c h a p t e r

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.   .   . I'm sitting in front of the phone with butterflies in my stomach. This is so fucked. It's like I'm some retarded high school kid who's nervous about calling a girl. Which is actually exactly what's going on. She told me to call her, and I already know what to say. I'm gonna buckle, I'm gonna buckle like a goddamn belt, I'm not gonna risk anything because she's having a temporary fling with some guy who won't even be around in a few weeks. But this is crazy. I've never felt hesitant about calling her, and now it's like I've got lead weights attached to my arms. I know this is getting to be pretty well worn territory, the fact that I used to feel comfortable with Kirsten and now I don't. I know it's been brought up daily inside my brain until each and every potential facet of my personality is sick of hearing about it, but it still freaks me out. Before we could go rent a movie, or go get something to eat, and it was no big deal. She even mentioned it once, how different and more comfortable things were between us, as opposed to how things feel in a boy girl relationship. With them everything is a big ordeal, and any little thing that goes wrong is potential drama. But with us things are easy, we find each other smart and interesting and fun and we used to hang out every day and there was no drama at all. Just general happiness and good times. Why did I have to go and fall in love with her? I just want to punch myself in the cunt. Or in the brain, whichever would fix this. If I can't even call her anymore without screwing up my courage, then it's only a matter of time before this whole thing falls apart, or I become a serious drunk. Just do it. Swallow, hold your breath. Do it really fast, don't even think about what numbers you're dialing, because you don't have to. Your hand already knows what to do. Good, now just breathe in and out evenly until somebody answers. "Hi!" The way Kirsten says it is like she already knows who's on the other end and she's happy to be talking to them, and a little bit of coldness passes through me, because I'm not sure that it's me she was expecting. "H'lo." "Hey, what's up?" If she's disappointed I'm not Nishikado, she does a good job of covering it up. I can't believe how crazy I'm being. Just because she has a new boyfriend doesn't mean she doesn't want to talk to me. Thank god people can't see into each other's heads. It's not so hard to put forth the image of a stable demeanor, but all the shit that's really running through our brains would make it impossible for anyone in the history of the world to ever seem even remotely cool. "I just wanted to call to apologize. I didn't mean to be such a bitch yesterday-" "Forget it. It's okay." And that's fine with me. I forget it. None of this 'No, let me talk' bullshit where I pour my heart out, while Kirsten sits awkwardly on the other end wishing I'd finish. I don't want to talk about it, I want it forgotten. Memory erased. Just like it never happened. "Besides, I understand where you're coming from. If you started going out with a guy that dodgy I'd try to talk you out of it, too." Fuck, why did she have to keep talking about it? I thought we were forgetting it. Now I wanna ask questions, like 'So you admit that he's a dodgy guy?' and then let that spiral into an infinity of similar questions. I have to fight so goddamn hard not to say anything, not to launch into the whole argument again, and the silence stretches out across the phone line for a little longer than is socially usual. "So what are you up to?" I ask, trying to pull this conversation back onto a workable track. "You wanna go grab a burger? My dad gave me twenty dollars to call his work and say he was sick." She laughs. "He has to work on Saturdays?" "Yeah, he paints boats or something." "I didn't even know he had a job." "I don't know why he bothers. Mom could buy and sell his ass a million times." "He probably just wants to feel like he's doing something with himself. At least he doesn't sit around doing crochet all day like mine does." "Who does, your dad?" "No, my mom. My non-breadwinning parent." My eyes wander to the stairs. "He might. He spends an awful lot of time upstairs everyday." I'm smiling and feeling oblivious to everything except the awesomeness of Kirsten & Clover, but that comes to a quick halt. "I gotta take a raincheck; I've got plans today." Now that is a weird sentence. Was that for my benefit? Normally she never has anything to do but hang around with me, but on the odd time that there was a family reunion or some other function, she always told me what it was. And then she'd invite me along, unless it was a funeral or something. But she never just 'had plans'. Is she not saying his name deliberately, to keep me from starting an argument? How long is it going to be before she can feel comfortable telling me 'I've got a date with Nishi'? Christ, why would I want her to say that? Maybe they'll break up before she actually becomes comfortable with talking to