by Zara Zenia
“So! Spaghetti it is! I’m just glad I’ve met someone who loves pasta as much as I do.”
“I love how I feel full and warm when I eat it,” I say as I slump down on her couch.
“Ha!” I hear her clattering pots and pans about the kitchen.
I switch on the television to find Dallas. Someone has been shot, but we don’t know who did it yet.
“I can’t believe you watch this stuff,” she laughs as she places a steaming bowl on my lap.
“It is so fascinating.”
“It’s so old!”
“How old?” I wonder.
“Like, thirty years old. This was on TV before I was even born.”
“Oh,” I churn this thought around my mind as I place a meatball in my mouth. “So people thirty years ago…they had enlarged shoulders?”
She laughs so hard she starts to choke on her food. I’m greatly worried by this, but she insists she’s ok. She hurries to the kitchen to get a drink of water, and when she returns, she’s still laughing with tears rolling down her cheeks.
“They’re shoulder pads,” she explains. “Everybody wore them in the eighties.”
“But…what was their purpose?”
“I have no idea,” she shakes her head as she sits down beside me. “I’m just glad that fashion trend is over with.”
As we finish our meal, we relax in front of the television and watch a movie. Over the last few weeks, I feel as though we have become the best of friends, and I assume she thinks this too—otherwise she wouldn’t invite me over most nights.
As the credits begin to roll, I look over and see she is sprawled out on her end of the sofa, half-asleep. I should go home and leave her to sleep.
“Allison?”
“Uhuh?”
“I am going home now?”
“Are you ok walking?”
“Yes.” I reach down and give her a gentle hug.
“I’ve been thinking,” she suddenly sits up. “You’ve been working at the store for two months, and well…I think you’ve been doing just awesome. Compared to that first night I met you, you’re like a completely different guy. You’re well fed and happy, have some new clothes, you’ve been paying rent for my dad’s apartment, and you’ve just done so well for yourself.” She reaches out and touches my arm.
It sends tingles down my spine, and I blush.
“Thank you,” I mumble. “I’m pleased I’ve made you happy.”
“Aaaw, you’re always so sweet. Well, I was wondering if you were going to be celebrating your two-month anniversary?”
“Celebrating?”
“Yeah! I think you’ve done so well, it’s a special occasion.”
“I’d not thought of it that way until now.”
“Well, how about you and me go for dinner?”
I feel a knot in my stomach. I’ve read about this. I know what going for dinner means.
“Like a date?” I gush. “I’ve heard people who go for dinner are on a romantic date.”
She looks away from me, and a little mischievous smirk twitches at her lips.
“Yeah…it can be a date it you want. If you’d like that?”
“I would like that!” I hold her hand and squeeze it. “I never would have imagined you liked me in such a way,” I let spill out, unable to stop smiling.
“And there’s me thinking you had a great imagination.” She squeezes my hand back. “So it’s a date then.”
“It certainly is.”
I see a light in her eyes that I’d not noticed before, and my heart is racing. As I leave her apartment, I feel like skipping home. I’m elated, so completely jubilant at realizing she feels the same way about me as I do with her. But as I return home and lie in bed, something else grips my body: nerves.
What if I behave in the wrong way? What if I have this all mixed up, and she doesn’t think I’m attractive at all? What if she changes her mind? I lie awake all night looking up to the yellowed paint on the ceiling and think of every possible scenario that could take place. I have much more learning to do.
Chapter 10
Benzen
The days tick by quickly as I prepare myself for my date with Allison. As we see each other at work, my stomach flips just knowing that in a few days, we won’t “just be friends” anymore. We could be something more.
I have been reading up a lot about the human act of romancing. It is quite complicated, with intricate rules and boundaries, but this does not surprise me, for all of humankind is complicated. I am lucky though, because Draygus gifted me a book before his departure. It details all there is to know about impressing a girl, and so far it has taught me a great deal.
As I lie in bed, counting the days until the big night, I flick through the pages over and over until they are ragged and crinkly. My favorite piece of advice so far is to take a girl somewhere “fancy.” This word is used a lot, and to me, at least, is describes somewhere luxurious and captivating. I think Allison deserves a place like this because she too is so captivating and has given me the luxury of this apartment.
Still, there are so many things that are bewildering about this book. For instance, it says girls like to be treated with respect, and that you should treat them just like you would with your mother. Surely boys also like to be treated with respect? It does not mention such a thing in this book.
It also assumes that all girls are the same and can all be impressed in similar ways, such as with chocolates and flowers. I find this most peculiar, but I will try this with Allison. If that is what is expected of me as a human, then I must cooperate fully to fit in.
I grow sleepy, and it isn’t long until the book falls out of my hand and bounces onto the floor. I roll over and see it lying there on the brown carpet. It makes me miss Draygus so terribly, along with the others. It is so very difficult living alone when you have been raised in a community.
