by Brent Runyon
There's the limo. The limo is right in my driveway. Oh my God, there's Dennis walking up to my front door. We don't usually use the front door, but that's okay.
I open it and walk out to meet him. He's kind of short, but he looks basically like he does on TV except for more tired and like he didn't shave this morning.
“Hi, I'm Brent.”
“Great to meet you, babe.” We shake hands.
“Your show was great. You were so funny.”
“Thanks, man. Is this the pad? Can we hang inside?”
“Sure, come in.”
“Are your folks here?”
“No, they're at work.” We walk into the living room and he sits in the chair. I sit across from him on the couch. Dennis Miller is sitting in my living room. “Do you want anything to drink or anything?”
“No thanks. So, tell me, what happened?”
“What?”
“What happened to you?”
“Oh, um, you mean, like, the fire?” I didn't know he was going to ask anything like that. “Um, I was . . .” I point upstairs to the bathroom. “I was up there, and I had some matches. . . .” I can't say it. I don't know what to say. I look down at my hands and then up the stairs at the bathroom.
“That's okay, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want.”
“Okay.”
“So you want to go for a ride in a limo?”
“Sure.”
There's a big fat Italian guy driving the car. He opens our door for us and we slide in. Dennis says, “Why don't you take us for a spin around town.”
What should I say? Should I ask about Saturday Night Live? Should I ask what he's going to do now? Celebrities like to talk about themselves, I think. I should ask him something where he can be funny and tell a lot of jokes or something. If I was a talk show host, I would already know what to ask him, but I'm not sure.
I'm still trying to think of something to say when Dennis says, “I was talking to Franken, you know, Al Franken. He's got balls, man. We had Oprah on the show one time, and in the pitch meeting he asked her if she was willing to play Aunt Jemima.” He laughs just like he does on TV. “That crazy motherfucker.”
“Yeah, he's funny. Did she do it?”
“No, she was pissed. Hey, what time is it? Ten o'clock, that's seven in L.A., shit, too early. I was thinking we could call Leno and wake him up, but I think it's too early.”
“Jay Leno?”
“Yeah, he's a good friend.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, you like him?”
“Uh, yeah, he seems nice.”
“But Hanksy is the nicest guy in showbiz.”
“Who?”
“Tom Hanks. He's a genuine cat, man. A real sweetheart.”
Jesus, I can't think of anything to say. I'm such an idiot.
He says, “Hey, want to see a picture of my wife and kid?”
“Sure.” He pulls a photo out of his pocket with a picture of a pretty woman and a little kid.
“That's Ali. That's Holden.”
“They look nice.”
“Light of my life, man.” We pass the Long John Silver's and keep driving through Falls Church. I've got to think of something to say, but I can't think of anything. He says, “So, do you go to school or what, man?”
“Um, I have a tutor right now, but I'm supposed to go back to regular school soon.”
“How long have you been out of school?”
“Like, eight months.”
“Yeah. Tough, man, listen, I feel for you. You're a tough kid.”
“Thanks.” It's a good thing he doesn't know what really happened, he probably wouldn't think I was so tough. He probably wouldn't even be here. I've got to find something funny to say. Jesus, anything, I have to make him laugh.
Now we're just driving, not even talking. God, I can't think of anything to say. Nothing.
Dennis says to the driver, “You can swing back around now. Hey, does somebody know where we are, because I have no idea. Brento, where are we, man?”
I look around. I'm not sure where we are. I say, “Uh, I wasn't paying attention.” I mean, I know I've been here before, but I'm not sure how to get back.
The driver just puts his hand up, like he knows what he's doing. Dennis seems worried. He says, “You know where we're going, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, because I've got a plane to catch at some point.”
The car swings around and starts back to where we came from. Now I know where we are. We're not even that far away.
We pull back into my driveway and Dennis opens the door. God, it's over so fast. I wonder if I'll ever see him again. He says, “Listen, I've got a show at George Mason University in a couple of weeks. If you want, I'll get you some tickets.”
“That would be great.”
“Yeah? I've got your number. I'll give you a call, okay?”
“Yeah, um, before you go, can I take a picture with you and get you to sign my tape?”
“Sure, man.”
I run inside and grab my tape. He signs it, I'm Outta Here, Dennis Miller. And makes spirals with the pen, like he always used to do at the end of Weekend Update. We get the driver to take a picture of us with our arms around each other's shoulders.
He says, “Brento, it was really nice to meet you, man. Hang in there.”
“Thanks, Dennis. Thanks for coming out here.”
“No problem.” We shake hands. He's got really small hands.
“And tell Luca Brasi I said good-bye.” He laughs and gets in the car and drives away. That's so awesome. Dennis Miller laughed at my joke. He laughed at my stupid Godfather joke. God, he laughed at my joke.
Except I should have said Clemenza. Clemenza was the driver. I should have said Clemenza, that would have been so much funnier. Shit.
