Gwen: Greg and I are all he’s got. It’s nice to see someone else in his life.
You: (smile, nod)
Gwen: Just don’t break his heart, okay? Because we really wouldn’t like that.
You: Don’t worry. I’d never hurt him.
Mr. Bereiter will return at the tail end of this, having heard quite enough to understand the context. Later, he will apologize for Gwen, who treats him like a toddler who must be protected from all the bad things in the world. That she could, and would, effortlessly tear someone’s head off in defense of Mr. Bereiter is beside the point; her intentions are good. You may one day even grow to like her, in carefully measured doses.
4.1. Intimacy
After Almanza and Gwen drop you off at Mr. Bereiter’s house, notice how uncomfortable he is, fretting about the good-night kiss you surely expect. Suggest taking a short walk around the neighborhood; the evening is brisk, traces of bourbon still in his system, his inhibitions not yet restored.
As you stroll through the streets packed with little coffee shops and bakeries, ask him about his family.
“You don’t want to hear about them,” he’ll say.
Reply, “Sure I do.”
And he will tell you that which he has only told Almanza and Gwen before now: his father was an emotionally-abusive drunk who used to belittle him in front of his friends for his inability—based on lack of interest—to hit a baseball, catch a football, or run at a brisk pace. His mother, little more than a doormat, allowed it. Both are alive, but he speaks to neither but for a brief phone call on Christmas.
Take pity on him—you cannot completely understand his world, your parents likely having been loving and supportive. But you can listen. In the dim orange light, he is sad, exposed.
Reach up, slowly so as not to startle him, and kiss him. He will pull back at first, flummoxed that any woman would do this. Say, “It’s okay,” and kiss him again, until you feel his lips press into yours, his body relaxing. Disregard his wide-open eyes staring off across the street; ignore the petite figure under a streetlamp, applauding.
Mr. Bereiter will then insist he has pressing business at home and must leave you. Some work that needs be done before the morning. Do not ask him to explain further. He will be unable to express it, but this moment has filled him with white light.
Ignore the high, squeaky giggle you hear around the corner of a closed coffee shop.
5. Reciprocity
Invite him to dinner with your friends Irene and Sheila. Mr. Bereiter will say nearly nothing beyond placing his order, staring around the table at the three of you. He very much wishes to speak, but Irene and Sheila’s gossip about your principal and his affair with the school nurse is beyond him. This is not his world. But though he finds your friends vapid and uninteresting, and clearly unable to feel their own lives, he is trying to fit into yours.
Do not ask why he seems to be looking around the dining room, or why, once his eyes settle on something near the kitchen, his body goes limp and his head droops.
Eventually, he will excuse himself. Work to be done. A project he forgot about.
Once they believe he is out of earshot, Irene and Sheila will tell you he is a weirdo you should stop seeing immediately, because you are young and pretty and can do better, and wouldn’t it be nice to date someone who won’t try to lure you into his van.
Mr. Bereiter does not own a van. But he does have excellent hearing.
6. Spontaneity
Mr. Bereiter will arrive at your school just after eleven, while the kids are in gym, with a potted fern and a wide, toothy smile. “Better than flowers,” he will say. “They keep growing.” While this may seem like spontaneity, it is in fact a clumsy attempt to keep you from dumping him.
When he invites you to accompany him on a round of miniature golf that evening, accept, though you think miniature golf is stupid. So does Mr. Bereiter. But he feels it is necessary. What normal people do.
Three holes in, he will note your boredom and apologize. “This is dumb. Do you want to go somewhere else?”
Reply, “God, yes,” and drop the clubs where you stand.
Instead buy a six-pack of craft beer at the grocery store and drink it in his apartment.
“I’m sorry,” he’ll say in between long sips. “I heard your friends the other night.”
Apologize for them—reassure him they can be bitchy as hell, especially after a few glasses of wine.
He will accept this. Then, after a long silence, “I like you. A lot. I was just trying to be normal for you. But I’m not a normal person.” Out in the hall is a laugh, high and cruel. Ignore it. Note the sincerity in his face, the lack of pretense, so utterly different from the other men you have met.
