Reality Boy
Page 44
He stands there holding his two beers. His girlfriend says something I can’t hear. Let’s go. Come on. We’re missing the game. He doesn’t hear it, either. He’s just staring at me.
He has no idea how fast I could put him in the hospital.
He puts the beers on the counter. “Where’s your f**king boss?”
Beth raises her hand.
“I can make this a lot easier for you and just hit you first. You want that?” I ask. I really want to hit him, so I get right in his face.
He looks at Beth. “I want him fired.”
Beth moves her ear closer and cups it. “I’m sorry. I’m far too ugly to hear you. Can you say that again?”
He stares at the three of us for a few seconds and then he picks up his beers and leaves.
Beth high-fives me. “You okay?”
I nod. “You’re totally a babe,” I say. “Don’t listen to that ass**le.”
Hannah agrees. She’s in some weird state of shock, though. I can tell by how she’s still frowning. Like she’s still living in a minute ago. I know time travel when I see it.
On our way to the parking garage, she says, “You scared me in there.”
“What?”
“You scared me,” she says. “You’re—um—a lot more. I don’t know. Nothing. Forget it.”
“I’ll forget it if you forget it,” I say. I know neither of us will forget it.
We walk the block quietly.
She looks at me as we walk under a streetlight. “You’re really handsome, you know that?”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t think anyone uses the word handsome anymore. I feel humbled by it. Because it’s old and grandmothers say it, it seems classy and real and I feel… handsome. It makes me smile. And it makes me really want to kiss Hannah, but I don’t.
In the car, I get to the glove compartment first and I pull out the card before Hannah can swipe it from me, which is what it looks like she wants to do.
I start to read the tiny writing.
Dear Gerald,
I know it’s a little early for me to be saying this, but I think you’re probably the best friend I ever had. This isn’t saying much because I’ve never had a best friend. Once I thought I had a best friend, but then she started to get interested in clothes and we ended up not being friends anymore.
I like you a lot because you give a shit, Gerald. You really give a shit. I know we don’t talk much about some stuff because of the rules, but I never felt like anyone could give a shit about Hannah McCarthy. Everyone knows I’m the junkman’s daughter and I decided a while ago that I was okay with that because there’s nothing I can do about it. And you are the boy from TV and there’s nothing you can do about that. And today you turn 17 and I think it’s about time that you know that you’re the boy from TV and until you leave here, you will always be the boy from TV and I will always be the junkman’s daughter. And I feel a bond with you because of this. Because neither of us is happy here and I want to find a way out. Of Blue Marsh. Of my life. Of my house, of my family. I want a way out. And it looks like you want that, too.
I know this girl from my old job and she wanted out of her family, too, and so she married a guy when she was 17. Don’t worry. I’m not about to propose to you. But I also think that maybe we could find a way out early. I can’t handle senior year. I can’t handle another day as Cinderella. I can’t handle one more day of living like the junkman’s daughter. I want to be Hannah. And I want you to be Gerald and not some kid from TV.
Anyway, Happy Birthday, and know that I think you’re my best friend and I hope that doesn’t freak you out because I need you in my life right now more than I ever needed anyone. Because I’m pretty sure I love you.
Hannah
It’s a small card and I hold it close to my face to read and I keep it there for a half minute after I’m done reading while I think of something to say.
“Ugh,” she says. “I’m so embarrassed.”
I put the card down between the bucket seats. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re my best friend, too. I never had one, either. I’m just scared because if we go too fast, we could—you know—wreck it.”
“Shit.”
I look at her. “I think I love you, too, Hannah. Okay? I’m pretty sure, even. But let’s just go slow.”
We pause and look down for a few seconds. Hannah looks like she wants to say something.
“Is something wrong?”
“You scared me in there,” she says. Again. I heard her the first time, on the way to the car.
“And?”
“And I can’t love someone who would, like, you know. Hit people and shit.”
“Jesus,” I say. I say it because I instantly feel like the Crapper.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s my birthday,” I say.
“I know. I don’t want to kill your buzz.”
“Too late.”
“But I’m serious. I’m not ready for visiting someone I love in jail, you know?”
“Jesus!” I say again. “What the hell are you trying to do?”
“I’m just telling you.”
“Well, I heard you, okay?”
“Okay.”
She looks scared now. Fuck. “And I’d never hit—like—you or anything.”
“Shit,” she says. “That’s not what I meant, Gerald.”
“I think it is.”
“It isn’t,” she says, and I can see the tears welling up in her eyes, because the parking-garage lights are reflecting in them. “Look. Let’s just try this again.”
“Let’s,” I say.
“Come on. Don’t be mad.”
“Dude, you think I’m going to hit you one day. I think that sucks. It would suck for you if you were me, I guarantee it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I pull out of the parking space and take off down the parking-garage ramp. Hannah starts to cry a little. Happy birthday, Gerald.
Once we get out of the garage and start driving toward the bridge, she starts to ramble. “Look, that was my fault and I’m sorry. But you scared me. I could see you nearly killing that guy. You had a vein popping out of your neck. And I know that your chest is still all messed up from boxing and it scared me and I didn’t know you boxed and I don’t like boxing because it’s so violent and I don’t understand why anyone would want to hit another person, so all of those things scared me, okay? And before you say it again, I don’t think you’re going to hit me,” she says. “I think we’re soul mates. Soul mates don’t do shit like that.”
