“Okay, we’ll be quiet,” Diego smiled.
Alex rubbed his hands together in excitement, “Okay—three-two-one—it’s me Lex-4-Slim and it’s time for v-log number eight.”
Cara and Diego looked at each other and tried not to laugh.
“Um let’s see—I’m off for the summer. Been confused about a lotta stuff lately. What happened to string theory? What happened to all the elegant science? No one believes in string theory anymore, except maybe a few media darlings. And what is dark matter and dark energy? Ninety five percent of the universe is missing and scientists don’t have a clue. This is really depressing. They can only prove that five percent of the universe exists. I’m only five percent real—that’s not very real. I think I’m losing my faith in science. Maybe everything is an illusion. Not in the Hindu sense. Maybe we’re all real, but our circumstances aren’t. Or maybe everything in the universe is ingeniously designed so that we’ll never know the answers. Every important argument has an equally valid counter argument. It’s all designed to drive us crazy—something is preventing us from finding answers. There’s always a shroud between us and truth.
“Well, that’s all I have to say about the nature of reality. On to gaming: I don’t really have a lot to say about gaming today, except one observation. The one thing I hate is when you need about thirty seconds of blasting someone with sustained machine gun fire before they die—drives me crazy. The kill should be quick, not necessarily easy. Oh, and something else I was thinking—isn’t it ironic that the coolest thing in life are the undead? I can’t stop hunting zombies. Anyways, this is Lex-4-Slim—signing off—see ya.”
Diego and Cara clapped and grinned.
“How was it?” Alex said.
Diego petted the dogs. “Loved it—that was pretty cool. How many people subscribe to your v-log?”
“About four hundred.”
“That’s great. So, what do you call yourself? —lex4slim?”
“Yeah—I guess I’m poking fun at myself.”
“Do you feel bad about your weight?”
Alex darted his eyes back and forth, looking annoyed. “Yeah.”
“Have you had a doctor look at you?”
“Yeah.”
“What did the doc say?”
“He told me to diet and exercise.”
“But you haven’t been motivated enough—”
“I have an unbelievable appetite.”
“What you need is a tune-up.”
“A tune-up?”
“Yep, an attitude adjustment. There are two extremes that can mess you up—some people are arrogant and they need to be humbled, they need something to come along and make them see that they're not better than anyone else. Then there’s the opposite extreme. Some people have absolutely no self-esteem and need to find their confidence. You’re part of the latter group. You don’t really believe that you can win the battle.”
Alex stared at Diego intently as if he were an oracle deciding his fate.
“Let’s believe what the doctor says—that there is nothing physically wrong with you—sometimes doctors are wrong, but let’s just say you’re perfectly healthy and you just need to diet and exercise. If you get motivated, there is nothing that you can’t accomplish. Okay, first of all, what do we know about the enemy? Let’s look at the problem—you’re addicted to sweets and starchy food—doughy food like pizza. I’ve been watching you, Alex.”
Cara smiled as she paged through one of Diego’s art books about impressionism.
“I’m not a doctor or nutritionist, but what I do know is the more of that kind of food you eat, the hungrier you get. So you’re gonna to have to change your eating habits. As far as exercise, I want you to join me down in the gym—it’s on the first floor. But here’s the thing—and this is the biggest thing of all. Where is the motivation going to come from?”
Alex, looking more and more uncomfortable said, “I don’t know.”
“Here’s what I want you to do—I want you to go into the bathroom—”
“This is gonna be good,” Cara said.
Diego stopped to smile at Cara. “I want you to go into the bathroom, look in the mirror and say to yourself—you are one badass dude. Only I want you to mean it—say it with a fire in the belly. You’re invincible—nothing can faze you—mind over matter Alex.”
“You want me to say to myself that I’m a badass dude?”
“The problem is always right there in the mirror. Again, if you were arrogant—if you were full of yourself—I wouldn’t tell you to say that, but you’re the opposite extreme—you need to believe in yourself. You have an enemy in your head that wants you to hate yourself as you hate your neighbor and God. Go on—go in the bathroom and talk to the mirror. Yell at it—tell it that you’re one badass dude.”
Alex stood up, walked to the bathroom and closed the door. Diego and Cara could hear the shouting muffled by the door and exhaust fan. You-are-one-bad-ass-dude!
“Is that really going to work?” Cara asked.
“It might—you never know,” Diego smiled.
“How did you know he wasn’t arrogant?”
“It’s easy to tell who has a big ego. They’re the ones that get offended easily.”
“And Alex is the opposite extreme. He has no confidence, right? Maybe he’s depressed.”
“I don’t know if he’s depressed or just discouraged. Actually, depression and discouragement are almost the same thing. And you know what, Cara—you also need to do what Alex is doing right now.”
“Me?”
“Badass!” Alex screamed.
“Yeah, you have to believe in yourself, Cara. You’re bright and talented, and yet you don’t think you have what it takes to deal with the stress of school. You have a gift. Like many people, you don’t truly feel worthy of happiness. I have a lot of friends that’re that way and beat themselves up with religion. Other people punish themselves with drugs and alcohol. There’re a lot of hurting people out there—most of it self-inflicted.”
