I can hear the clang of dishes and the considerately faint sound of the Beatles on the stereo and Arthur singing lightly along. And wouldn’t you know, all things considered, I feel pretty damn fine myself.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Are you hung over?” Amber demands.

  I should have seen this coming.

  “What? Why would you say that?” I ask, trying to sound righteously offended as she brushes past me into the house.

  She squints up at me. “You look awful.”

  “Maybe that’s just my face. Real sensitive, by the way.”

  “You are hung over. Jesus, I thought you were hanging out with your mom last night.” She goes into glare mode. No one locked in the throes of a hangover should have to deal with Amber in glare mode. “You didn’t let Mitch take you out with the guys again, did you??”

  “No,” I answer. It’s the truth and everything, but it comes out sounding real feeble – mostly because even talking is a pain in the ass today.

  It’s not my fault that she chooses to interpret that as lying.

  “You did,” she surmises. She’s like some bizarre mom-wife hybrid. “Howie, come on, you know the guys are too crazy for you.”

  On a better day, I would have argued against this claim. Just because Mitch’s other dude friends happen to be a little more with the beer and the sports and the Megan Fox than me doesn’t mean that they’re too crazy for me. I am totally capable of crazying it up with those sons of bitch
es.

  Anyway, Amber just hates the guys because once one of them said he would go after her if, direct quote, ‘she had a different personality.’

  “Seriously, Howie. You don’t have to try to fit in with them, you know. Trying is just gonna make you look even sadder than you are.”

  Call me crazy, but I’m not in love with the idea of standing around getting chewed out over something I didn’t even do. “Can we just go to the friggin’ play already?”

  “Fine,” Amber sighs, but she keeps looking at me in a way that makes it perfectly clear that she’s still, I dunno, disappointed in me for conforming, when I didn’t even really conform at all. When, interestingly enough, my true last-night actions probably would have caused the guys to beat the shit out of me, or at least partake in some hearty vomiting.

  +

  And so we go.

  It’s just as mad and smoky a den of seduction as it was last night, but some of the magic gets lost when you’re hung over and with Amber.

  “They can’t serve alcohol here,” she remarks upon catching sight of the shotglass-wielding Transsexual Transylvanians.

  Oh, crap, I hope that Tights McGee isn’t here. There’s one dude I never want to see again as long as I live, no matter how much enjoyment I might get out of giving him a snappy nickname in my head.

  “Amber, they’re sexy space aliens,” I say distractedly, keeping an eye out. “They can do whatever the hell they want.”

  “Um, yeah, I’m pretty sure they can’t. This is the high school—”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay, well, they are. You’re the one who wanted to come, okay? Don’t chew me out about it.”

  Amber is starting to look pissed, but I don’t even get to bask in that happy knowledge for long, because I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around, and—

  “Hey, it’s you.” Tights McGee, in the scantily clad flesh. “Back for more?”