Inside The Mind Of Gideon Rayburn

by Sarah Miller

  "People don't understand that crates aren't inhumane," Gid overhears her say as he reaches them.

  "Oh, Gideon," Cullen says, taking his arm. He puts his other hand on Fiona's back. "Will you excuse us?"

  "Sorry," Gideon mutters as Fiona walks away.

  "Please," Cullen says, "she was telling me how to train Irish setters. You did me a favor. What's up?"

  They make sandwiches in the dining hall. Gid wraps his in a lot of napkins. Cullen doesn't bother. They settle against a maple tree. Gideon has to force himself not to maniacally scan the quad for a glimpse of Pilar. "Okay," he says to Cullen, "I've gone over this, and I just don't even know where to begin with Molly. I mean...you can't just make a girl like you. Can you?"

  This is an excellent question. A hard question. And even though Cullen's not usually up for the hard questions, this one is made for him.

  Cullen leans his head back against the tree trunk and closes his eyes. Gid eats his sandwich. He took the opportunity of a lunch away from Nicholas to get salami with cheese, mayonnaise, and mustard. It's only cafeteria quality, but it's incredible.

  Cullen opens his eyes and sighs with some impatience. "I am trying to imagine what it might be like to get a girl if it was, you know, not ridiculously easy." He closes his eyes again.

  Cullen really only means to state the facts. Still, it's got to hurt.

  "Okay," Cullen says, "I think 1 have something. Girls—we all just think of them as, you know, nice tits, nice eyes, this and that, but the thing they are into is their personalities."

  I thought it was this bad. But I always sort of hoped it wasn't.

  At least I can hear Gid thinking, "Wow, I know what Cullen means, but isn't that a bit extreme?" Though he's still taking Cullen's advice. Well. I hate to admit it, but he probably should.

  "We need to think about who Molly is, what she's into. When you know what chicks dig, it's a lot easier to get them to like you. Give me your notebook." He starts writing. After a minute or two, he opens it so Gid can see. He has written a few categories: habitat interests, friends, food. At the top, in large letters, he's written M2. He grins and nods at Gid. "Pretty cool!" he says.

  "Food?" Gid asks. "Who cares what kind of food she eats?"

  Cullen just smiles. "Okay, what does Madison eat?"

  Gid rolls his eyes.

  "Go ahead," Cullen prompts. "You know."

  "Uh, wine? Cottage cheese?" Gid throws up his hands. This is stupid. A new wave of students pours out of Barrett, one of the classroom buildings, onto the quad. Gid can't resist looking. No Pilar.

  "What kind of wine?"

  Okay, hell play. "Red."

  "What kind of cottage cheese?"

  "Fat-free?" Gid has seen it. Little blue plastic containers that she brings to the dining hall in her backpack.

  Sometimes she eats it plain, sometimes with Ry-Krisp she gets off the salad and soup bar.

  "Okay, you're doing very well," Cullen says. "So. What does the wine tell you?"

  'That she likes being drunk?" Gid's happy.

  Cullen nods encouragingly. "And what else about the wine? What makes this wine different—the wine Madison drinks, the special wine, for special Madison..."

  "She wants to be...French?" Gideon really wants to get the right answer.

  "The wine's..." Cullen's eyes expand, as if he could somehow lead Gid to the word.

  "Expensive!" Gid says, knowing he's gotten it.

  "Okay, so let's put it all together," Cullen says, clapping his hands. Gideon sees that he's having a very good time. "Cottage cheese and expensive wine."

  "Madison is interested," Gid begins carefully, "in being drunk, glamorous, and thin."

  "Exactly," Cullen says. "And so how do you get to sleep with Madison?"

  "By making her feel all those three things," Gid says.

  "I think two would probably do it," Cullen says.

  "That was just food," Gid points out, consulting the list. "We didn't do...habitat, friends, or interests."

  Cullen shrugs. "Habitat, she's from Park Avenue. Okay, friends. Okay, she pals around with her roommates, reluctantly, they don't count. She's friends with..."

  "All the pretty girls," Gid says, getting it. "And her interests...! think she's most interested in magazines. We could have stopped at food. Wow."