Whenever I think of my crew, there is a gnawing, painful feeling in my gut. I don’t know what has happened to them or where they are. I can only hope that they’re safe. As I drift into the liminal stage of neither being asleep nor awake, I am certain I can hear them all in the apartment. Victorinth is giggling and watching the television with her Pop Rocks fizzling in her mouth. Meanwhile, Voland is watching with a serious expression as he plots strategies in his mind. Draygus and Ethazol would be sitting in the corner ignoring everyone as they scatter books all over the floor, eager to learn everything there is to know about the human race.
Yet of course, I know that really, they are not there, and as I fall asleep, the apartment resumes its silence.
Today is the big day! I am as excited as I am terrified, scared that I will do the wrong thing and either upset her or not fit in properly. Yet as I’ve been asking her questions at work like always, she has assured me that there is nothing to worry about.
I thumb through the book again one last time to ensure I haven’t forgotten anything. As it suggests, I have reserved a table at a delightfully fancy place, the Soso Sushi Bar at the mall. I think this will please her because sushi is our favorite food, and the restaurant has many good reviews online. Therefore, I'm sure it is fancy.
Frantically trying on clothes, I pick my way through a few different outfits and feel uncomfortable and weird in all of them. If only I could wear my jeans and t-shirt, like I always do, but the book says to make an effort, so I will.
The internet has also been teaching me a great deal about dating, and after I searched for “fancy clothes” I became educated on what I must wear tonight. I bought various pieces of clothing like the internet suggested, but now, as I try them on in my room, they do not seem right.
One of these items is called a tuxedo. Many important men on TV and in magazines wear them, and so must I in order to impress Allison. I have to admit that tying a little bow around my neck feels remarkably strange, as though I am on the cusp of being strangled. Then there are the winged collars of which I am also not a fan of. They dig into my neck with their cri
sp edges. Instinctively, I want to rip them off.
Looking at the clock, I see it is almost time to leave. As I gaze out the window I see it’s it still hot outdoors, and I wonder if the tuxedo will be too hot to wear. Would it be so terrible if I were to dress comfortably? At this point, I do not want to mess things up, so I don’t dare change a thing about my appearance.
As I walk to the mall, I’m aware that I am attracting some attention from the locals. Although they do not seem hostile, they do regard me as though I am a little out of place, and I feel that way too. But it isn’t long before I reach the mall, sweat forming on my forehead.
Walking through the building, I can see the restaurant in the distance. As I walk, a little boy runs past and catches up with his mother.
“Mommy! Why is that man dressed like James Bond?” He points at me as he hurries past.
I wonder who this James Bond person is. Maybe he also lives nearby and resembles me facially?
The Soso Sushi Bar sits in front of me, with bright lights beckoning with meal deals and crustaceans displayed in the window. I watch them for a while, lobsters awaiting their death. This is a custom of the humans, to choose which animal they are to eat, and it is then killed in front of them. It is a barbaric ritual, but one I should partake in so I don’t look rude.
I lean in a little closer to get a better look at the lobsters. Whispering through the glass, I try to make peace with the creatures.
“Please understand, I mean you no harm. I am trying to impress a girl, so one of you must die tonight.”
A couple walks past me and enters the restaurant while eyeing me suspiciously.
“That guy’s freaky,” I hear the woman say.
I wonder if she is talking about me, but I am pulled from my thoughts by a hand on my shoulder. I spin around and see it is Allison. She looks so different tonight! With bright red lips and a dress to match, she looks spectacular. I hug her tight, and I notice that her arms are shaking slightly.
“Oh my god, I love sushi,” she blurts out. “It’s like my favorite thing in the world! I’m so happy you invited me here. This place is great. Did you know you can pick your own lobster? But anyway, I should stop babbling. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with babbling, but you know… Oh my, god, I’m so hungry—shall we go inside?”
She’s talking quickly and seems a little perturbed and unlike her usual self. It's then that I realize she’s just as nervous as I am. I hold her hand and hope it settles her anxiety. She gives me a big smile, and we step inside.
Chapter 11
Allison
I’m so nervous as we enter the restaurant. I like how he’s picked somewhere he knows I’d love. He’s thoughtful like that, and that’s why I wanted to go out with him. Although…I can’t help but be amused by his wearing a tuxedo. It seems a peculiar choice, but I can’t be mad, because at least he’s making a real effort to look smart and impress me. Still, as we enter the restaurant, I’m aware people are staring.
“Ah! A special occasion for the both of you!” The waiter arrives and hands us two menus. “And what may I ask are you celebrating?”
“Our two-month anniversary,” Benzen smiles and nods.
I cringe. Not because it’s actually the two month anniversary of him working at the store, but because he’s so loud, and everyone turns to look at us. As if we weren’t conspicuous enough to start with.
“Well, ain’t that sweet,” the waiter pulls out a notepad from his waistband. “So how about some drinks, guys? What do you fancy?”
Benzen sits in thought for a moment before declaring, “Water! Please. Water is so very good for our hydration.”
My god, he is so strange at times. That’s why I like him so much. I don’t think I’ve had a boring moment with him since we met. The waiter gives him an odd look and then scribbles in his pad.
“Water it is, and how about you?”
“Can I get a bottle of the house red? And two glasses, please.”
“Absolutely! Be right back.”