At that moment there seemed to be a million questions that Cara wanted to ask. Diego the artist, the motivational speaker, the spiritual man.
“You’re a badass! bad—ass! badass!”
“I met a girl who cuts herself,” Cara said.
“Hmm—just imagine what she’s going through. You know that people a lot of times try to repeat the pain in their lives in order to work through it—but it’s not very effective.”
Alex came out of the bathroom, glowing with excitement. “I want to work out right now!”
“All right, go downstairs—I’ll go change and meet you there,” Diego smiled.
“Can I go too?” Cara said.
“Absolutely. Hey Alex, I like your theory about the shroud. I’ll have to give it some thought.”
Alex, oblivious, put on his sneakers and hurried out the door, unintentionally slamming it shut.
Diego looked at Cara. “After the high wears off in a few days, we’ll need to re-motivate him. The slightest bit of discouragement and he’ll lose what he has now—he hasn’t fought the battle long enough to know how powerful his thoughts are—attitude is everything. Positive thinking has to be practiced until it becomes a habit.”
“Badass. Is that how you talk at church?”
Diego laughed and played with the dogs. “No—they wouldn’t understand. Hey, I really like your drawing of the man holding the moon in his hands. I really, really like that drawing.”
Chapter Seventeen
The calls were averaging about three minutes apart. Cara needed a restroom break, so she pressed the office manager’s extension.
“Hey,” came the raspy cigarette voice.
“Need a break,” Cara said.
“All right, be right there.”
About a minute later, the office manager appeared.
“Thanks,” Cara said, and headed down the hallway. When she passed the employee lounge, she noticed the software developer, Priscilla Song, sitting by h
erself behind a row of tables. She had her head in a book, slowly eating from a plastic container. Cara stopped for a moment after seeing Priscilla and walked back to the receptionist desk.
“Hey—I’m sorry, but do you think I could take an early lunch break?” Cara said.
“Sure—everything okay?”
“Yeah—I’m feeling kind of lightheaded. I need to eat something.”
“All right—go.”
“Thanks.”
Cara again went down the hallway and used the restroom. She washed her hands and looked into the mirror. “Badass—you’re badass,” she whispered. She hurriedly dried her hands with paper towels and went into the lounge. She was relieved to see Priscilla still engrossed in her book and grabbed her lunch out of the refrigerator, eyeing the coffee machine, but unsure if she had enough time to pour herself anything. She sat in front of Priscilla, one chair over, wanting not to violate any personal space.
Cara nervously removed a turkey sandwich from a plastic bag and bit one end of it. She noticed that Priscilla was eating rotini pasta and reading a paperback: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.
“That was a great book.”
Priscilla smiled and replied, “One of the best,” and continued her chewing and reading.
Cara’s heart was racing, unable to eat. She again thought about the word, badass and then stepped off into the abyss.
“Hey—um...”
Priscilla lifted her head, showing interest.
“This is going to sound really crazy, but u-mm—do you like older guys?”
Priscilla covered her mouth not to spit out her food as she laughed. “What?”
“U-um—I don’t know how to ask this—you wouldn’t want to meet someone—who I think would be dying to meet you?”
“That would depend on a lot of things—many—many factors.” Priscilla had her book practically in her pasta.
“Careful—your book.”
Priscilla smiled and put aside the book.
Cara saw a tiny ray of hope. “So—you're not seeing anyone right now?”
“No—but I don’t know about blind dates.”
“He’s my uncle.”
“Your uncle?”
“Yes, his name is Diego.”
“And I suppose he has a thing for Asian women?” Priscilla’s eyes narrowed.
“I know—I’m being so incredibly shallow—I see you—you’re Asian and-” Cara was beginning to feel the discouragement that Diego spoke of.
“Okay, tell me about your uncle,” Priscilla smiled.
“I know he’s old—but he’s really handsome.”
“And you’re not biased because he’s your uncle?”
“He’s tall and has movie star good looks.”
“So what’s wrong with him?” Priscilla playfully widened her eyes.
The thought of Luciano entered Cara’s mind—if only her mother had asked that question. “Nothing. He’s a great guy.”
“He’s like a monk or something?” Priscilla said in a mocking voice.
“He’s just a good guy.”
“If he’s so great, why is he single?”
That was the one question she couldn’t answer, and so she thought out loud. “I’m not sure—maybe something happened to him. I don’t know—but he’s very special.”
Priscilla held her chin up with her elbow on the table, appearing to be deep in thought. “So you want me to meet your uncle, simply because I’m Asian—and you have no idea why he’s single or if he has commitment issues—do I have all this straight?”
“When you put it that way—I guess I am pretty shallow—”
“Would we have anything in common?”
“Actually, he used to work for a tech company.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he was some kind of information architect. And then he switched careers, and now he’s a college professor—teaching art.”
Priscilla stared past Cara, nodding her head slightly. “That does sound interesting.”