  "I wonder if Hal thinks Madison is a pain in the ass or not." Cullen muses. "Whatever. Here we go, Molly McGarry!" He claps his hands together. "Let's start with what we know. Habitat." Cullen taps his pen efficiently against the notebook.

  "She's from Buffalo," Gid offers, glad to have an answer.

  "Good, good." Cullen nods. "Did she tell you this?"

  "It was the first thing she said to me. When I met her, she introduced herself as Molly McGarry of the Buffalo McGarrys."

  "No way!" Cullen is very excited by this. "That means she's on to it, well, on to it and over it." "On to what? Over what?"

  "The whole prep school 'thing.'" Cullen makes quotes with his fingers. "The whole 'Oh, no way, my dad went to the Strawberry Shortcake Cotillion with your mom's border collie' thing. The first thing she tells you, the very first

  thing she wants you to know about her, is that she's from this shithole where most people here will never set foot, much less live."

  ''What's the Strawberry Shortcake Cotillion?" Gid asks.

  "Forget it. Write down 'Over prep school.'"

  Gid writes it down.

  "Write down 'Outsider.'"

  Gid writes it down.

  "Okay. Moving along. Friends."

  "Okay, well, I've seen her with Marcy Proctor."

  "Former roommate, assigned roommate." Cullen is dismissive. "Incidental."

  Gid wonders, am I incidental to Cullen and Nicholas? He really doesn't feel that way. Cullen seems to be genuinely enjoying himself.

  "Mostly, though, she goes everywhere with that little girl, Edie."

  "Right, right...," Cullen says. "Edie was assigned to live with Erica and Marcy last year, but she and Molly chose to live together this year. So, write down 'Champion of the underdog.'" Cullen shakes his head. "That girl is in my History class. She is weird. But kind of sexy in a little-girl-with-too-big-eyes kind of way. Like kind of so innocent-seeming you want to defile her, but you know that you are also kind of a little afraid of her? I know you know what I mean."

  One of the things Gideon likes about Cullen is that he gives him credit when he doesn't deserve it. Nicholas barely gives him credit when he does.

  "Anyway," Cullen continues, "despite my occasional weird forays and creepy sexual thoughts, Edie is a serious nerd. So you might want to put in parentheses, maybe with a question mark, 'Loves nerds.'"

  Fiona Winchester, now done with her lunch, walks toward them with a comely mixture of shyness and sex appeal. "Who loves nerds?" she asks, shielding her eyes from the sun. Not waiting for an answer, she walks backward, away from them, all the while watching Cullen.

  Cullen has never, not once, had to make a plan about a girl. Girls just appear to him, and all he has to do is

  decide which one he wants.

  Cullen stabs the notebook with his finger. "Okay, forget Fiona," he says. "Concentrate."

  "Who in the world would want to see themselves as a nerd?" Gid asks.

  "Who the fuck knows why anyone does anything?" he asks. "Why do we have a stupid bet to see whether you can have sex with some girl? Because it's enjoyable. It gives us something to focus on. Because we will laugh when

  that douche bag Liam has to give you the keys to Nicholas's car. What have we got now?"

  "'Over prep school,'" Gid reads. '"Outsider. Champion of the underdog. Loves nerds?'"

  "It's a pretty good start," Cullen says. "So here's the thing, when you talk to her, you have to make sure that the stuff you say, like, confirms how she sees herself. I'm going to make it real simple for you. Say one thing, just one thing, for each one of these things we've figured out about her."

  "That's weird,"
Gideon says. "I don't know if I get it."

  I get it.

  "Sure you do." (Trust me, Cullen, he doesn't.) Cullen stands up and brushes his pants off. "You'll figure it out when you talk to her." He looks across the quad and smiles. "How convenient."

  Sure enough, here come Molly and Edie, their heads bowed over the books they're carrying. Edie's tucked inside a giant scarf that makes her look even smaller. At one point a tail of it starts to trail down Edie's back, and Molly catches the end of it and winds it carefully back around her neck. As they get closer, Gid sees Edie's tiny, grateful smile and her eyes, saucer-round with what seems like perpetual bewilderment. Or maybe, Gideon thinks, she's really bored and trying to stay awake.

