Reality Boy

At first I don’t get it. I think she’s teasing me about something I don’t understand.

“You know—sweet sixteen?”

“Oh,” I say. “Right. You’re not sweet. I get it.”

The clock hits 11:04.

“Look,” she says. “I kinda lied.”

I hate lying girls, so I just shrug until she tells me the punch line. The joke’s on you, Gerald.

“I was going to a friend’s house. Well, two friends. But then we started talking, you know? And I—uh—I always wanted to know what you were like,” she says. When I don’t respond because I’m too busy trying to figure out what that means, she adds, “They live over on Franklin. You can come, too, I guess. They’re nice.”

Franklin Street, depending on which block you’re talking about, is a mess of crack houses and dive bars. I can’t imagine Register #1 Girl has friends there.

I can feel her looking at me, waiting for an answer. I say, “Do you want me to take you there?”

“Don’t you want to come in with me?” she asks.

I can’t tell her that I’m afraid my car will get stolen on Franklin Street. I can’t tell her I don’t like meeting new people. I can’t tell her I am wrapped in plastic wrap so tightly sometimes I can’t breathe. So I say, “Sure.”

She directs me to the house and there’s a parking spot about a half block away. In the summer on a Saturday night the street would be busy, but now it’s not. We just pass a few guys walking down the sidewalk. They don’t say anything, but as they approach I remember that I was a tiger earlier today and that I can be one anytime I want. I’m not scared of anyone. Except Register #1 Girl and her friends I haven’t met yet.

She walks up the steps and I follow her. It’s a house, not an apartment. It’s a row house attached to about twenty other houses. The porch light is on and I can see the door knocker is a set of brass testicles.

Register #1 Girl doesn’t knock. She just walks right in and I follow her. I don’t know if it’s the invisible plastic wrap or my nerves, but I think I’m sweating.

“Hey!” someone says. “It’s Hannah!”

Register #1 Girl says, “Hey! It’s Ashley!”

She walks in from the kitchen and is gorgeous. Red hair in a braid. Tank top and a half sleeve of colorful tattoos. Barefoot. Wedding ring. She hugs Register #1 Girl and then shakes my hand as I’m introduced, and smiles at me.

“Nice to meet you, Gerald.” She doesn’t look twice to see if I’m that Gerald. She just says, “Nice to meet you, Gerald,” and goes back into the kitchen. “I’m baking.” We follow her into the kitchen and Register #1 Girl goes to the fridge and grabs a bottle of water as if she lives here.

“You want something to drink?” she asks.

“No thanks,” I say.

She shrugs and walks through the kitchen into the back room, where Ashley’s husband is sitting. Register #1 Girl tells me his name is Nathan. He is as handsome as Ashley is gorgeous. They are the beautiful people. I had no idea the beautiful people could live on Franklin Street. You’d think it wouldn’t be safe for them. Especially since they don’t lock their front door.

“Nice to meet you, man,” Nathan says. “Sit. Relax. Grab a beer.”

“I don’t drink.” That’s what I say through the plastic wrap. To me, it’s sound waves bouncing off polyethylene—like a kazoo just said something.

I am suddenly distracted by the fish tanks in here. There are eight of them. I realize I am sweating because they make the room hot and Ashley is baking. Cookies, I think. It’s hard to smell through the layer between me and the rest of the world. But I think it’s chocolate chip cookies.

Register #1 Girl sits in a chair that’s surrounded by three of the aquariums. She watches the fish and says, “Gerald, come here.” She pats the chair next to her leg as if I could fit in that space—or as if I’d want to.

I stay on the small couch next to Nathan, who is watching a documentary about Jacques Cousteau. Register #1 Girl doesn’t ask me a second time. She just sits there and stares at the fish. She’s totally relaxed—I can see it in her face. I am the opposite of totally relaxed. I look at Nathan and I envy his beard. I decide when I’m older I’m going to grow a kick-ass beard.