We watch him disappear behind the bar before Benzen slides a hand across the table and looks me in the eye.
“You are so very beautiful tonight.”
I blush. His compliment comes abruptly, but it’s made my day. I pull my napkin from the table and fiddle it with my hand, tearing it to shreds as I fidget.
“Wine,” Benzen then pulls away and cocks his head as he thinks. “I have heard of this stuff.”
“I’m glad you have!” I'm so relieved that for once I didn’t have to explain something to him.
“Yes. I read a book recently. It taught me about Dionysus.”
“What’s that?”
“He was the Greek god of the wine harvest, and also of ritual madness and ecstasy.”
“Oh...!” I’m taken aback. “That’s quite impressive there, Benzen. I had no idea you loved history so much.”
“Oh yes! I love researching all there is to learn about human history. Er… I mean, you know, history in general.”
He has a shifty look in his eye as though he’s hiding something, but that wouldn’t be new. He’s always been cagey about his past and won’t tell me much about himself. But I find his odd little quirks and nervous twitches rather sweet.
The waiter wanders back over with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He pours us one each, and the aroma drifts across the table. I take a tentative sip and breathe in the smell. It’s gorgeous, and I find myself getting halfway down the glass without realizing.
“Are you ready to order?”
This time, the waiter looks at me first, presumably to bypass Benzen’s weirdness.
“Hmmm…” I glance at the menu. “I think I’ll have the miso soup to start, and the teriyaki for main.”
“Good choice,” the waiter beams. “The teriyaki is my favorite, and how about you?” he turns to Benzen.
“I desire to make a sacrifice of the chubbiest one.”
“What?”
Both the waiter and I look at one another and recoil. I flash Benzen a look of horror, and he looks confused. Then he points towards the window where the fish tank contains the lobsters.
“The fattest one. Kill it for me.”
The waiter’s face goes red and his eyes are wide.
“You want a lobster?”
“Yes.”
“Ok. I’ll go… Get one for you.”
“Remember,” Benzen leans towards the waiter. “Make sure it’s the biggest. The best way to win a war is to pick the largest bullies one by one until only the weak are left,” he narrows his eyes as he speaks.
“Right. O...k then.”
The waiter scurries away back behind the bar and into the kitchen. We hear him say something amidst the sound of clattering pots and pans, then a loud shriek of laughter from the chefs. He then comes back out with a little metal bucket of water and a towel.
“I’ll just do that for you now.” He’s still laughing as he speaks to us.
I’ve never been so embarrassed or amused in my life. There’s something so innocent about the way Benzen acts, but I have to admit, he’s so bizarre.
As our dinner arrives and we ease into the conversation, we become more comfortable with one another, and soon, our nerves dissipate. I top up my wine glass and thrust the bottle in his face. He politely shakes his head and declines.
“Are you not much of a drinker?” I ask while I take a few sips of my third glass.
“I have never drunk wine before in my life,” he admits with a hint of sorrow in his eyes.
“Really? But you’ve had alcohol before, right? I reckon you’re a bit of a beer lover.”
“Nope.”
“Really? Nothing?”
Again, he shakes his head.
“I’m afraid I have never drunk alcohol. I have read that it can cause inebriation.”
I laugh and fling my head back.
“That’s the point, right?”
“What?”
He looks bewildered. I hav
e to admit, that it’s one of my favorite looks of his, and it's usually preceded by me explaining something that I think is relatively mundane, but to him, it's of great importance. It’s adorable, and I just want to jump across the table and hug him tight.
“Inebriation is a good thing, Benzen. It’s fun to be drunk.”
“But why? I heard it makes you lose your inhibitions and do things you usually wouldn’t.”
“Yup! That’s the best part. Try some.”
I pour a little bit into the bottom of his glass and glide it across the table. Of course, I don’t want him so drunk he can’t stand, but being a little tipsy won’t hurt, and it might help him relax a little bit. Hell, he might even tell me more about himself. He takes a tiny sip and curls his lips back. Then he slams the glass down and pushes it away.
“It’s bitter,” he grimaces. “Like it is rotten.”
“Fermented,” I correct him. “The grapes have been fermented.”
Regardless of what has happened to the grapes, he is not impressed by the stuff, and I find myself finishing both our glasses. As we finish our main course and make our way through dessert, I see that I’ve almost finished the bottle. Not the most sensible thing to do on a first date, but nevertheless, I’m having fun.
Conversation flows easily between us, and soon, he’s opening up a little about his past, although I can tell he’s still hiding something.
“So,” I place my empty glass down with a clunk. “You arrived here the day before I met you.”
“Yes. That’s correct.”
“And where were you before that?”
“Back home.”
“You’re just being awkward now,” I chuckle. “I still don’t know exactly where you’re from.”
“It’s nowhere you’ve heard of. It’s far away, isolated, in the middle of the wilderness. It’s so far away from Virginia it’s not even comparable.”
He’s shifting nervously in his seat, picking at his nails and glancing furtively around the restaurant. I gather he’s sensitive about his past. I assume he’s gone through a terrible and traumatic experience that led him to run away to America. There can’t be any other reason, can there?