John Green & David Levithan
Page 22
gideon: only if you catch me on a good day.
i don’t tell gideon that i feel guilty being around him. because what if the threat tiny felt turns out to be true? what if i was cheating on him without knowing it?
me: can you cheat on someone without knowing it?
i am not asking gideon this. i am asking my mother.
she has been so careful with me. she has been tiptoeing around my moods, acting like everything’s okay. but now she just freezes.
mom: why are you asking me that? did you cheat on tiny?
and i’m thinking, oh shit, i should not have asked that question.
me: no. i didn’t. why are you so mad?
mom: nothing.
me: no, why? did dad cheat on you?
she shakes her head.
me: did you cheat on dad?
she sighs.
mom: no. it’s not that. it’s . . . i don’t want you to ever be a cheater. not on people. sometimes it’s okay to cheat on things - but don’t ever cheat on people. because once you start, it’s very hard to stop. you find out how easy it is to do.
me: mom?
mom: that’s all. why are you asking?
me: no reason. just wondering.
i’ve been wondering a lot lately. sometimes, when i’m passing the minute mark on holding my breath, besides imagining being dead, i’m also imagining what tiny is doing. sometimes i picture the other will grayson there. most of the time, they’re onstage. but i can never understand what they’re singing.
and the weird thing is, i’m thinking about isaac again. and maura. and how weird it is that it was a lie that made me happiest.
tiny doesn’t respond to any of my instant messages. then, the night before the musical, i decide to type in the other will grayson’s screenname. and there he is. it’s not like i think he’ll completely understand. yeah, we have the same name, but it’s not like we’re psychic twins. it’s not like he’ll wince in pain if i burn myself or anything. but that one night in chicago, i felt he understood a little of it. and, yeah, i also want to see if tiny’s okay.
willupleasebequiet: hey
willupleasebequiet: it’s will grayson.
willupleasebequiet: the other one.
WGrayson7: wow. hello.
willupleasebequiet: is this okay? me talking to you.
WGrayson7: yeah. what are you doing up at 1:33:48?
willupleasebequiet: waiting to see if 1:33:49 is any better. you?
WGrayson7: if i’m not mistaken, i just saw, via webcam, a revised musical number that involved oscar wilde’s ghost, live from the bedroom of the musical’s
WGrayson7: director-writer-star-etc-etc
willupleasebequiet: how was it?
willupleasebequiet: no.
willupleasebequiet: i mean, how is he?
WGrayson7: truth?
willupleasebequiet: yes.
WGrayson7: i don’t think i’ve ever seen him more nervous. and not because he’s the director-writer-star-etc-etc. but because it means so much to him, you know? he really thinks he can change the world.
willupleasebequiet: i can imagine.
WGrayson7: sorry, it’s late. and i’m not even sure if i should be talking about tiny with you.
willupleasebequiet: i just checked the bylaws of the international society of will graysons, and i can’t find anything in there about it. we’re in vastly uncharted territory.
WGrayson7: exactly. here be dragons.
willupleasebequiet: will?
WGrayson7: yes, will.
willupleasebequiet: does he know i’m sorry?
WGrayson7: dunno. in my recent experience, i’d say hurt tends to drown out sorry.
willupleasebequiet: i just couldn’t be that person for him.
WGrayson7: that person?
willupleasebequiet: the one he really wants.
willupleasebequiet: i just wish it wasn’t all trial and error.
willupleasebequiet: because that’s what it is, isn’t it?
willupleasebequiet: trial and error.
willupleasebequiet: i guess there’s a reason they don’t call it ‘trial and success’
willupleasebequiet: it’s just try-error
willupleasebequiet: try-error
willupleasebequiet: try-error
willupleasebequiet: i’m sorry. are you still here?
WGrayson7: yes.
WGrayson7: if you’d caught me two weeks ago, i would have had to agree with you fullheartedly.
WGrayson7: now i’m not so sure.
willupleasebequiet: why?