  "Champion of the underdog, loves nerds, et cetera." Cullen gives him a good-luck shoulder clap. "And most important, you want to see what she's having for lunch. I think we've proven that's very helpful information."

  antifreeze

  When Gid enters the cafeteria, Molly and Edie are already sitting. This was not what he wanted. He wanted to give them the choice to join him. How did they do that so fast? He looks around for another place to sit down, but there are only about eight other people there, and he only knows two of them: Luke Miles, a linebacker on the football team who eats five full meals a day. (He once drew a chart on a napkin to show Gid the number of calories he ate per day in order to, as he put it, beefy thumbs pointing at his chest, "keep this machine running.") Sitting maybe twenty yards away is Sergei Rofganif, who, Gid happens to know, eats lunch late because he takes physics at MIT. Not freshman physics, like, "find out how dense this sphere is," but crazy advanced physics, like, "find out where the universe ends—and what comes after it." Sergei Rofganif is transfixed by what appears to be a blank piece of graph paper. Gid imagines they would not have much to discuss. Luke Miles has consumed two hot dogs and is staring down a third. As maybe off-the-beaten-path as it would be to go sit with Molly and Edie, it's so much less so than his other options.

  It's time for a little positive visualization, a la Journal of the Zen Hut. Gideon stands facing the soda machine, closes his eyes, and imagines sleeping with Molly. Interesting that he goes not to the actual sex part but getting up afterward. When she's asleep—oh yes, Gid, no doubt your prowess took her unexpectedly by storm—and he puts his clothes back on and goes to tell Cullen how he has done what he set out to do. He imagines Cullen's filial pride and Nicholas's initial disappointment in losing, followed by more filial pride.

  Good. This tactic works. He puts one foot in front of the other, and then he's there and it's time to start talking. He thinks about saying "May I sit down?" but changes this at the last minute (smart play, Gid) to "Can I sit here?"

  Molly turns around. Smiles. Looks him up and down. "Well, hello," she says, making a show of checking behind him. She's wearing a plain brown cardigan, a white blouse, jeans, and some kind of fuzzy boots that look like little animals. "Where are your friends?" she asks. Is that sarcasm? Because her tone made it sound like she was saying, "Where are your ubiquitous friends?" But her smile really is intense, really...ugh. Warm. Giddoesn't feel that

  bad as he sits down. He thinks, She's a person, I'm a person, how bad can this be? She smiles more. He thinks how Pilar's smile makes him stare. Molly's doesn't make him stare. It just makes him feel like he's not afraid to sit down. Staring's fun. Not feeling like a stupid jerk isn't bad either.

  That's when he notices that Edie is staring at him. Her eyes are really giant. Do small people have giant eyes, or do they just look giant? How, he wonders, would this fascinating puzzle in special dynamics strike Sergei? Edie is dwarfed by a rather enormous plate of macaroni and cheese, which she shakes salt over and begins to eat. Gid's anger flares a little that she doesn't say hi. She should be nicer. Her haughtiness is not in proportion with her hotness.

  Now, this is Gid listening too much to his roommates. I don't like this Gid. I mean, I still like/love him but not at moments where his insecurity makes him lash out.

  Molly is eating salami and American cheese, with mayonnaise and mustard on white. "Incredible," he says. "I ate the exact same thing for lunch today."

  He is immediately overwhelmed by the banality of this observation. But Molly warms to the salami conversation. "I didn't know, you know? I stood up there for a while," she says. "I was tempted by the macaroni and cheese, but then I was like, who wants to eat one flavor over and over again? No offense," she adds to Edie.

  Edie shrugs.

  What does it mean for a girl to eat a salami sandwich with American cheese? Gid wonders. She's drinking what appears to be a Coke. But maybe it's diet. He imagines this would be an important distinction. He's going to have to consult with Cullen on the food, its hidden message. Is she just saying that she's regular, that she's like a guy? He says, "I like salami." Again. Cursing himself.

  "I get the salami whenever it's available. You're not going to make any 'hide the salami' jokes, are you?" she asks.

  "If I were sitting with the crowd I usually sit with," Gid says, "I would have made a 'hide the salami' joke. But I didn't really think you were the type of person who would laugh." Molly, almost imperceptibly but without a doubt, inches a little toward him. Receiving the small compliment, getting the fact that Gideon saw her as slightly outside of things, just as she wanted to see herself. Cullen was right. This made sense. It wasn't that hard at all!