Finally, smile. “No, you’re not. And I like that.”
Laugh together for a minute, let him rest his hand on your leg, lean in, and kiss you.
Decide, finally, that Mr. Bereiter may indeed be worth the effort. Pledge to guide him like your special-ed students, with patience, care, and understanding.
7. Sex
If you have the tolerance to look past Mr. Bereiter’s awkwardness and shame, proceed thusly:
7.1. Disclaimer
While Mr. Bereiter has never had full-on sex with a woman, he has been in this position twice before, in college. The first time was with a young biology major named Mindy—a short, bookish girl with long layered hair and wire-rimmed spectacles who, for reasons entirely her own, fancied him. Mr. Bereiter spent the better part of a week with a painful erection, relishing every imagined moment with her, going through half a box of condoms practicing how to properly apply one. But on the day she was to come to his room, he became nervous and agitated, and by the time she arrived he was unable to achieve a full erection, even after consuming two beers. Ms. Mindy indicated that perhaps Mr. Bereiter was homosexual, leaving him naked and alone in his bed. He wanted to follow, to explain himself, but was too embarrassed.
The second was a tall redhead named Amanda, who worked in the library and flirted with him constantly. After a party he was dragged to by Almanza, he and Amanda returned to his dorm room—it was a weekend, so the building was mostly empty—and began undressing. Something startled him and he was unable to continue. Amanda, who when drunk was crueler than you could imagine, told him she’d tell everyone he was a limp-dick. The next morning, he confessed the encounter to Gwen, who said she would speak to Amanda about the matter. He never heard a whisper about the incident.
Let us be clear: Mr. Bereiter likes women and is very much attracted to you. He is, however, horrifically damaged.
7.2. Intercourse
One: This should happen in his home, in his bed, at the moment he feels most ready.
Two: Mr. Bereiter’s penis is small (though hardly miniscule) and curves to the left when erect. Do not laugh at it.
Three: Mr. Bereiter does not understand the concept of foreplay and will need a bit of mentoring.
Four: Do not ask why, during heavy petting on the couch, Mr. Bereiter continues to look over his shoulder.
He will be awestruck at first, spending several minutes staring upon your nude body in his bed before he can proceed, smiling in wonder. You are, at this moment, the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
Then, tuning out the odd lounge music playing in the living room, touch him, caress him, tell him where to put his hands and what to do with them. He need not be the only one who enjoys this experience.
When it is time, guide him in. This will take no more than three minutes, though Mr. Bereiter will be ready for Round Two soon after. He is an enthusiastic man.
Note that, with direction, Mr. Bereiter possesses some talent.
One thing is certain: when it is over, Charles Nelson Bereiter will cry. Like a six-year-old girl. Note his face—relaxed, serene. You are the whole of his world, and he finally understands what it means to be happy.
Rest your head on his bare chest and sleep.
7.3. Troublesh
ooting
Around three in the morning, roll over to find Mr. Bereiter gone. Hear his muffled voice in the living room. “I’ve found someone. She actually likes me.”
Then, a girl’s laughter, sharp as an ice pick. “You’ll fuck it up in a week. Maybe less.”
He will insist it isn’t like that; you’re patient and kind.
“She won’t put up with your neurotic bullshit forever. Or your crooked little cock.”
Get up, tiptoe to the bedroom door and peer through the tiny crack. The lights are off, but you will see the top of a girl’s head over the back of the couch, the cat ears rising up from her hair like horns.
Mr. Bereiter’s head drops low. “Why can’t you just let me be happy?”
Open the door.
There will be no one there but Mr. Bereiter, cross-legged on the couch in his plaid boxers.
Whisper, “Hey,” and await his response. When none comes, tell him what you heard.
He will say he was just talking to himself. He does that sometimes.
Write this off as a strange dream and go back to bed.
