Spoiled Brats: Short Stories

by Simon Rich

  Okay, so, yesterday he finally sent me a hologram, but it was, like, only five seconds long and he did it at the dining hall, so there were, like, bits of people’s arms and trays in it. And I was, like, if you can’t take the time to go inside an orb and send me a private hologram, how is this ever going to work? But I didn’t actually say that to him because I didn’t want him to think I was being clingy or whatever. Anyway, I’ve decided I’m not even going to think about Derek for a while, because this is my semester abroad and it’s supposed to be about me.

  September 29, 3014

  Tomorrow we have our first quiz. It’s on the culture of the Narvians, who are our host tribe. I’m sort of nervous, because at Williams I get time and a half, and I’m worried that the teachers here won’t know that I get that. Also, the reading is really confusing. The Narvians don’t have any concept of “me” or “you” (they see their tribe as a “single living being”). It’s, like, really hard to keep track of all the names.

  Anyway, yesterday morning I sent Derek a text, to be, like, “I’m freaking out about the quiz,” and I figured he would just ignore it, as usual. But he wrote back right away, saying, “You’ll do fine,” and I was, like, oh my God, that’s so Derek. Just when I think he’s a total jerk, he’ll do something that’s freaking amazing and I’ll remember how much we love each other. In a way I think that this long-distance thing is a good test for us, because if we can get through it, it means we were really meant to be together.

  Anyway, I was so relieved that things with Derek were finally good again that I signed up for one of the optional culture trips. We went to Titan, which is, like, the biggest moon. It’s sort of cool, because it has all these underground rivers. But when I tried to text a picture to Derek, there was no reception. Like, none. So I complained to Narvia, who’s, like, the alien lady who runs the program. And I was, like, “I don’t want to be rude, but in the brochure it said there would be reception and I’m, like, trying to make long distance work with my boyfriend, Derek, and there’s no reception.” She tried to fix my phone by zapping it with her eyes, and it helped a little, but not really. And at this point I was sort of freaking out, because even though Derek can be a total jerk, I love him unconditionally, and I, like, for real want to have babies with him someday, and that’s, like, actually something I think about, and I don’t want it all to end just because of my stupid phone. So I was, like, “Narvia, what’s going on with the reception?” And she explained that a war had started that morning between the Narvians (her tribe) and the Gorgons (who live on some other moon). It’s complicated, but basically, when they have their battles or whatever, it screws up reception. So I was, like, “I know it’s not your fault or whatever, but I just want you to be aware that there isn’t reception.”

  September 30, 3014

  So the quiz went okay, but I think I screwed up the last part because I was having trouble concentrating. Narvia made us turn off our phones for the quiz, so the whole time all I could think about was Derek and whether or not he was trying to get through to me. Also, I was really, really hungry. That’s the one complaint I have about doing a semester abroad: I’m interested in other cultures, and that’s why I came to Saturn, to experience new things, but I’m sorry, the food here is ass. The Narvians don’t eat meat, because they believe everything has “a common soul,” and I respect that or whatever. But the fruits and vegetables here are totally weird. All they have in the cafeteria are these purple star-shaped thingies and these giant petals from different flowers. There’s one vending machine in the hallway that has Nutri-Grain bars and that’s what I’ve been living on this whole time. Also, there’s no beer, only XanXan, which is made out of flowers (like everything here). I’ve tried it, and it’s actually not horrible, but it makes you really hungover. I usually drink only on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, and today’s Tuesday, but the quiz was so stressful and things with Derek are so weird that I think I’m going to make an exception.

  October 1, 3014

  Last night was the worst. I was doing XanXan shots alone in my room and watching American Idol MXIII on Hulu when I realized I’d forgotten to eat dinner. The thing is, though, you’re not supposed to leave your pod at night, because that’s when the Gorgons do their air strikes. I thought about waiting until morning to eat, but my stomach was, like, literally rumbling. And so eventually I was, like, forget it, I’m getting a Nutri-Grain bar. So I put on my suit and floated down the hall, but when I got to the vending machine, they were out of blueberry, which is the only kind I like, and all they had was strawberry, which tastes like straight ass. And this was just, like, the last straw. So I called Derek and he picked up, but he was acting really weird. And I heard voices in the background. And I was, like, “Are you at a party?” And he was, like, “No, I’m just hanging out with some people.” And I heard some girls laughing, and I was, like, “Are there girls there?” And he was, like, “There are a lot of people here.” And I was, like, “I thought you said it wasn’t a party.” And he was, like, “It’s not a party.”

  So Narvia came by and was, like, “You must stay within your pod. The Gorgons are attacking.”

  And I was, like, “Listen, I know this isn’t your fault, and I don’t want to be rude, but in the brochure it said there’d be nightlife and there isn’t any nightlife, like, at all.” And she apologized and said that the war had escalated, and that the Gorgons had started enslaving and torturing the Narvians, and because of her antennae or whatever, she could physically feel it when her fellow Narvians were being tortured, because that’s how her species has evolved. And I was, like, whoa, too much information, but of course I didn’t say that, because I didn’t want to be disrespectful of her culture. So anyway she made me go back inside my pod, but by that point Derek wasn’t picking up his phone.

