Autoboyography
Page 68
I don’t even know where Sebastian ended up going on his mission, but I’m worried about him. Is he having fun? Is he miserable? Is he stuffing a part of his heart into a lockbox just to keep the people in his life happy? I know he can’t be contacted, so I’m not texting or e-mailing, but just to release the pressure valve in my chest, sometimes I’ll type something up and send it to myself so at least the words can get out of me, stop stealing my air.
Autumn told me that his mom was going to host some public Facebook party for the letter opening, but I couldn’t stomach it. I assumed Autumn lurked on there, following the action, but she swears she has no idea where he ended up. Even if she was lying, though, I made her promise not to tell me. What if he’s in Phoenix? What if he’s in San Diego? I wouldn’t be able to keep from driving there and trolling the neighborhoods for Elder Brother, the hottest guy alive, with his floppy skater hair and white shirtsleeves, riding a bike.
Sometimes, when I can’t sleep and can’t stop thinking about everything we did together, I imagine giving in and asking Autumn where I can find him. I imagine showing up wherever he is, seeing him in his missionary uniform, and his surprise at seeing me there. I think I’d make the trade: I’ll convert, if you’ll be with me, even in secret, forever.
• • •
The first weekend in October, I call Auddy like I always do: at eleven on Sunday. There’s always the pain at first, the stab wound inflicted by the familiar pitch of her voice. Oddly, even as hard as it was saying good-bye to my folks at my dorm, saying bye to Autumn was harder. In some ways I hate that I didn’t tell her everything sooner. We’ll have other safe places, but we were each other’s first safe space. No matter what we say or what promises we make, it changes from here on out.
“Tanner, oh my God, hang on, let me read you this letter.”
This is honestly how she answers. I can’t even reply before she’s already put the phone down, off—I presume—to retrieve Bratalie’s latest manifesto.
Her roommate is a total drama queen, actually named Natalie, who leaves passive-aggressive notes on Autumn’s desk about noise, tidiness, the lack of toothpaste sharing that should occur, and the number of dresser drawers Autumn is allowed to occupy. Fun fact: We are also pretty sure she masturbates when she thinks Autumn is asleep. This isn’t related to anything, really, but I found it genuinely fascinating and required a lot of detail before I would agree with the theory.
Her phone scrapes across a surface before she returns with a bright, “Ohmygod.”
“A good one?”
“Maybe the best so far.” Auddy takes a breath, laughing on the exhale. “Remember how I told you she was sick earlier in the week?”
I vaguely remember the text. Our box gets pretty busy. “Yeah.”
“So, it’s related to that. Okay. ‘Dear Autumn,’” she reads, “‘Thank you again for bringing me breakfast the other morning. I felt so sick! I feel like such a jerk for saying this—’”
I laugh incredulously, anticipating where this is headed. “Oh my God.”
“‘—but I can’t stop thinking about it, so I just need to get it out. The fork and the plate were both dirty, with crusty stuff. And then I thought, Did Autumn do this on purpose? I hope not. I know I can be fussy sometimes, but I want us to be as close forever as we are now—’”
“Wow, she’s delusional.”
“‘—so I thought I would simply ask. Or maybe I just wanted to let you know that I knew, and if it was intentional, that was sort of nasty of you. Of course, if it was an accident, just ignore this. You’re so sweet. Xoxo, Nat.’”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Seriously, Auddy, find a new roommate. She makes Ryker seem mellow.”
“I can’t! From what I’ve seen of others changing roommates, it’s so much drama!”
“This isn’t drama?”
“It is,” she agrees, “but there’s an element of the absurd to it too. It’s objectively fascinating.”
“I mean, I get her letter about cracker crumbs. I’ve been warning you about this for years now. But a dirty fork and plate when you’re bringing food to her sickbed?”
She laughs. “It’s as if she doesn’t eat at the dining hall. The dishes are all pretty sketchy.”
“How dare they! Don’t they know they’re Yale?”
“Shut up. How’s LA?”
I look out my window. “Sunny.”
Auddy groans. “Good weekend? Anything interesting?”
“We played Washington State yesterday, so a bunch of us went to the game.”
“Who would have pegged you as a football fan?”