8. Commitment
Go all in. Host a dinner party with him, invite Almanza and Gwen. Do not become offended when Gwen inevitably corners you in the kitchen and tells you she knows you’ve slept together (he told her in a phone conversation two days later—he tells Gwen everything), and when she once again warns you not to break his heart, put on your sincerest face and tell her you never would. Gwen’s posture will loosen, her shoulders will slouch, and she will hug the stuffing out of you, shouting, “I’m so happy for you both.”
Coach him on how to talk to your friends, snuggle with him on the couch and watch television shows that normal people watch and talk about. He will dutifully pretend to enjoy them. Note that he is slowly becoming an actual person, who speaks when spoken to and, on occasion, smiles.
Stay at his apartment multiple nights a week. Mr. Bereiter will begin to wonder what it might be like to wake up together every morning, and hopes you are wondering the same.
Above all, ignore the voices in the living room late at night.
9. Discovery
One night, after engaging in lovemaking in which Mr. Bereiter acquits himself admirably, wake to find him gone again, hear the soft voices coming from the kitchen.
Tiptoe silently down the hall, his bathrobe loosely wrapped around you, careful not to let the floorboards creak beneath your feet.
You will see Mr. Bereiter slumped over the table, head buried in the crook of his elbow, the cat-eared redhead standing over him.
Say, “Hello?” and pause for an explanation. You are certainly owed one.
The girl will look up at you, giggle. One blink and she will be gone.
Mr. Bereiter would like to tell you this is not what it looks like. But he does not know what this looks like.
If your first impulse is to throw on enough clothing to cover yourself, run to your car and drive away, never to return, Mr. Bereiter will understand.
If you stay, a word of warning: your understanding of reality in its traditional sense will be damaged.
10. Confession
In the calmest voice you can manage, ask Mr. Bereiter who—and more importantly, what—that was.
Being a rational man, Mr. Bereiter has researched the phenomenon extensively. The best answer he can provide, gleaned mostly from folklore scholarship, is that she is either a pooka or a sprite.
“It just happens sometimes,” he will say. “It’s weird, I know.” He will explain, though partway through he will become choked up, unable to continue. He will then pause and be silent.
He is giving you a chance to walk away and expects that you will.
Remember that he has shared with you his hurt and humiliation, the first time he has ever done this so completely with anyone. And he has chosen you to share it with.
Decide that you love him.
Kiss him, hard as you can.
Ponder: this entity, while clearly unreal, has nonetheless subjected your boyfriend—whom you have just this moment decided you love—to years of unrelenting torment and humiliation. Your next conclusion is inescapable: the little bitch must go.
10.1. Information-gathering
Ask Mr. Bereiter all that he knows about the cat-eared girl. Get logistics:
Can she be touched?
Go through walls, floors, or other obstacles?
Is she imbued with physical strength? The ability to shake walls and/or windows?
Answers:
1.) Yes.
2.) Not as far as Mr. Bereiter knows.
3.) Yes, but not much.
Mr. Bereiter will help as much as he can, uncertain of what you are planning, but for the first time, hopeful.
11. Confrontation
Steel yourself. This will be brutal and unpleasant. You abhor violence, as does Mr. Bereiter. But what must be done, must be done. Tell him what you require.
11.1. Guile
At the appointed time, meet him in his apartment. Watch a movie, his arms wrapped around you. He will be tense, his hands shaking, his palms sweaty. She only comes when he is relaxed, happy. Give him a shot of Jack Daniels. Another. Eventually his breathing will slow, and he will smile.
Make love to him. Say you love him.
Listen quietly as Mr. Bereiter goes into the kitchen for a glass of water, hear the voice from the kitchen. Hurry. Grab the vacuum from the bedroom closet, quietly plug it in as the girl mocks the noises he makes in bed. Shout, “Hey!” and when the girl turns around, turn on the power. Watch as she is sucked up like dust.
Take out the vacuum bag, carry it out to the parking lot, set it on fire.
This may or may not address the problem. If not, Mr. Bereiter appreciates the effort.
11.2. Extreme prejudice
This will require a large canvas sack and several five to six-foot lengths of sisal rope. Wait until she appears again, late in the night when Mr. Bereiter gets up to urinate.
