And Mr. Gupta’s like, All right, well, if you hear something, you’ll let us know?
And I’m like, Yeah, of course.
I head out of Mr. Gupta’s office and turn right into Wardrobe.
Emika’s in there, smiling tightly, while the police go through her things.
Hey, can I talk to you for a minute? I’m like.
And Emika’s like, Not right now, no.
Maybe like outside, for a minute, I could talk to you, I’m like.
And Emika’s like, Really not a good time, but I’d love to talk later.
Just then my phone rings. It’s Mom. I step outside and answer.
Where the hell are you? she’s like.
I’m at work, Mom. I’m in the middle of—
Okay, well, I just wanted to call because your sister’s going into surgery today and you don’t even care.
I do care, Mom. I care a lot.
But she’s not done talking. You don’t care about your sister’s cancer, she’s like.
And I’m like, Don’t say that. Don’t say that word.
What word? “Cancer”? That’s what she’s got—you know that, right?
Yeah, Mom, I know, but Ramona’s sickness is like the sun, okay? I can’t look directly at it.
And she’s like, Well, you need to look directly at it, because she could die—
And I go, She’s not gonna die, Mom. The doctors know what they’re doing.
She could die, Mom continues, and you’re going to live the rest of your life knowing that you couldn’t be there because you had to “work.”
And I go, Why do you say “work” like that? “Work.” It’s not “work,” it’s work, okay? It’s my job. I can’t not go to work. Things are very precarious right now. I am dealing with situations that you can’t even—
Your sister is going into surgery and she is very scared.
And I’m like, You want to get a job? ’Cause if not, who is going to pay for this surgery?
And she’s like, You know I can’t work on account of my shaky hands.
And I go, I know, Mom. Could you put Ramona on please?
I wander into the midway and linger by the McKinley Shooting Gallery.
Ramona takes the phone and goes, I wish you were here. Mom is being so crazy.
And I go, I wish I was there too. How are you doing? Mom says you’re scared?
And Ramona goes, Naw, you know Mom likes to freak out. I’m gonna be fine.
And I’m like, That’s what I told her!
And I hear Mom on the other side go, You think you’re invincible, you don’t understand how serious this is.
And I’m like, What, is she trying to scare you?
And Ramona laughs and is like, Yeah, Mom, why are you trying to scare me?
I make eye contact with Amir from Security across the midway and he starts heading over.
And I’m like, Look, I gotta go, but I love you, okay?
And Ramona goes, Yeah, yeah, I know.
I hang up the phone, and I’m like, Hey, Amir, crazy stuff, right? Wow.
And he’s like, You were here pretty early yesterday.
And I go, Amir, I don’t know what you’re thinking—
And he cuts me off: Hey, man, the monster was there when I left work yesterday and gone when I showed up today. What happens on Miguel’s shift is not my problem, and I’m not looking to stir shit for no reason.
And I’m like, I don’t want to stir shit either, man. Like that’s like my number one thing, is Don’t stir shit.
And Amir’s like, Uh-huh. I’m just saying, ’cause you’ve always been a good guy to me and I don’t know what kind of crazy you’re mixed up with now, but if they don’t get any leads off of these interviews, they’re going to crack open that security footage, and then they’re going to know who’s been going in what rooms.
And I’m like, Oh shit.
Yeah, so I’m just thinking if I’m you, maybe I’d want to get ahead of things and rat out the real troublemaker while the ratting out’s good.
* * *
—
Word trickles down that the park’s going to open as usual, while the police continue the investigation, so we should all get into wardrobe and to our starting locations. I plant myself near the Bridge to a Better Tomorrow, but I have trouble focusing.
I text Emika, “What the fuck is going on?”
And she texts back, “I swear I have no idea.”
Cops are still roaming the grounds, but so as not to alarm the guests, Mr. Gupta’s put them all in costumes. Wardrobe’s got these extra suits, on account of the park always preps an alternate on election years in case the other guy wins. So now suddenly we’ve got guys like Dole and Dukakis and Romney silently drifting through the park like ghosts.
At one point, a family comes over to take their picture with me. Dad goes, very excited, We were told we should come talk to you about the Pendleton Reform Act.
I have no idea what he’s talking about.
* * *
—
At lunch, I get a text message from my mom. It says: “Get here now.”
I call her, but she doesn’t pick up.
I call again, but she doesn’t pick up.
I sneak out of the park, stashing my costume and giant Chester A. Arthur head behind some bushes near the entrance to the Trail of Tears Tram and snag the next bus to the hospital, where I meet a doctor outside Ramona’s room.
I’m like, What’s going on?
Doctor’s like, Well, what we’ve got is a classic good news/bad news situation here. The surgery was a success, but now she’s not waking up.
And I’m like, What do you mean she’s not waking up? What are you saying, she’s dead?
No, not dead, no! She’s just comatose.
You put her in a coma?!
Yes, but we believe we’ve rooted out the source of her symptoms, so if she wakes up, she’s all good!