Mom comes home about twenty minutes later and makes me tell her the whole story, then she makes me call Dad and tell him the whole story. I should call Stephen. I wonder if he's back from Australia yet. I bet he would think it was cool. It's just so cool that Dennis Miller came over to my house and hung out with me for a while.
Maureen, the tutor, is here. I can't believe I have to do school stuff on a day like today. She wants me to read an article about a tribe of Africans that lived apart from society for thousands of years and then, just recently, somebody found them in the jungle. They're called the Yokemite tribe or something.
The phone is ringing. Mom answers. I can hear her talking in the kitchen.
“Hello? Yes. Yes. Okay, yes, I'll get him.” She pokes her head around the corner. “Brent?”
“Yeah?” She doesn't usually interrupt me when I'm in school.
“It's Jay Leno.”
“What?”
“Jay Leno is on the phone for you.”
“What?”
“It's Jay Leno. He wants to talk to you.” She opens her eyes really wide to let me know she's serious. I run upstairs into her bedroom to get the phone. God, this is so weird. I can't believe this is happening to me.
“Hello? Mom, I've got it.” She hangs up.
“Hey, is this Brent?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey, this is Jay Leno.”
“Hi.” He sounds just like he does on TV, with the speech impediment and everything.
“So what's going on? Dennis gave me your number, just thought I'd give you a call, say hello.”
“Uh, I'm just in school right now, like homeschool.” God, I sound like an idiot.
“Oh yeah? What are you studying there?”
“Uh, this, uh, African tribe called the Yokemite.”
“Huh. I must have been sick that day.” I laugh.
“Well, there's a lot of stuff to learn, actually.”
“Oh well, I must have been sick that week.” I laugh again. He's funny.
“Yeah.”
“Well, it's good to talk to you. Hope you feel better, and if I'm ever in town doing a show, I'll get you some tick
ets.”
“Okay.”
“Great, nice to talk to you.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Bye-bye.”
I walk back into the living room. Maureen's still here. She wants me to keep reading about that Yokemite tribe. I'm not really in the mood anymore. I mean, I woke up this morning like a normal person, and now I've ridden in a limo with Dennis Miller and talked on the phone with Jay Leno. I'm not going to do any work today.
The phone is ringing again. Who's it going to be this time? Mom answers. She says, “Hello. Yes. Sure. I'll get him. Brent, it's Dennis Miller again.”
“Okay.” This time I take it in the kitchen. “Hello.”
“Hey, Brento! Did you talk to Leno?”
“Yeah. He was really nice.”
“Great. Great. Can't tell you how happy I am to hear that. Just wanted to check in, make sure you guys got in touch. So, I'll see you in a couple of weeks.”
“Okay. See you later.”
“Bye-bye.”
“Bye.”
I'm starting to feel a little dizzy. I have to lie down.
Mom and I are on our way home from Children's. She says, “Do you want to do anything special today?”
“No.”
“Do you want to go anywhere?”
“No.” What is she talking about? We never do anything special. We always just go home.
“You sure you don't want to do anything special?”
“I'm sure.”
“Come on. Let's have a little fun.”
“No thanks.” She's driving a little faster than she normally does. She doesn't normally pass people like this, either.
We're supposed to get off at this exit to go home, but Mom keeps driving. I say, “Mom, that was our exit.”
“I know.”
“Where are we going?”
“You'll see.” What the hell is going on? She's got a weird smile on her face, like she's got something up her sleeve.
“Mom, what are you doing?”
“We're doing something spontaneous.”
“Spontaneous?”
“Yup.”
“We never do anything spontaneous.”
“I know. That's why we're doing it.”
“You're crazy.”
She laughs, opens her eyes really wide, and blinks a few times. I wonder if she's gone crazy. I mean, the whole time I've known her, she's never done anything spontaneous. Craig and I used to joke that if she was going to do something spontaneous, she'd have to put it on her calendar at least a year in advance.
We're still driving. There's nothing out this way at all. We passed the mall and the movie theater. A sign says Dulles Airport. I look at Mom.
“Mom, are we going to the airport?”
“You'll see.”
We are going to the airport. Why the hell are we going here? We don't have tickets. We don't have luggage.
She parks the car in the departures section and we walk into the terminal. Look at all these people in business suits.
We go over to the bank of television screens and stare up at the list of departures. Mom says, “So where do you want to go?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“We can't go anywhere. We don't have any luggage.” I think she has gone totally crazy.
“That doesn't matter. Where do you want to go?”
“I don't know.”
“Do you want to go see Nanny and Grandpa in Florida?”
“I don't know.”
“Do you want to go to California?”
“I don't know.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I don't know. How are we going to pay for the tickets?”
“I'll put it on my credit card.”
“What about Dad?”
“We'll call him when we get there.”
“Where?”
“I don't know. You have to decide.”
We stand around looking up at the screens. There are flights to New York and Los Angeles. And Nashville. And Chicago. And Boston. But I don't really want to go anywhere. I've been away for too long. I just want to go home.
“Mom, I don't want to go anywhere. I just want to go home.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, let's at least get a souvenir.”