Fuck this shit. Let’s grow beards.

“Ashley! Beer me!” he says. Not in a bad way. “Bring one for Gerald, too!”

When she brings us both a beer, she kisses him on the lips right there in front of us. A big, loving kiss. I’ve never seen people act like this. It must show.

“We’re newlyweds,” Ashley says. “Have a cookie.” She points to a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“Congratulations,” my kazoo-self says.

“Has Hannah told you all the names she’s given the fish?” she asks.

“No.”

We both look at Register #1 Girl. She is lost in the fish. This makes me wonder what might be in the cookies. These people are too mellow. Their house is too relaxing. The fish are too colorful.

So I open my beer.

25

“AREN’T THEY AMAZING?” she asks.

I’m busy worrying about if I’m sitting too close or if she can tell that I’m sweating too hard to answer.

“That’s Lola. I named her that because she’s yellow and just looks like a Lola, you know?” She points to the bigger, blue fish. “He’s Drake. He’s always biting everyone.”

I look around to all of the fish tanks and try to estimate how many fish are in the room with us. I’d say there are about a hundred. We’re outnumbered.

“Get it? Drake? Dracula?”

I pretend to look at the fish, but really I’m looking at Register #1 Girl’s face. Her skin reflects the fluorescent lighting of the tanks, and she looks translucent.

“One day, I’m going to get fish,” she says. “I’m going to get a huge tank like that one.” She points to the long tank at the end of the room. “It’ll be cool. No more parents. No more rules. No more anything except a job and a house and my fish.”

Nathan scratches his beard. “You rock, Hannah.” Then he bends his head toward the kitchen and yells, “Ash! You’re gonna miss the best part of this documentary if you don’t come in now!”

Ashley comes in and sits on the love seat next to him and they hold hands. Register #1 Girl cares about nothing except the fish. I sit here, nervous. I never realized how uncomfortable I am around happy people before. I feel like one of those fish—behind glass.

rst I don’t get it. I think she’s teasing me about something I don’t understand.

“You know—sweet sixteen?”

“Oh,” I say. “Right. You’re not sweet. I get it.”

The clock hits 11:04.

“Look,” she says. “I kinda lied.”

I hate lying girls, so I just shrug until she tells me the punch line. The joke’s on you, Gerald.

“I was going to a friend’s house. Well, two friends. But then we started talking, you know? And I—uh—I always wanted to know what you were like,” she says. When I don’t respond because I’m too busy trying to figure out what that means, she adds, “They live over on Franklin. You can come, too, I guess. They’re nice.”

Franklin Street, depending on which block you’re talking about, is a mess of crack houses and dive bars. I can’t imagine Register #1 Girl has friends there.

I can feel her looking at me, waiting for an answer. I say, “Do you want me to take you there?”

“Don’t you want to come in with me?” she asks.

I can’t tell her that I’m afraid my car will get stolen on Franklin Street. I can’t tell her I don’t like meeting new people. I can’t tell her I am wrapped in plastic wrap so tightly sometimes I can’t breathe. So I say, “Sure.”

She directs me to the house and there’s a parking spot about a half block away. In the summer on a Saturday night the street would be busy, but now it’s not. We just pass a few guys walking down the sidewalk. They don’t say anything, but as they approach I remember that I was a tiger earlier today and that I can be one anytime I want. I’m not scared of anyone. Except Register #1 Girl and her friends I haven’t met yet.

She walks up the steps and I follow her. It’s a house, not an apartment. It’s a row house attached to about twenty other houses. The porch light is on and I can see the door knocker is a set of brass testicles.

Register #1 Girl doesn’t knock. She just walks right in and I follow her. I don’t know if it’s the invisible plastic wrap or my nerves, but I think I’m sweating.

“Hey!” someone says. “It’s Hannah!”

Register #1 Girl says, “Hey! It’s Ashley!”