Sneak up behind her as she mocks his penis and the trajectory of his flow, place the bag over her head, wrestle her to the ground. She will have more substance and strength than you are expecting, but you will still be able to overpower her easily.
Mr. Bereiter will not assist. He is incapable of harming a female, even the apparition of one who has tormented him for the better part of a decade. Perhaps this says something about him.
“Get off me, you fat bitch!” she will scream. Sit on her, bind her wrists and ankles.
Wonder if the neighbors will hear.
Have Mr. Bereiter help you carry her out to the backyard. The empty lot behind Mr. Bereiter’s apartment awaits, cordoned off by a line of ash trees. Find the shovels leaning against a tree, just where you requested them. In a fit of inspiration, Mr. Bereiter worked tirelessly through the night to prepare the scene.
Toss her in.
The entity in the bag will say, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
For a minute Mr. Bereiter will look serene, like he’s about to forgive her. Then, instead, he will calmly say, “Fuck you,” and toss the first shovelful of dirt onto her.
Pat the grave smooth, sprinkle the grass seed, walk away.
Mr. Bereiter hopes this will be enough. But as with all things, he is prepared for disappointment.
11.3. Assimilation
In the morning, when he rises, follow him to the kitchen, make him coffee. The girl will appear, sit down, stare at Mr. Bereiter with green eyes marked by orange flecks. They are awful eyes, devoid of warmth. A teenage girl’s eyes.
This is, however, not the time for despair.
Before she can open her mouth to speak, introduce yourself. Call her by her name. It will startle her, but she will not pop away.
Offer her a cup of coffee. She might like it.
She will be confused, her thin eyebrows crinkling above her nose, but she will accept the cup you have offered, take a sip, and smile.
“Why are you being nice to me?” she will
ask.
Say, in your friendliest voice, “I think it’s time we talked.”
Ask Mr. Bereiter to give you a minute. He will go, but his hearing is good, and the walls are thin.
She will look frightened, about to vanish. “I didn’t like being set on fire. Or buried.”
Pass her the sugar, watch as she scoops in multiple spoonfuls. “Tell me about yourself, Katie.”
Once she knows you intend no harm, she will talk. Her friends—Katie’s friends—dared her. She didn’t want to. But when you’re fourteen that’s hard to resist.
“You hurt him.” Say it as matter-of-factly as possible.
“I know,” it will say. “She—Katie—knew he liked her and felt bad about it later. She’s in law school at Loyola now and thinks about him once in a while. She thinks she should track him down and tell him she’s sorry. But it’s hard. And she hopes he doesn’t remember it, or that it wasn’t a big deal.”
“But it was.”
“I know.”
Be commanding: “You have to go now. Leave him alone.”
The girl will shake her head. “He won’t let me.”
“It’s hard for him to let go of this.”
Watch as the girl shrugs, in that overdramatic way young girls do. “So what do we do?”
Shrug yourself, in the matter-of-fact way adults do.
“Well,” the girl will say, “Thanks for being nice about it.” Watch her dissolve into powder, or pixie-dust, or whatever she is made of.
11.4. Acceptance
Do not speak of your encounter with the cat-eared girl. Hear her voice after sex, hear her giggle when he finally says he loves you, see the tops of her cat ears behind the couch on the night he falls to his knees and opens the little blue box, but lose sight of her as Almanza and Gwen pile on top of you and welcome you to the family. And when the Unitarian pastor asks you to repeat her words, see the cat ears poke up from behind a pew, then vanish.
Over time—neither he nor the girl can tell you how much—she will dwindle to a twitch at the edge of your vision, the laughter faint as a paperclip hitting the floor.
And finally, years from now, as he holds your hand in the delivery room and the doctor puts the pink, larval thing in your arms, you will see a cat-eared shadow move swiftly behind the curtain. But Mr. Bereiter will not notice, the whole of his attention focused on the squiggling, scrunched head nestled in the crook of your elbow—a tiny gateway into something vaster and more tangible than anything he has known.
Feral Boy Meets Girl Page 19