“I wouldn’t say fan so much as aware of the unspoken rules.” I lean back in my desk chair, scratching my jaw. “A few guys over in Hedrick were having a party last night. I went with Breckin.” My first and closest friend so far, Breckin escaped a small town in Texas, and by some strange coincidence is (1) gay and (2) Mormon. I couldn’t make this up if I tried. He’s also smart as hell and reads almost as voraciously as Autumn. I’d have a crush if my heart wasn’t already taken. “Pretty fun day. I don’t know. What’d you do?”
“Deacon had a race yesterday, so we did that.”
Deacon. Her new boyfriend, and a deity on the rowing team, apparently.
There is a small curl of jealous heat there. I can’t deny it. But mostly, he sounds like a pretty cool guy. He’s Irish, and totally infatuated with Autumn, so I already like him. He even texted me last week to ask me what I thought he should get her for her birthday. Recruiting the best friend: smart move.
“I miss you,” I tell her.
“I miss you too.”
We exchange Thanksgiving travel details, promise to talk next week, and ring off, with love.
For about fifteen minutes after we hang up, I feel blue.
But then I see Breckin in my doorway with a Frisbee.
“Which one this time?” he asks.
Thanks to a pitcher of vodka tonics and a Breaking Bad marathon one night in my room, he knows everything.
“Both of them.”
He waves his Frisbee. “Let’s go. It’s nice outside.”
• • •
There have been a few moments in my life when I think I’ve felt a higher power at work. The first was when I was six and Hailey was three. It’s my earliest clear memory; I have fuzzy ones from before it, of throwing pasta or staring up at my ceiling at night while my parents read me a book, but this was the first where every detail seems to have been tattooed in my mind. Mom, Hailey, and I were in a T.J. Maxx. The racks were rammed so close together and stuffed with clothes, it was nearly impossible to pass between without rubbing against something woolen or silken or denim.
Hailey was being playful and silly, and hid a couple of times in a rack Mom was sorting through. But then she disappeared. Completely. For ten minutes we ran around yelling her name with increasing hysteria, digging through every rod, shelf, and rack in the store. We couldn’t find her. We alerted the saleswomen, who called security. Mom was hysterical. I was hysterical. I’d never done anything like it before, but I closed my eyes and begged—not a person, not a power, maybe just the future—that she was okay. Only a few weeks before, I’d learned the word “kidnap,” and it seemed to rewire my brain so that I viewed everything through the lens of a possible abduction scenario.
Autumn told me that his mom was going to host some public Facebook party for the letter opening, but I couldn’t stomach it. I assumed Autumn lurked on there, following the action, but she swears she has no idea where he ended up. Even if she was lying, though, I made her promise not to tell me. What if he’s in Phoenix? What if he’s in San Diego? I wouldn’t be able to keep from driving there and trolling the neighborhoods for Elder Brother, the hottest guy alive, with his floppy skater hair and white shirtsleeves, riding a bike.
Sometimes, when I can’t sleep and can’t stop thinking about everything we did together, I imagine giving in and asking Autumn where I can find him. I imagine showing up wherever he is, seeing him in his missionary uniform, and his surprise at seeing me there. I think I’d make the trade: I’ll convert, if you’ll be with me, even in secret, forever.
• • •
The first weekend in October, I call Auddy like I always do: at eleven on Sunday. There’s always the pain at first, the stab wound inflicted by the familiar pitch of her voice. Oddly, even as hard as it was saying good-bye to my folks at my dorm, saying bye to Autumn was harder. In some ways I hate that I didn’t tell her everything sooner. We’ll have other safe places, but we were each other’s first safe space. No matter what we say or what promises we make, it changes from here on out.
“Tanner, oh my God, hang on, let me read you this letter.”
This is honestly how she answers. I can’t even reply before she’s already put the phone down, off—I presume—to retrieve Bratalie’s latest manifesto.
Her roommate is a total drama queen, actually named Natalie, who leaves passive-aggressive notes on Autumn’s desk about noise, tidiness, the lack of toothpaste sharing that should occur, and the number of dresser drawers Autumn is allowed to occupy. Fun fact: We are also pretty sure she masturbates when she thinks Autumn is asleep. This isn’t related to anything, really, but I found it genuinely fascinating and required a lot of detail before I would agree with the theory.
Her phone scrapes across a surface before she returns with a bright, “Ohmygod.”
“A good one?”
