Reality Boy

“Is that why that show came to your house?”

I shrug and feel awkward. “The show came to my house because my mom wrote them a letter. I was punching holes in the walls. That was because of Tasha hitting me,” I say.

This makes Hannah stop gorging on crab legs. She looks at me. “You know, if the world knew what really went on there, people would understand why you were so messed up.”

“I’m not planning on telling the world,” I say. “Just you.”

“Sorry for hitting you,” she says. I tell her never to worry about it again and then go over to the counter and ask the guy in the apron for a pencil and a piece of paper.

I sit back at the table and look at her. “So what’s your first demand?”

“More butter,” she says, pointing at the plastic dish of melted butter in front of me. I slide it toward her. She’s like a savage with crab legs. It’s kinda sexy. “And I’m going to need a shower,” she says. “Soon.”

“I was thinking of stopping at a hotel for the night,” I say.

“You thinking of breaking rule number five?”

“We already broke rule number five,” I say.

“I’d like to break it more,” she says, smiling even though her mouth is full of crabmeat. She goes back to chewing.

I clear my throat. “My first demand is a safe place to live. No more Tasha.”

She nods and chews. “That’s a good one,” she says.

“I’ve only been demanding that since I was born, I think,” I say. “Not like it ever worked.”

“My first demand is that I only have to do my own laundry and I don’t have to give my mom pedicures anymore. Her feet are disgusting and full of fungus.”

I have no idea how she can mention this while eating, but I have to take a thirty-second break before I attempt my next mouthful of crab. I write down our first demands and think.

“And my second demand is that I don’t have to go to college right after I graduate. I know they mean well, but I want a break. I don’t even know what the hell I want to do, right? And they think being a marine biologist is impractical.” I nod, and I write I demand not to go to college right after I graduate. “What’s your second demand?” she asks.

“I don’t know. It’d be nice if my mom stopped being sarcastic about my future. It’s like she wants me to go to jail or something.” Oh God. “Oh God,” I say.

I feel like throwing up. How did I not see that before?

Fuck.

“Gerald? You okay?”

I’m in Gersday. In Gersday, I am a family of three. Just me, Lisi, and Dad. I don’t give a shit about ice cream or trapezes. I just want an escape from this thought. Then Snow White is there, and her bird says, “She wants you to go to jail because it will make her look like she was right all these years lay-tah.”

Then the dwarfs show up.

GRUMPY: She.

SLEEPY: Wants.

HAPPY: You.

SNEEZY: To.

DOC: Go.

BASHFUL: To.

DOPEY: Jail.

“Gerald?”

I look at Hannah but I can’t answer her. It’s like I’m stuck in a time warp. I am stuck between Gersday, where I’m nineteen, and a 1937 Walt Disney movie, when my grandparents aren’t even born yet.

She grabs my arm and squeezes until I can speak again.

“Shit. Yeah. I’m here. Wow.”

“What the hell was that?”

“I just realized something really heavy,” I say.

“And?”

“And I need a minute.”

She pats me on the arm as if she can see something big is going on in my brain. I walk to the bathroom and have a pee. I look at myself in the small, dirty mirror while I wash my hands, and I smile. I don’t know why I smile.

I feel like crying.

“I’m starting to think this list-of-demands shit is stupid,” Hannah says when I get back to our table. She’s doing it for me—I can see that. She cares about the Crapper.

“Yeah. What good is a list of demands if we’re never going back?” I say.

Hannah makes a noise in the back of her throat. The noise says Gerald, you know we have to go back.

She takes out her notebook and starts to scribble something in it and I rest my head in my hands and close my eyes and think about what I demand.

I ask myself: What do you demand, Gerald?

None of my answers are possible.

I demand a different childhood.

I demand a mother who cares.

I demand a do-over.

When I look at Hannah, she is Snow White. She smiles and has a bluebird on her shoulder. The bluebird tweets.

I demand my own bluebird that tweets.

Snow White hands me the LEGO Star Wars set that Mom and Dad took away from me eleven years ago after I crapped on the kitchen table the last time. It’s the Millennium Falcon. It’s real. I wonder how I will explain this to Hannah—the Millennium Falcon appearing out of nowhere.

“Great,” I say. “That’s great.”

“What’s great?” Hannah asks.

I don’t open my eyes. Or maybe my eyes are open and I can’t see Hannah, because Snow White is clearly still sitting next to me on the bench.

“Gerald?”

I open my eyes and it’s Hannah. No Millennium Falcon LEGO set. No Snow White.

“Shit. Sorry,” I say.

“Where do you go?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I go where I’ve always gone. This cool place.” Do not tell Hannah about Snow White and the bluebird.

“What’s so cool about it?”

“Tasha isn’t there,” I say. “And there’s ice cream. And a trapeze.”

This makes us both laugh and I feel like I got away with something.

I demand to stop getting away with things.

I grab another hush puppy and pop it into my mouth. I think about how messed up my mom must be. My mom has a screw loose. I take a second to pity her.

Holy shit.

My mom is pitiful.

Maybe hush puppies can change your life.

53

WE’RE DRIVING SOUTH. I check my phone again to see if Joe Jr. wrote back, but he didn’t. All I know is to aim for Bonifay, Florida, and I hope, if he doesn’t get back to me, that they’re listed in the phone book. It can’t be so hard to find a circus in its hometown, can it?

Mostly, we’ve been listening to music, but Hannah turns it down from time to time to badger me about letting her drive or to ask a question. She’s tiptoeing around rule #3 since we talked about our dumb demands at the 2-4-1 Crab Shack.

o;Is that why that show came to your house?”