WGrayson7: well, i agree that ‘trial and error’ is a pretty pessimistic name for it. and maybe that’s what it is most of the time.
WGrayson7: but i think the point is that it’s not just try-error.
WGrayson7: most of the time it’s try-error-try
WGrayson7: try-error-try
WGrayson7: try-error-try
WGrayson7: and that’s how you find it.
willupleasebequiet: it?
WGrayson7: you know. it.
willupleasebequiet: yeah, it. willupleasebequiet: try-error-try-it
WGrayson7: well . . . i haven’t become that optimistic. WGrayson7: it’s more like try-error-try-error-try-error-try-error-try-error-try . . . at least fifteen more rounds . . . then try-error-try-it
willupleasebequiet: i miss him. but not in the way he would want me to miss him.
WGrayson7: are you coming tomorrow?
willupleasebequiet: i don’t think that would be a good idea. do you?
WGrayson7: it’s up to you. it could be another error. or it could be it. just do me a favor and give me a call first so i can warn him.
that seems fair. he gives me his phone number and i give him mine. i type it into my phone before i forget. when it asks for the name to go with the number, i just type will grayson.
willupleasebequiet: what’s the secret to your wisdom, will grayson?
WGrayson7: i think it’s that i hang out with the right people, will grayson.
willupleasebequiet: well, thank you for your help.
WGrayson7: i like to be on call for all of my best friend’s ex-boyfriends.
willupleasebequiet: it takes a village to date tiny cooper.
WGrayson7: exactly.
willupleasebequiet: good night, will grayson.
WGrayson7: good night, will grayson.
i want to say this calms me. i want to say i fall immediately to sleep. but the whole night my mind goes
try-error-?
try-error-?
try-error-?
by the morning, i am wreckage. i wake up and i think, today’s the day. and then i think, it has nothing to do with me. it’s not like i even helped him with it. it’s just that now i’m not getting to see it. i know that’s fair, but it doesn’t feel fair. it feels like i’ve screwed myself over.
mom notices my unparalleled self-hatred at breakfast. it’s probably the way i drown the cocoa puffs until the milk overflows that tips her off.
mom: will, what’s wrong?
me: what isn’t?
mom: will . . .
me: it’s okay.
mom: no, it’s not.
me: how can you tell me it’s not? isn’t that my choice?
she sits down across from me, puts her hand on my hand even though there’s now a puddle of cocoa-colored milk under her wrist.
mom: do you know how much i used to scream?
i have no idea what she’s talking about.
me: you don’t scream. you fall silent.
mom (shaking her head): even when you were little, but mostly when your father and i were going through what we went through - there were times when i had to go outside, get in the car, drive around the corner, and scream my head off. i would scream and scream and scream. sometimes just noise. and sometimes curses - every curse you can think of.
me: i can think of a lot of them. did you ever scream ‘shitmonger!’
mom:
no, but . . .
me: ‘fuckweasel!’
mom: will—
me: you should try ‘fuckweasel.’ it’s kinda satisfying.
mom: my point is that there are times when you just have to let it all out. all of the anger, all of the pain.
me: have you thought of talking to someone about this? i mean, i have some pills that might interest you, but i think you’re supposed to have a prescription. it’s okay - it only takes up an hour of your time for them to diagnose it.
mom: will.
me: sorry. it’s just that it’s not really anger or pain i’m feeling. just anger at myself.
mom: that’s still anger.
me: but don’t you feel like that shouldn’t count? i mean, not the same as being angry at someone else.
mom: why this morning?
me: what do you mean?
mom: why are you especially angry at yourself this morning?
it’s not like i’d been planning on advertising the fact that i’m angry. she kinda traps me into it. i of all people can respect that. so i tell her that today’s the day of tiny’s musical.
mom: you should go.
now it’s my turn to shake my head.
me: no way.
mom: way. and will?
me: yes?
mom: you should also talk to maura.