We go to the bookstore in the airport and buy a copy of Where's Dan Quayle?, which is like Where's Waldo? but with Dan Quayle, and walk back out to the car. I look at her face. I hope she's okay.
Mom and Dad are looking into programs for me before I go back to real school. They found one that's not too far away called Dominion, which is like an outpatient hospital for kids with problems. I'm not sure that I have problems, but I don't know, maybe I do. Anyway, Mom and I have a meeting with the director of the program today.
We pull into the parking lot, and just before we open the doors, Mom says, “Brent, I just want you to keep an open mind about this place, okay? This is just our first meeting, and if it's not the right place for you, then you won't come here, but just keep an open mind, okay?”
“Okay.”
We wait for Dr. Mager to come meet us. We're the only ones waiting, but other people keep coming through and the lady behind the desk buzzes them in.
Some guy opens the door. Is this him? “Hi, Mrs. Runyon, Brent, I'm Michael Mager, you can call me Michael.” His name sounds like major.
“Hello, nice to meet you.” Mom shakes his hand.
“Hi.” He shakes my hand too and looks me right in the eye.
He's got a nice-looking face, not handsome exactly, but kind. He leads us back through a hallway, past a cafeteria—I can smell the meat loaf—and into his office.
We all sit down and he starts talking. Apparently he already knows everything about me. “Well, to start, I'd just like to thank you both for coming. I'll tell you a little about our hospital and what we do here. We have two programs you may be interested in. The first is an inpatient program, in which we provide twenty-four-hour care for adolescents with a variety of mental health concerns. The second is an outpatient program, in which we provide mental health counseling in the morning and a one-on-one tutoring program in the afternoons. Brent, you'd be eligible for both of those programs.”
There's something I like about this guy. Maybe it's the way he smiles when he talks, even though the stuff he's saying is the same stuff every other doctor says.
“Most of our patients here at Dominion fall into two groups. We treat eating disorders and adolescents in drug rehabilitation. Now, Brent, I know that neither of those is your problem, but I think, in the right environment, it could be very helpful to have other kids around who are slightly different from you to give you a different kind of perspective. And to be honest, I'm sure, no matter where you look, it will be difficult to find anyone that fits directly into your diagnosis group.”
He smiles at me, then at Mom. Most of the other doctors talk to Mom or Dad and don't pay any attention to me, but this guy, when he talks, looks right at me. He continues, “So, I think the most important thing is that if you decide to come here, we're on the same page as far as treatment goes. I think that if you come here, the focus shouldn't be on why you set yourself on fire because at this point you probably don't even know yourself.”
Wow, that's completely right. I never thought of that.
“The focus should really be on making sure that it never happens again.”
I say, “That sounds good.”
Mom says, “Yes, that sounds good.”
“Great, well, you think about it and get back to me.” He shakes our hands and walks us out.
Outside in the car, Mom says, “What'd you think?”
“He seems nice.”
“Yeah? Do you think you'd like to go there?”
“Well, yeah, I think I would.”
“Great, honey. That's great.”
The phone is ringing. Mom answers it. She calls down, “Brent, someone on the phone for you.” Then s
he whispers loudly, “It's a girl.” A girl? I wonder who that could be. I turn off the TV and pick it up. My heart is beating really fast all of a sudden.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Brent?”
“Yeah?” Who is this?
“Hey, Brent, it's Caroline. How are you?” She sounds so cheerful.
“I'm good. How are you?”
“I'm well. Hey, what are you doing tonight?” Caroline and I were in the same French class, but we were never really good friends before. I mean, I knew her and thought she was cool, but we weren't that close. Then when I was in the hospital, she started writing me all these letters and sending me cards all the time. She's just about the only one from my school that kept sending me cards. I don't know why she did that.
“I'm not doing anything. What are you doing?”
“Well, a bunch of us are going to the Marshall-Madison game tonight, and I was wondering if you would like to come.”
There's big football rivalry between Marshall and Madison. Caroline goes to Madison now, and if I ever go to high school, I'll go to Marshall.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Okay, so I'll meet you at eight in front of where they sell the tickets?”
“Okay. Great.”
“See you then.” We hang up.
I'm standing out front by the ticket booth. The game has already started, but I don't see her. There must be a thousand kids here. I'm wearing my old black winter coat and a hooded sweatshirt. I've got my hood pulled up because it's cold and also to cover the scars on my cheeks. So far I haven't seen anybody staring at me, so it's working. I told Mom to pick me up at ten, but what if I don't want to stay that long? I hope I recognize Caroline. Is that her? That must be her. God, I thought she was kind of dumpy when I knew her at Kilmer, but now she's looking pretty good. She looks older, but maybe it's the cheerleading outfit she's wearing.
“Hi, Brent!” She gives me a hug.
“Hi, Caroline.”
“It's so good to see you.”
“It's good to see you too. You look good.”
“Thanks.”
“So you're a cheerleader?”
“Captain of the freshman cheerleading squad. Go, Madison! Woo!” I laugh.