“Maybe the best so far.” Auddy takes a breath, laughing on the exhale. “Remember how I told you she was sick earlier in the week?”
I vaguely remember the text. Our box gets pretty busy. “Yeah.”
“So, it’s related to that. Okay. ‘Dear Autumn,’” she reads, “‘Thank you again for bringing me breakfast the other morning. I felt so sick! I feel like such a jerk for saying this—’”
I laugh incredulously, anticipating where this is headed. “Oh my God.”
“‘—but I can’t stop thinking about it, so I just need to get it out. The fork and the plate were both dirty, with crusty stuff. And then I thought, Did Autumn do this on purpose? I hope not. I know I can be fussy sometimes, but I want us to be as close forever as we are now—’”
“Wow, she’s delusional.”
“‘—so I thought I would simply ask. Or maybe I just wanted to let you know that I knew, and if it was intentional, that was sort of nasty of you. Of course, if it was an accident, just ignore this. You’re so sweet. Xoxo, Nat.’”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Seriously, Auddy, find a new roommate. She makes Ryker seem mellow.”
“I can’t! From what I’ve seen of others changing roommates, it’s so much drama!”
“This isn’t drama?”
“It is,” she agrees, “but there’s an element of the absurd to it too. It’s objectively fascinating.”
“I mean, I get her letter about cracker crumbs. I’ve been warning you about this for years now. But a dirty fork and plate when you’re bringing food to her sickbed?”
She laughs. “It’s as if she doesn’t eat at the dining hall. The dishes are all pretty sketchy.”
“How dare they! Don’t they know they’re Yale?”
“Shut up. How’s LA?”
I look out my window. “Sunny.”
Auddy groans. “Good weekend? Anything interesting?”
“We played Washington State yesterday, so a bunch of us went to the game.”
“Who would have pegged you as a football fan?”
“I wouldn’t say fan so much as aware of the unspoken rules.” I lean back in my desk chair, scratching my jaw. “A few guys over in Hedrick were having a party last night. I went with Breckin.” My first and closest friend so far, Breckin escaped a small town in Texas, and by some strange coincidence is (1) gay and (2) Mormon. I couldn’t make this up if I tried. He’s also smart as hell and reads almost as voraciously as Autumn. I’d have a crush if my heart wasn’t already taken. “Pretty fun day. I don’t know. What’d you do?”
“Deacon had a race yesterday, so we did that.”
Deacon. Her new boyfriend, and a deity on the rowing team, apparently.
There is a small curl of jealous heat there. I can’t deny it. But mostly, he sounds like a pretty cool guy. He’s Irish, and totally infatuated with Autumn, so I already like him. He even texted me last week to ask me what I thought he should get her for her birthday. Recruiting the best friend: smart move.
“I miss you,” I tell her.
“I miss you too.”
We exchange Thanksgiving travel details, promise to talk next week, and ring off, with love.
For about fifteen minutes after we hang up, I feel blue.
But then I see Breckin in my doorway with a Frisbee.
“Which one this time?” he asks.
Thanks to a pitcher of vodka tonics and a Breaking Bad marathon one night in my room, he knows everything.
“Both of them.”
He waves his Frisbee. “Let’s go. It’s nice outside.”
• • •
There have been a few moments in my life when I think I’ve felt a higher power at work. The first was when I was six and Hailey was three. It’s my earliest clear memory; I have fuzzy ones from before it, of throwing pasta or staring up at my ceiling at night while my parents read me a book, but this was the first where every detail seems to have been tattooed in my mind. Mom, Hailey, and I were in a T.J. Maxx. The racks were rammed so close together and stuffed with clothes, it was nearly impossible to pass between without rubbing against something woolen or silken or denim.
Hailey was being playful and silly, and hid a couple of times in a rack Mom was sorting through. But then she disappeared. Completely. For ten minutes we ran around yelling her name with increasing hysteria, digging through every rod, shelf, and rack in the store. We couldn’t find her. We alerted the saleswomen, who called security. Mom was hysterical. I was hysterical. I’d never done anything like it before, but I closed my eyes and begged—not a person, not a power, maybe just the future—that she was okay. Only a few weeks before, I’d learned the word “kidnap,” and it seemed to rewire my brain so that I viewed everything through the lens of a possible abduction scenario.