She walks in from the kitchen and is gorgeous. Red hair in a braid. Tank top and a half sleeve of colorful tattoos. Barefoot. Wedding ring. She hugs Register #1 Girl and then shakes my hand as I’m introduced, and smiles at me.

“Nice to meet you, Gerald.” She doesn’t look twice to see if I’m that Gerald. She just says, “Nice to meet you, Gerald,” and goes back into the kitchen. “I’m baking.” We follow her into the kitchen and Register #1 Girl goes to the fridge and grabs a bottle of water as if she lives here.

“You want something to drink?” she asks.

“No thanks,” I say.

She shrugs and walks through the kitchen into the back room, where Ashley’s husband is sitting. Register #1 Girl tells me his name is Nathan. He is as handsome as Ashley is gorgeous. They are the beautiful people. I had no idea the beautiful people could live on Franklin Street. You’d think it wouldn’t be safe for them. Especially since they don’t lock their front door.

“Nice to meet you, man,” Nathan says. “Sit. Relax. Grab a beer.”

“I don’t drink.” That’s what I say through the plastic wrap. To me, it’s sound waves bouncing off polyethylene—like a kazoo just said something.

I am suddenly distracted by the fish tanks in here. There are eight of them. I realize I am sweating because they make the room hot and Ashley is baking. Cookies, I think. It’s hard to smell through the layer between me and the rest of the world. But I think it’s chocolate chip cookies.

Register #1 Girl sits in a chair that’s surrounded by three of the aquariums. She watches the fish and says, “Gerald, come here.” She pats the chair next to her leg as if I could fit in that space—or as if I’d want to.

I stay on the small couch next to Nathan, who is watching a documentary about Jacques Cousteau. Register #1 Girl doesn’t ask me a second time. She just sits there and stares at the fish. She’s totally relaxed—I can see it in her face. I am the opposite of totally relaxed. I look at Nathan and I envy his beard. I decide when I’m older I’m going to grow a kick-ass beard.

Fuck this shit. Let’s grow beards.

“Ashley! Beer me!” he says. Not in a bad way. “Bring one for Gerald, too!”

When she brings us both a beer, she kisses him on the lips right there in front of us. A big, loving kiss. I’ve never seen people act like this. It must show.

“We’re newlyweds,” Ashley says. “Have a cookie.” She points to a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“Congratulations,” my kazoo-self says.

“Has Hannah told you all the names she’s given the fish?” she asks.

“No.”

We both look at Register #1 Girl. She is lost in the fish. This makes me wonder what might be in the cookies. These people are too mellow. Their house is too relaxing. The fish are too colorful.

So I open my beer.

25

“AREN’T THEY AMAZING?” she asks.

I’m busy worrying about if I’m sitting too close or if she can tell that I’m sweating too hard to answer.

“That’s Lola. I named her that because she’s yellow and just looks like a Lola, you know?” She points to the bigger, blue fish. “He’s Drake. He’s always biting everyone.”

I look around to all of the fish tanks and try to estimate how many fish are in the room with us. I’d say there are about a hundred. We’re outnumbered.

“Get it? Drake? Dracula?”

I pretend to look at the fish, but really I’m looking at Register #1 Girl’s face. Her skin reflects the fluorescent lighting of the tanks, and she looks translucent.

“One day, I’m going to get fish,” she says. “I’m going to get a huge tank like that one.” She points to the long tank at the end of the room. “It’ll be cool. No more parents. No more rules. No more anything except a job and a house and my fish.”

Nathan scratches his beard. “You rock, Hannah.” Then he bends his head toward the kitchen and yells, “Ash! You’re gonna miss the best part of this documentary if you don’t come in now!”

Ashley comes in and sits on the love seat next to him and they hold hands. Register #1 Girl cares about nothing except the fish. I sit here, nervous. I never realized how uncomfortable I am around happy people before. I feel like one of those fish—behind glass.