I shrug and feel awkward. “The show came to my house because my mom wrote them a letter. I was punching holes in the walls. That was because of Tasha hitting me,” I say.

This makes Hannah stop gorging on crab legs. She looks at me. “You know, if the world knew what really went on there, people would understand why you were so messed up.”

“I’m not planning on telling the world,” I say. “Just you.”

“Sorry for hitting you,” she says. I tell her never to worry about it again and then go over to the counter and ask the guy in the apron for a pencil and a piece of paper.

I sit back at the table and look at her. “So what’s your first demand?”

“More butter,” she says, pointing at the plastic dish of melted butter in front of me. I slide it toward her. She’s like a savage with crab legs. It’s kinda sexy. “And I’m going to need a shower,” she says. “Soon.”

“I was thinking of stopping at a hotel for the night,” I say.

“You thinking of breaking rule number five?”

“We already broke rule number five,” I say.

“I’d like to break it more,” she says, smiling even though her mouth is full of crabmeat. She goes back to chewing.

I clear my throat. “My first demand is a safe place to live. No more Tasha.”

She nods and chews. “That’s a good one,” she says.

“I’ve only been demanding that since I was born, I think,” I say. “Not like it ever worked.”

“My first demand is that I only have to do my own laundry and I don’t have to give my mom pedicures anymore. Her feet are disgusting and full of fungus.”

I have no idea how she can mention this while eating, but I have to take a thirty-second break before I attempt my next mouthful of crab. I write down our first demands and think.

“And my second demand is that I don’t have to go to college right after I graduate. I know they mean well, but I want a break. I don’t even know what the hell I want to do, right? And they think being a marine biologist is impractical.” I nod, and I write I demand not to go to college right after I graduate. “What’s your second demand?” she asks.

“I don’t know. It’d be nice if my mom stopped being sarcastic about my future. It’s like she wants me to go to jail or something.” Oh God. “Oh God,” I say.

I feel like throwing up. How did I not see that before?

Fuck.

“Gerald? You okay?”

I’m in Gersday. In Gersday, I am a family of three. Just me, Lisi, and Dad. I don’t give a shit about ice cream or trapezes. I just want an escape from this thought. Then Snow White is there, and her bird says, “She wants you to go to jail because it will make her look like she was right all these years lay-tah.”

Then the dwarfs show up.

GRUMPY: She.

SLEEPY: Wants.

HAPPY: You.

SNEEZY: To.

DOC: Go.

BASHFUL: To.

DOPEY: Jail.

“Gerald?”

I look at Hannah but I can’t answer her. It’s like I’m stuck in a time warp. I am stuck between Gersday, where I’m nineteen, and a 1937 Walt Disney movie, when my grandparents aren’t even born yet.

She grabs my arm and squeezes until I can speak again.

“Shit. Yeah. I’m here. Wow.”

“What the hell was that?”

“I just realized something really heavy,” I say.

“And?”

“And I need a minute.”

She pats me on the arm as if she can see something big is going on in my brain. I walk to the bathroom and have a pee. I look at myself in the small, dirty mirror while I wash my hands, and I smile. I don’t know why I smile.

I feel like crying.

“I’m starting to think this list-of-demands shit is stupid,” Hannah says when I get back to our table. She’s doing it for me—I can see that. She cares about the Crapper.

“Yeah. What good is a list of demands if we’re never going back?” I say.

Hannah makes a noise in the back of her throat. The noise says Gerald, you know we have to go back.

She takes out her notebook and starts to scribble something in it and I rest my head in my hands and close my eyes and think about what I demand.

I ask myself: What do you demand, Gerald?

None of my answers are possible.

I demand a different childhood.

I demand a mother who cares.

I demand a do-over.

When I look at Hannah, she is Snow White. She smiles and has a bluebird on her shoulder. The bluebird tweets.

I demand my own bluebird that tweets.

Snow White hands me the LEGO Star Wars set that Mom and Dad took away from me eleven years ago after I crapped on the kitchen table the last time. It’s the Millennium Falcon. It’s real. I wonder how I will explain this to Hannah—the Millennium Falcon appearing out of nowhere.

“Great,” I say. “That’s great.”

“What’s great?” Hannah asks.

I don’t open my eyes. Or maybe my eyes are open and I can’t see Hannah, because Snow White is clearly still sitting next to me on the bench.

“Gerald?”

I open my eyes and it’s Hannah. No Millennium Falcon LEGO set. No Snow White.

“Shit. Sorry,” I say.

“Where do you go?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I go where I’ve always gone. This cool place.” Do not tell Hannah about Snow White and the bluebird.

“What’s so cool about it?”

“Tasha isn’t there,” I say. “And there’s ice cream. And a trapeze.”

This makes us both laugh and I feel like I got away with something.

I demand to stop getting away with things.

I grab another hush puppy and pop it into my mouth. I think about how messed up my mom must be. My mom has a screw loose. I take a second to pity her.

Holy shit.

My mom is pitiful.

Maybe hush puppies can change your life.

53

WE’RE DRIVING SOUTH. I check my phone again to see if Joe Jr. wrote back, but he didn’t. All I know is to aim for Bonifay, Florida, and I hope, if he doesn’t get back to me, that they’re listed in the phone book. It can’t be so hard to find a circus in its hometown, can it?

Mostly, we’ve been listening to music, but Hannah turns it down from time to time to badger me about letting her drive or to ask a question. She’s tiptoeing around rule #3 since we talked about our dumb demands at the 2-4-1 Crab Shack.