i bolt down the cocoa puffs before there’s any way for her to persuade me. when i get to school, i sail past maura at her perch and try to use the day as a distraction. i try to pay attention in classes, but they are so boring that it’s like the teachers are trying to drive me back to my own thoughts. i am afraid of what gideon will say to me if i confide in him, so i try to pretend like it’s just an ordinary day, and that i’m not cataloging all of the things i’ve done wrong over the past few weeks. did i really give tiny a chance? did i give maura a chance? shouldn’t i have let him calm me down? shouldn’t i have let her explain why she did what she did?
finally, at the end of the day, i can’t deal with it on my own anymore, and gideon’s the one i want to turn to. part of me is hoping that he’ll tell me i have nothing to be ashamed of, that i’ve done nothing wrong. i find him at his locker and say
me: can you believe it? my mom said i should crash tiny’s show and talk to maura.
gideon: you should.
me: did your sister use your mouth as a crack pipe last night? are you insane?
gideon: i don’t have a sister.
me: whatever. you know what i’m saying.
gideon: i’ll go with you.
me: what?
gideon: i’ll borrow my mom’s car. do you know where tiny’s school is?
me: you’re joking.
and that’s when it happens. it’s almost astonishing, really. gideon becomes a little - just a little - more like me.
gideon: can we just say ‘fuck you’ to the ‘you’re joking’ part? all right? i’m not saying you and tiny should be together forever and have huge, depressed babies that have periods of manic thinness, but i do think the way the two of you left it is pretty unhelpful, and i’d bet twenty dollars if i had twenty dollars that he is suffering from the same waves of crappiness that you’re suffering from. or he’s found a new boyfriend. maybe also named will grayson. whatever the case, you are going to be this walking, talking splinter unless someone takes your ass to wherever he is, and in this particular case, and in any other particular case where you need me, i am that someone. i am the knight with a shining jetta. i am your fucking steed.
me: gideon, i had no idea . . .
gideon: shut the fuck up.
me: say it again!
gideon (laughing): shut the fuck up!
me: but why?
gideon: why should you shut the fuck up?
me: no - why are you my fucking steed?
gideon: because you’re my friend, wingnut. because underneath all that denial, you’re someone who’s deeply, deeply nice. and because ever since you first mentioned it to me, i’ve been dying to see this musical.
me: okay, okay, okay.
gideon: and the second part?
me: what second part?
gideon: talking to maura.
me: you’re kidding.
gideon: not one bit. you have fifteen minutes while i get the car.
me: i don’t want to.
gideon gives me a hard look.
gideon: what are you, three years old?
me: but why should i?
gideon: i bet you can answer that one yourself.
i tell him he’s totally out of line. he waves me off and says i need to do it, and that he’ll honk when he gets here to pick me up.
the sick thing is, i know he’s right. this whole time, i’ve thought the silent treatment was working. because it’s not like i miss her. then i realize that missing her or not missing her isn’t the point. the point is that i’m still carrying around what happened as much as she is. and i need to get rid of it. because both of us poured the toxins into our toxic friendship. and while i didn’t exactly invent an imaginary boyfriend trap, i certainly contributed enough errors to our trials. there’s no way we’re ever going to find an ideal state of it. but i guess i’m seeing that we have to at least make it to an it we can bear.
i walk outside and she’s right there in the same place at the end of the day that she is at the start of the day. perching on a wall, notebook out. staring at the other kids as they walk by, no doubt looking down at each and every one of them, including me.
i feel like i should’ve prepared a speech. but that would require me to know what i’m going to say. i have no idea, really. the best i can come up with is
me: hey
to which she says
maura: hey
she gives me that blank stare. i look at my shoes.
maura: to what do i owe this pleasure?
this is the way we talked to each other. always. and i don’t have the energy for it anymore. that’s not how i want to talk with friends. not always.
me: maura, stop.
maura: stop? you’re kidding, right? you don’t talk to me for a month, and when you do, it’s to tell me to stop?
me: that’s not why i came over here. . . .
maura: then why did you come over here?
me: i don’t know, okay?
maura: what does that mean? of course you know.