  "You're from Buffalo," he proceeds, buoyed with success. "What's it like there?"

  Molly looks pleased to have been asked. "I can't describe it. But I can tell you a story."

  This is great. She's going to talk. It's going to take up time. He's going to relax a little and think of what to do next. It would be enough just to pay attention. But of course, as a guy, he has to think about his next move.

  Edie sets her fork down and smiles as Molly begins. "A while ago, like maybe twenty years ago, there was a guy who sold hot dogs in Delaware Park in Buffalo. It's a park that was designed by Frederick Law Olmstead."

  Gid has no idea who that is, and his poker face sucks.

  Molly frowns. "Frederick Law Olmsted designed Central Park," she says. "Central Park is in New York City."

  Edie smiles, presumably enjoying Molly's smugness a degree more than Gid.

  "Anyway, he is the only guy licensed to sell hot dogs and stuff at this park. And he's been doing it his whole life. But one year, there's a new mayor. And this mayor decides he's going to take that license and give it to someone else, you know, probably his cousin, or his sister's stepkid or something. So the guy, he's out of a job. Just like that. So in the park, there's a pond where kids skate in the winter, and that's how this guy made a lot of his money, selling hot dogs and hot chocolate to all the kids who skated there, right? So, you know what the guy does? He puts antifreeze in the lake, and the new guy, well, he goes broke. End of story."

  "Oh my God." Gid feels himself forgetting his agenda. That was a really good story. "Like, how much antifreeze?"

  "Who knows?" Molly says. "Who besides a freak from Buffalo knows how much antifreeze it takes to keep a pond from freezing?"

  "I bet he does." Gid points to Sergei, who, as if on cue, is trying to balance a spoon on top of a water glass. To Gid's absolute delight, Molly laughs. Out loud. Edie laughs, into a napkin, like she's going to get in trouble for it. Gid is so pleased with himself. He sits back, very satisfied, but then sees that Sergei is no longer playing with his spoon but looking uncomfortably at the ground.

  "Oh no," Molly says.

  Gid isn't sure what force takes ahold of him but he walks over to Sergei, who turns to him, his giant eyeglasses first flashing at the light coming in the window. "Sorry to bother you," he says, "but you know, we're, uh, not laughing at you. We didn't want you to feel bad." He takes a quick glance behind him. Edie and Molly smile grimly, supporting him.

  "Fuck off," Sergei says quietly.

  Gid feels anger surge in him. He almost says, "Hey, I was trying to be nice." But as
Sergei rushes to gather his things, Gid notices the weird patchy hair on his chin and the rough black plastic of his eyeglasses. Gid realizes that as stupid as he feels, this kid probably feels even stupider. He realizes that if he wants the fact that he apologized to actually make the kid feel any better, he'll just take the fuck-off and move on. Gid kind of deserves it. And he can handle it.

  "He said, 'fuck off,'" Gid mouths as he nears the table. He sits. They all shake their heads and just sit in the silence for a few seconds. There's the clang of coffee cups being washed in the kitchen, a whistle sounds sharp and close over the dull, distant throb of the commuter train. Gid wonders if he might be starting to get why people say New England is cozy.

  "Anyway," Molly shrugs and smiles, "that's what Buffalo is like."

  Gid imagines the hot dog guy, in a tiny little ranch house with cars in the yard, sitting at his kitchen table, maybe repairing old toasters, as he came up with his grand plan. How much he must have savored the feeling of adrenaline in his veins, the excitement in his heart as he ventured out to Milt's Garage and spent the last two hundred dollars he had on antifreeze. "It's really kind of great," he says. "You have to admire a guy like that."

  Molly smiles. "I agree," she says. "You could make it in Buffalo."

  Later, he finds Cullen, and Cullen wants to know what happened. He's been all geared up to give a full report, but suddenly, he can't remember a thing. He just says it was fun.

  it's fiona's party, and you'll come if she wants you to

  Gid's fourth Friday at Midvale is one of those fall days with a menacing violet-gray sky. Gid's walking to Spanish with Liam Wu, enjoying their odd camaraderie and feeling a slow-burning anxiety he attributes to the weather until he realizes what his real problem is. Yesterday was Danielle's birthday, and he still hasn't called her. "Danielle," he groans involuntarily, forgetting he's not alone.