And I’m like, IF?!
Then he says a whole bunch of big doctor words that I don’t understand, and shows me some charts and x-rays, and ends the whole thing by going, As I said, the surgery was a success.
But she’s in a coma, I’m like.
And he’s like, Yes.
If my sister’s in a coma, I’d say the surgery was not a fucking success, was it?
He’s like, I can see you’re very upset. We are monitoring your sister’s condition and we will keep you informed of any—
Just then, his phone rings, and he’s like, I’m sorry, I have to take this. My daughter’s finding out what colleges she got into, it’s a very exciting time. He answers his phone, like, Hello? Princeton?! That’s incredible! and walks away.
I knock on the door and Mom slips into the hallway.
I’m like, What the hell are you thinking, not answering your phone?
And she’s like, Where were you? You should have been here.
Oh, you think if I was here, the doctors would have said, Oh, let’s not put her in a coma? You think I was the missing ingredient?
And she’s like, You’re right. I’m stupid. It’s good that you never show up.
And I go, I’m sorry, Mom. Okay? You’re right. I’m sorry. Did the doctors tell you anything else?
No. There’s no news. No one will talk to me.
Well, you’ll let me know if anything changes, right?
And she’s like, Come into the room. Sit down.
I can’t go in there, I’m like. I can’t see her like that. When she wakes up, I’ll come back.
And Mom’s like, What if she doesn’t wake up? What if she dies?
And I’m like, Well, if she dies then it doesn’t make a difference if I see her now or if I see her when she’s dead, right?
And
Mom’s like, What is wrong with you?
And I’m like, I gotta go back to work, Mom.
* * *
—
I try to sneak back into the park, but Mr. Gupta spots me.
Where the hell have you been? he’s like.
And I’m like, I’m sorry—my sister—
And he’s like, This is not a good day, you understand? Waj’m Maj’vht is still missing, so this is not the time to make it look like I can’t keep track of my presidents.
And I go, Look, the thing about Waj’m is he’s a ten-foot-tall stitched-up clone-mutant made of presidents. I feel like he’s going to turn up. Maybe everyone doesn’t need to be freaking out so much. This is not life or death.
It is life or death, Mr. Gupta’s like. I’m going to get fired over this. I’ve put everything into this park. I have a family. You must understand that. If you know something—anything at all—please tell me.
And I’m like, Look, man, nobody tells me anything around here.
* * *
—
I’m barely back in position by the Bridge to a Better Tomorrow, when I see a man with an unfamiliar big giant head on the other side of the river, gesturing for me to come over.
I think it’s Al Gore.
I gesture back like, Who, me?
And he gestures like, Yeah, get over here.
I hustle over to him and I’m thinking, Fuck, now I gotta answer a bunch of questions for the police and this is probably going to go on some sort of permanent criminal record and my mom is going to drop a heavy shit when she finds out and should I be calling a lawyer for this because I do not know any lawyers and this is definitely not what I signed up for when I applied to be a president.
But Al Gore doesn’t say anything. Instead he indicates that I should follow him and he starts walking. He takes me to the Panama Canal, an indoor river ride that got boarded up five years ago on account of some of the animatronics turned out to be culturally insensitive.
We slip in a back entrance, and in the dark, nestled in shrubbery, I can make out the outline of a sleeping Waj’m Maj’vht, and I hear him muttering in his sleep: Duplicity…Yams…
I turn to Al Gore and I’m like, Listen, man, I don’t know how this guy got in here, I’ve got nothing to do with this.
Al Gore takes off his big giant Al Gore head. It’s Emika.
What the fuck? I’m like. Why did you text me and say you didn’t know where he was?
Emika’s like, You don’t think they’re tracking our phones?
Look, this is deep shit now, okay? Waj’m is very valuable property.
He’s not property, okay? You can’t own a person!
I explode, Most of Waj’m owned people!
She rolls her eyes and goes, That was like two hundred years ago.
And I go, There are security cameras all over this place. We are both gonna be in a hard fuck-load of trouble, like any minute now.
Emika shakes her head. Those things don’t work; they’re just there to scare you.
How do you know that?
Because I’ve been in the security office! The only monitors they got are connected to cameras at the entrances and exits to the park—which is why we haven’t left the park yet.
It’s not too late, I’m like. If you came clean to Mr. Gupta now—if he got to be the one to return Waj’m to the guys at FieldingCorp—
And Emika shouts, Waj’m is not going back to FieldingCorp!
And Waj’m rouses from his slumber and roars a mighty Waj’m roar.
And I’m like, Hey, shh, keep it the fuck down. How long do you think you can keep this guy a secret here?
And Emika’s like, Well, I was hoping you could help me. You have a van, right?
And I’m like, No, I don’t have a van.
And she’s like, I thought you had a van.
And I’m like, No, man, I take the bus.
And she’s like, Why did I think you had a van?
And I’m like, I don’t understand why you think any of the things you think!
But then it hits me, and I immediately hate myself for saying out loud: Harrison has a van.