  I would never admit this to anyone, but sometimes I wonder if Derek and I are even compatible. I mean, I love him with all my heart, and I know he loves me, even though he’s never, like, said the words or whatever. But the thing is, we have pretty different interests. For example, he’s really into full-immersion virtual-reality first-person-shooter games and I’m really into, like, relationships. That’s the whole reason why I’m majoring in communications—because I want to work for a nonprofit when I graduate and try to save the world. I know a lot of people would say that’s a crazy pipe dream and I should just give up, but I’m, like, you only live once and you have to seize the day. There’s this quote I saw once on my friend Karen’s yearbook page and I liked it so much that I put it on my yearbook page, even though I knew everyone would be, like, “You copied that from Karen,” but I was, like, who cares, I like the quote. It goes: “Shoot for the moon, because even if you miss you’ll end up among the stars.” When I first saw that, I was, like, oh my God, I’m going to freaking cry, because I freaking love that. I try to talk about this kind of stuff with Derek, but it never works, because he doesn’t like to have deep conversations. All he wants to do is play his video games and break his kill records, which are, like, really high, but so what?

  I’m trying to decide now whether to text him good night. I kind of want to, because I miss him like crazy, but also part of me is, like, he doesn’t deserve it, because I’ve sent him good-night texts for nine straight days and he hasn’t written me back once. I don’t want to play games, though, because I don’t believe in them, so I’ll probably just text him what I always text him, which is “Good night, XO, I love you.”

  October 10, 3014

  Derek broke up with me. That’s why I haven’t been recording new entries, because it happened eight days ago, and since then I’ve just been crying.

  I was taking a quiz when he called me up out of the blue. You’re not supposed to use your phone in class, but Narvia was distracted, because there was some big Gorgon battle going on, and her eyes were rolled back in her head, so I was able to sneak out and take the call.

  So the first thing Derek says is, “I want to talk to you about som
ething,” and my heart immediately starts pounding, because he never wants to talk about anything. So I’m, like, “What’s up?” You know, trying to sound casual. And he’s, like, “I think we should do an open relationship.” And so I’m, like, “Where is this coming from?” And he’s, like, “I don’t think long distance is working.” And so by this point I’m starting to get mad, because it’s not my fault long distance isn’t working, it’s his for not making an effort. So I blurt out, “If you’re going to be weird like this, what’s the point of even dating, why not just break up?” and he says “Fine” and hangs up. And I’m, like, Did what I think just happened actually just happen? So I call him and text him and leave a voice mail and a hologram and I even send him a telepathic message, even though they’re expensive and my plan doesn’t cover them if I’m roaming, but Derek never responds. And finally I realize, Oh my God, it’s over. Derek Kleinbaum and I are no longer a couple.

  So for the next eight days, I don’t leave my pod, not even to go to class, and eventually Narvia knocks on my door and I’m, like, great, just what I need right now. So I let her in and I expect her to lecture me about schoolwork or whatever, but instead she says, “Please pack your bags. The rocket leaves in one hour.” And I’m, like, “What?” And she’s, like, “Have you been listening to the bulletins?” And I’m, like, “No, Derek broke up with me.” And so she explains that the Gorgons won the war by rounding up all the Narvians and destroying them with a heat blast. And I’m confused, because she’s a Narvian but she’s still alive, and she explains that she survived because the lasers couldn’t permeate the school, but all of her friends and family died. And I’m, like, “Oh my God,” because that’s freaking horrible. And I start to feel really bad, because all this time I thought we had nothing in common, but now that she’s lost her tribe and I’ve lost Derek, and both of our worlds have come crashing down, I realize we’re, like, exactly the same person.

  So I’m, like, “I think it’s time for some XanXan,” and she waves her antennae like she doesn’t want any, but I just ignore her and pour out two huge shots. And we start downing shots, like, one after the other, and I’m, like, “I know what will get our minds off things. Let’s play ‘Never Have I Ever’!” She doesn’t know how to play, so I explain the rules and say, “You go first.” And she’s, like, “Never have I ever seen so great a genocide as the one the Gorgons inflicted on my people.” And I want to be, like, No, you’re supposed to say fun stuff, but I don’t want to make her feel bad, so I just nod and take a sip.

  We finish the bottle and I get on the rocket, and that’s where I am now, just riding back home through space. And the pilot just said, “If you go to the observation deck, you can see a view of Earth.” And I didn’t look the last time, but this time I kind of want to look, because who knows when I’ll get another chance? So I guess this is the end of my diary, because phones don’t work up there. So I guess I’m just going to turn this phone off and go up there. Okay. This is it. I’m doing it. I’m turning this off. I’m going up there.

  SELL OUT

  I am not smart with words, but I work hard every day of my life.