“Hey—I just had an amazing thought. You can meet him without actually having to meet him.”
“Oo—kay,” Priscilla said cautiously.
“He invited me to a drawing class on Thursday night—opened to the public. You can just come and sort of see what happens.”
“Drawing class?—I can’t even draw a stick figure.”
“There’ll probably be others that can’t draw either. I can bring in a clip board and paper for you tomorrow. We just can’t sit near each other or he’ll know something’s up.”
“This is insane,” Priscilla laughed.
“I know—I know-”
“And how old is he?”
“Oh—he’s in his forties.”
“I’m only twenty-eight, Cara.”
Cara thought twenty-eight was old—at least a lot older than her. She examined Priscilla’s face—what was it about Asian women that attracted Diego?—The shiny, silky hair?—The smooth complexion? The thin boobless, bootyless body? The eyes? In a strange sort of way, she almost felt jealous. Cara kept looking at Priscilla because she had nothing else to say.
Priscilla stabbed a rotini noodle with a plastic fork and slowly chewed. “So you want me to humiliate myself trying to draw something in front of the old man—the art professor. We don’t even know if he wears adult diapers—or if he has some shocking secret that prevents him from dating women.”
“I don’t want you to humiliate yourself.”
“Can you see why I would be reluctant to do this?”
“Totally.”
“Where does he teach?”
“In Miami.”
“All the way down in Miami?”
“I drive up from there every day to come to work—it’s not that bad.”
“All right—tell me why I should do this.”
Cara put her hands together to make her best pitch. “Diego is unlike anyone I’ve ever met. He’s helping me and my brother and our mom. He’s also very smart and wise—he’s almost like a motivational speaker. You should see what he did for my brother Alex.”
“What?”
“My brother's always had a weight problem—for the first time I can ever remember, he’s excited about losing weight. Diego encouraged him—he even encourages me—I’m even thinking of going to college because of him. He’s a talented artist, but he’s very humble. He’s very smart, and he's successful too.”
“Now, I’m starting to think I’m not good enough for him,” Priscilla laughed.
“And that’s the thing—he'd tell you that you have believe in yourself. He has a way of making people feel good.”
Priscilla adjusted the bookmark in the paperback. Cara was afraid that she had offended Priscilla and that she would return to her reading.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship right now. I’ve had this long term on-off thing with a guy who has serious commitment issues. He was also a programmer like me—wrote an algorithm that made him a lot of money. He’s still a young guy and he’s already retired. One day I was being nosy and checked his email—found that he had girlfriends everywhere. He’s trying to market some new Internet service, so he travels a lot. Probably has a girlfriend in every major city. I was furious—but I keep going back to him—can’t explain it. I must be out of my mind. Right now, I’m trying my best to forget about him. And now you come along and try to fix me up with someone who also made his fortune in technology and may also have some commitment issues—someone that sounds a lot like the guy I’m trying to avoid.”
“No—he’s not like that at all. I can’t imagine him wanting to hurt anyone.”
Priscilla looked at Cara for a while. “I’m almost tempted to do this crazy thing—I don’t think I would have the nerve.”
“You’ll just be a fly on the wall. He’ll have no idea what’s going on. Maybe he’ll see you and strike up a conversation.”
“But eventually he would find out that we planned this whole thing. Doesn’t it make me ap
pear to be desperate?”
“A good man is hard to find,” Cara smiled.
Priscilla looked at her book, somberly holding it with both hands. “And what makes you think he'll like me?”
Cara thought about the photograph of the Asian actress. No, can’t tell her about that—that’s just too weird. “Oh—I don’t know, just something that came up once.”
“It makes me nervous just thinking about this—So, he’s really nice?”
“Extremely.”
“You should be working in the marketing department.”
“You know—it’s not so much that he needs a girlfriend—he seems perfectly content living the rest of his life by himself. I look at it this way—I’m a generous person, and I’m trying to give a wonderful gift. Women deserve the best kind of men.”
“You are good...”
Chapter Eighteen
The group would soon be making a prayer list of deaths, diseases, divorces and all manner of despair. There was frivolity, some giggles—as people genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. Diego and Jerry were in high spirits—the years had done nothing to change their way of communicating—laughter, knee slapping—Jerry, removing his glasses to wipe his eyes, and then to see straight into Diego’s soul.
“Oh man, it’s so good to have you back,” Jerry thumped Diego’s shoulder.
“Good to be back,” Diego smiled.
“Hey—the Raiders are coming to town this year.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Let’s go see them play the Dolphins.”
“I’ll never forget that costume you wore to the game a few years back—with spikes and chains,” Diego said. “Remember—we could barely get through the parking lot—everyone wanted to have their picture taken with you?”
“I almost had heat stroke wearing all that latex.”
“At least you found out what it’s like to be a celebrity.”
“Tell me about it—I don’t think I would ever want to attract that much attention again,” Jerry laughed.
“Yeah—if you want to go—count me in.”
“Life can’t be all work—we’ve gotta go to more games—do more fun stuff. We should start playing tennis again...”
Happy That It's Not True Page 11