Emika’s eyes go wide. Which Harrison?
Benjamin Harrison. It’s where he keeps his fuck-doll.
And she’s like, Oh my God, will you talk to him for me? I need that van.
Why don’t you talk to him yourself?
I’m not friends with him like you are! Please, President Arthur? Will you talk to Benjamin Harrison for me?
It’s never occurred to me before, but I think Emika doesn’t even know my real name.
And I go, Yeah, I’ll connect you to Harrison, but just from now on, leave me out of it, okay? I don’t want to have anything to do with your plans, I don’t want to know about them, I’m not involved, okay?
And she goes, Yeah, just help me get that van and I will never bother you with this again.
So I talk to Harrison, and at first he’s like, Why should I help her out? That stuck-up bitch has always treated me like I’m a weirdo. And now she wants my fuck-doll wagon? Well, who’s the weirdo now?
And I’m like, Just think of it like you’re in an X-Men movie. And Waj’m is the mutant who’s being persecuted, and you’re the X-Men, and he needs you to save him.
And Harrison considers this and then goes, Okay, but after we put him in my van, what’s the next part of the plan?
And I’m like, I don’t know, talk to Emika. I don’t want to have anything to do with it.
And he’s like, Is she going to need me to bring my swords?
* * *
—
I go back to my post and just try to be Chester A. Arthur for a little bit. I think about how, no matter which way this all breaks, this is probably one of the last times I’m ever going to be Chester A. Arthur, and honestly it feels kind of bittersweet. I think about how shitty the real President Arthur must have felt at the convention when—after the Pendleton Reform Act—his own party wouldn’t even nominate him for reelection. I feel kind of bad for abandoning President Arthur, just like everybody else, but also I feel more and more like, in the world of politics, you’ve got to look out for yourself, because it’s not like anyone else is going to be looking out for you.
Suddenly, there’s a large crash from the other side of the park and the screeching of van wheels. Possibly gunfire? A crowd runs past me, but I stay planted at the Bridge to a Better Tomorrow, because of like I said earlier, looking out for myself and all.
I get a call from Emika and I ignore it.
I get a call from Harrison and I ignore it.
After all, you’re not supposed to use your phone in costume. Park policy.
A few minutes later, Buchanan ambles by and says, Hey, man, Mr. Gupta wants to see you in his office. White lady too.
I start to head over, but then I think: This is stupid.
So I leave.
* * *
—
I take a bus to the hospital and I turn my phone off.
I leave my phone off for days and I sit with Ramona while she sleeps.
I talk to her and sing her songs, and when I’m not talking to her I’m talking to Mom. I’m telling Mom that everything’s going to be okay, that Ramona loves her and wouldn’t leave her, that Ramona’s strong. And finally, I understand why my mother wanted me here.
At some point I drift off, and I’m awakened by gentle shouting: Hey! Wake up, dummy!
It’s Ramona, smiling weakly.
And she’s like, What, are you gonna sleep the whole day away? Let’s get this show on the road.
How long have you been awake?
And she goes, I dunno. A few minutes?
I look around. Where’s Mom?
And Ramona’s like, I don’t know, man. I
just woke up. Now I gotta be the one to keep track of everybody?
I press the button on the side of her bed that calls the doctor.
And she’s like, Hey, whatever happened with all that shit that was going on with your job?
And I’m like, Yeah, I don’t think it’s going to work out.
She goes, You liked that job.
And I go, Naw, I didn’t like it that much.
And she goes, But what happened with the girl you liked? And the monster? And the new monster that they were gonna bring in?
And I go, I don’t know. I’m telling you, man, I’ve been here.
And she goes, Were you here the whole time I was asleep? You didn’t have to do that.
I didn’t, I say. I wasn’t. I got here too late. Mom was here, though. The whole time.
Ramona smiles and goes, Yeah, Mom’s crazy like that.
And I go, Yeah.
And I think about how loving someone is kind of like being president, in that it doesn’t change you, not really. But it brings out more of the you that you already are.
We will be close on Friday 18 July.
We will be so close on Friday 18 July. For one night only I will hold your face in my hands and I will kiss you quickly and then slowly and then quickly, and we will feel this incredible connection, and we will tell each other everything.
On Friday 18 July, we will feed each other berries, and we will sing-mumble-slur old half-remembered camp songs, and we will laugh about how there was a time, not even that long ago, when we hadn’t even met, and what were we doing not meeting, who were we fooling, whose time were we wasting?
Sitting on my bed, recalling the origin of your knee’s crescent-moon scar, you’ll gesticulate wildly and I’ll watch the cigarette sparks dance like evaporating fireflies, dizzy for a home in our trail of discarded clothing.
“I want to know you completely,” I’ll whisper into every crevice of your body, as if such a thing were ever possible. We’ll make up constellations out of the freckles on our thighs, rich mythologies of long-dead ancient civilizations.
“Did you know I can juggle?” you’ll say, and I’ll say, “Show me.”
Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory Page 21