  When I come on boat I have only shirt and pants. The food is not kosher and I soon begin to starve. In middle of ocean, I trade pants for tin of herring. Is very cold without the pants. But I survive.

  They send me to Brooklyn and I find job in pickle factory. Every day, I crawl through gears and pull out rats. Is not so easy. The rats have sharp teeth and do not like to be touched. But I work hard. When I start in 1908 they pay me eighty cents each day. By 1912 they are giving me ninety cents, plus bowl of potato soup.

  I find beautiful girl named Sarah. Her left leg is lame since youth, but she has all her teeth. She is very clever and teaches me to spell words. I save up pennies all week long so on Sunday I can buy her treat, like seltzer or salt fish.

  When we marry and she is with child, we stay up late each night whispering. We make great plans. We will have son, and he will have son, and so on and so on and so on. And someday years from now, when we are dead and gone, our family name will stand for strength and honor. Someday our hopes and dreams will come to pass.

  One day at work I fall into brine and they close the lid above me by mistake. Much time passes; it feels like long sleep. When the lid is finally opened, everybody is dressed strange, in colorful, shiny clothes. I do not recognize them. They tell me they are “conceptual artists” and are “reclaiming the abandoned pickle factory for a performance space.” I realize something bad has happened in Brooklyn.

  The science men come and explain. I have been preserved in brine a hundred years and have not aged one day. They describe to me the reason (how this chemical mixed with that chemical, and so on and so on), but I am not paying attention. All I can think of is my beautiful Sarah. Years have passed and she is surely gone.

  Soon, though, I have another thought. When I fall in brine, Sarah was with child. Maybe I still have family in Brooklyn? Maybe our dreams have come true?

  The science man turns on computing box and types. I have one great-great-grandson still in Brooklyn, he says. By coincidence, he is twenty-seven years old, just like me. His name is Simon Rich. I am so excited I can barely breathe. Maybe he is doctor, or even rabbi? I cannot wait to meet this man—to learn the ending of my family’s story.

  “How about Thai fusion?” Simon asks me as we walk along the street where I once lived. “This place has these amazing gluten-free ginger thingies.”

  He gestures at crowded restaurant. It used to be metal factory.

  “Are you a cilantro person?” he asks me.

  “I do not know,” I admit.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “There’s a bagel place around the corner.”

  I sigh with relief and follow Simon into store. He orders two bagels with creamed cheese and hands me one. I cannot believe how large it is—like something to feed an entire Irish family. I take three bites and put the rest in coat, to save for supper. When I look up at Simon I see that he has somehow almost finished his whole bagel. He is eating so fast, I cannot understand it. It is like he is in race and must shove all the bread in his mouth or he will die. Between bites he gulps from his drink, which is bottle of green sugar water the size of bucket.

  “Gatorade?” he asks me.

  I am too repulsed even to respond.

  Eventually, he has eaten all his food and swallowed all his sugars. I wait for him to catch his breath, but then I can wait no longer.

  “Please,” I say, “I must know. What path have you chosen for your life?”

  Simon smiles proudly at me.

  “I’m a script doctor,” he says.

  I shake my head with astonishment.

  “That is so wonderful,” I say, my eyes filling with tears. “I am so proud. I cannot believe my descendant is medical doctor.”

  Simon averts his eyes.

  “It’s actually just a screenwriting term,” he says. “ ‘Script doctor’ means I, like, punch up movie scripts.”

  I stare at him blankly.

  “ ‘Punch up’?” I say.

  “You know, like, add gags.”

  “What sort of gags?”

  He clears his throat.

  “Let’s see… well, the script I’m working on now is about a guy who switches bodies with his pet dog. So I’m adding all these puns, like ‘I’m doggone mad!’ and ‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you!’ You know, things like that.”

  A long time passes in silence.

  “So you are not medical doctor.”

  “No,” Simon confesses. “I am not.”

  Simon says he is happy I was brined. He has always wondered what it would be like to “hang out” with his great-great-grandfather.

  “We’re going to have a blast,” he says. “Brooklyn has gotten so awesome, it’s crazy.”

  I ask him if he knows what became of my Sarah. He shakes his head. He has worked very hard to research our family, journeying all the way to place ca
lled Ancestry Dotcom. But all he could find about Sarah was the address she shared with me in Williamsburg: 283 Bedford.

  “That’s an American Apparel now,” he says. “But don’t worry. You can stay with me for as long as you want.”

  He leads me down Atlantic Avenue. We pass many strange people wearing tight pants and circus mustaches.

  “So,” I say sadly, “if you are not real doctor, I assume you did not have real education.”

  “Oh, sure I did,” he says. “I went to Harvard.”

  I am amazed.

  “My God,” I say. “Did they know that you were Jew?”

  “It’s pretty different now,” he says.

  “What did you study? Latin and Greek?”

  “Nah, I was an English major.”

  I squint at him.

  “I do not understand. You did not speak English before?”

  “No, I spoke it.”

  “Then why did you study it? What was the purpose of that?”

  Simon ignores me and gestures at large brown house.