He has no idea how fast I could put him in the hospital.
He puts the beers on the counter. “Where’s your f**king boss?”
Beth raises her hand.
“I can make this a lot easier for you and just hit you first. You want that?” I ask. I really want to hit him, so I get right in his face.
He looks at Beth. “I want him fired.”
Beth moves her ear closer and cups it. “I’m sorry. I’m far too ugly to hear you. Can you say that again?”
He stares at the three of us for a few seconds and then he picks up his beers and leaves.
Beth high-fives me. “You okay?”
I nod. “You’re totally a babe,” I say. “Don’t listen to that ass**le.”
Hannah agrees. She’s in some weird state of shock, though. I can tell by how she’s still frowning. Like she’s still living in a minute ago. I know time travel when I see it.
On our way to the parking garage, she says, “You scared me in there.”
“What?”
“You scared me,” she says. “You’re—um—a lot more. I don’t know. Nothing. Forget it.”
“I’ll forget it if you forget it,” I say. I know neither of us will forget it.
We walk the block quietly.
She looks at me as we walk under a streetlight. “You’re really handsome, you know that?”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t think anyone uses the word handsome anymore. I feel humbled by it. Because it’s old and grandmothers say it, it seems classy and real and I feel… handsome. It makes me smile. And it makes me really want to kiss Hannah, but I don’t.
In the car, I get to the glove compartment first and I pull out the card before Hannah can swipe it from me, which is what it looks like she wants to do.
I start to read the tiny writing.
Dear Gerald,
I know it’s a little early for me to be saying this, but I think you’re probably the best friend I ever had. This isn’t saying much because I’ve never had a best friend. Once I thought I had a best friend, but then she started to get interested in clothes and we ended up not being friends anymore.
I like you a lot because you give a shit, Gerald. You really give a shit. I know we don’t talk much about some stuff because of the rules, but I never felt like anyone could give a shit about Hannah McCarthy. Everyone knows I’m the junkman’s daughter and I decided a while ago that I was okay with that because there’s nothing I can do about it. And you are the boy from TV and there’s nothing you can do about that. And today you turn 17 and I think it’s about time that you know that you’re the boy from TV and until you leave here, you will always be the boy from TV and I will always be the junkman’s daughter. And I feel a bond with you because of this. Because neither of us is happy here and I want to find a way out. Of Blue Marsh. Of my life. Of my house, of my family. I want a way out. And it looks like you want that, too.
I know this girl from my old job and she wanted out of her family, too, and so she married a guy when she was 17. Don’t worry. I’m not about to propose to you. But I also think that maybe we could find a way out early. I can’t handle senior year. I can’t handle another day as Cinderella. I can’t handle one more day of living like the junkman’s daughter. I want to be Hannah. And I want you to be Gerald and not some kid from TV.
Anyway, Happy Birthday, and know that I think you’re my best friend and I hope that doesn’t freak you out because I need you in my life right now more than I ever needed anyone. Because I’m pretty sure I love you.
Hannah
It’s a small card and I hold it close to my face to read and I keep it there for a half minute after I’m done reading while I think of something to say.
“Ugh,” she says. “I’m so embarrassed.”
I put the card down between the bucket seats. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re my best friend, too. I never had one, either. I’m just scared because if we go too fast, we could—you know—wreck it.”
“Shit.”
I look at her. “I think I love you, too, Hannah. Okay? I’m pretty sure, even. But let’s just go slow.”
We pause and look down for a few seconds. Hannah looks like she wants to say something.
“Is something wrong?”
“You scared me in there,” she says. Again. I heard her the first time, on the way to the car.
“And?”
“And I can’t love someone who would, like, you know. Hit people and shit.”
“Jesus,” I say. I say it because I instantly feel like the Crapper.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s my birthday,” I say.
“I know. I don’t want to kill your buzz.”
“Too late.”
“But I’m serious. I’m not ready for visiting someone I love in jail, you know?”
“Jesus!” I say again. “What the hell are you trying to do?”
“I’m just telling you.”
“Well, I heard you, okay?”
“Okay.”
She looks scared now. Fuck. “And I’d never hit—like—you or anything.”
“Shit,” she says. “That’s not what I meant, Gerald.”
“I think it is.”
“It isn’t,” she says, and I can see the tears welling up in her eyes, because the parking-garage lights are reflecting in them. “Look. Let’s just try this again.”
“Let’s,” I say.
“Come on. Don’t be mad.”
“Dude, you think I’m going to hit you one day. I think that sucks. It would suck for you if you were me, I guarantee it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I pull out of the parking space and take off down the parking-garage ramp. Hannah starts to cry a little. Happy birthday, Gerald.
Once we get out of the garage and start driving toward the bridge, she starts to ramble. “Look, that was my fault and I’m sorry. But you scared me. I could see you nearly killing that guy. You had a vein popping out of your neck. And I know that your chest is still all messed up from boxing and it scared me and I didn’t know you boxed and I don’t like boxing because it’s so violent and I don’t understand why anyone would want to hit another person, so all of those things scared me, okay? And before you say it again, I don’t think you’re going to hit me,” she says. “I think we’re soul mates. Soul mates don’t do shit like that.”