me conversationally about him. That would be perfect. "Alright, well... give me a call, okay?" "I will. See you at school on Monday." "Sure." Click. Wait, what? Monday? Does that mean she's not gonna call me tomorrow? Is she busy that day too? Does that mean that I shouldn't call her before then? Jesus. This is so megafucked. I just wanna take Nishikado by the hair and suck the eyeballs out of his head, then spit them into a bowl and show them to him. The logistics of which I'm obviously going to have to work out. Or to speed things up, I could just cave his head in with a big sledgehammer. Mom always tells me to have backup plans. I wanna go do something to push myself, to get my mind off things, like jump from a plane, or drink a whole bottle of vodka and headbutt the bottle until it breaks, or maybe just spin around in circles until I puke. Instead I go to the kitchen and get a handfull of ice cubes, then slide them down my pants and hold them against my crotch. The cold sends a shiver down my back, then eventually starts to sting as things get really cold. So I scoop them out, inhaling sharply, and drop the remains into the sink, then rub myself a little to promote blood circulation. That definitely helped snap me out of it. Christ, that was cold. I'm on my way to my bedroom, but I decide to swing by my dad's workroom, to see what he skipped work for. The door is open, and it looks like he's trying to fix an old radio. He's sitting on his work bench, shirtless, and he seems really intent on what he's doing, practically attacking the thing with a screw driver. For an old guy he still looks pretty good -- I bet mom doesn't look that good topless. Guys definitely got the long end of the stick on the age thing. His workroom is weird to see on the second floor of a house. I think it was a pair of spare bedrooms once, but he knocked down the wall and filled it with junk. Then he covered over all the windows, so it looks more like somebody's basement, or their garage. It's filled with wood and tools and a tablesaw and all kinds of shit that must have taken forever to lug up the stairs. "You shoulda built this room downstairs. Woulda saved you a lotta carrying." Dad doesn't look up from his monkeying, but says, "That's what your mom said. But I already had the wall halfway down, so it was too late." "You did this without asking her?" "I'd just bought a sledgehammer. Something needed sledging." "You still got it?" "What, the hammer, or the muscles to tear down an entire wall?" "The hammer." "Yeah, it's over there somewhere." He gestures to the room's far corner, where various implements of home destruction have been scattered around. "Can I borrow it? "You mind me asking what for?" "I just want to beat a boy's brains in." "A boy from school?" "Yeah." "Not a boy from church?" "Mom doesn't make me go to church anymore." "She doesn't?" He leans back and wipes some sweat from his brow, still focusing on his busted radio. "Huh. Well, be careful with it. I've had it for fifteen years." "I don't think you can break a sledgehammer." I'm pretty sure he's not really listening. "I'm hoping he dies with an erection, so I can sexually assault him before I bury him." "That's disgusting, honey." Well, I guess he was. I lean against the doorway. "So what are you working on?" He puts down his screwdriver, still contemplating his project. "It's complicated." "Looks like a radio." "It ain't." He gets up and goes to the mini-fridge he keeps in the corner and takes out a can of iced tea. "You want anything?" he asks, finally making some eye contact. "Yeah, gimme one of those." He hands me his and gets himself another. I pull the tab and take a sip as he sits back down. "Lemme ask you something," I say. "Trust me, it's complicated. It's like, radio waves that are meant to affect the biological processes of plants to-" "No, not about that." I take another sip. "Have you ever been in love with a woman?" "You mean, have I ever been in love with a man?" I give him a strange look. "No. Why would I ask that?" "Well, I married your mom, so it seems obvious that I've been in love with a woman. I thought maybe you were asking from your perspective but forgot to change the gender." I'm sure he doesn't actually suspect anything. He's just weird. "So, what'd you do to get her attention? How'd you sweep her off her feet?" He shrugs. "Beats me. We had some of the same friends, we started hanging out, and there you go. Course, back then I was the one with money, so I paid for the wedding." "That sure has changed, huh?" "It didn't, really. I still make as much money as I ever did. Your mom just got real successful." He takes a drink. "Though when I saw I make the same amount of money, that's not taking inflation into account. It's the actual same amount." I finish the can in one long swig, then put the can on his work table. "Well, good luck with your plant wilting machine." "Thanks," he says, and turns back to his work as I head to my room. .   .   .

to theoretically be continued

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