19. Emerson
NINETEEN
EMERSON
Bobo seems a little tired from his earlier walk with Bryce, so I treat us to a cab ride up to Central Park for the faculty party. I lie and tell the driver he’s my service dog, then point to my hearing aid. Not my finest moment, but we can’t be saints all the time.
Bobo sticks his head out the window and takes in the rush of wind. I wish I had his unabashed joy rather than the neurotic voice playing on a loop in my head.
Central Park is packed with throngs of people biking, jogging, talking, laughing, being.
Everyone seems on some kind of mission. I still can’t get over how many people are here; I never realized how quiet Indiana was.
The buzz of the city is real. There’s always something going on, even just in a park on a patch of land.
Bobo navigates us through the crowd until we have space, then I take the lead. I walk us down a path until we come to a big fountain. On the patch of grass, a tent is set up and my coworkers are mingling.
I march up to my colleagues and adjust my hearing aid to accommodate the number of people and outside space.
They greet me, but right away Bobo is the special attraction.
A few of the TAs squat down to pet him, rubbing his fur vigorously and talking baby talk to him.
For his part, Bobo laps up the attention.
He falls to the grass and rolls around on his back, proud to be an attention whore.
“Oh, he is such a cute dog,” Will says.
Sheena rubs his belly, her fingernails adding an extra kick. Bobo’s tongue sticks out in ecstasy, trying to lick someone’s face—anyone’s face—as he lolls on the ground.
“Will, he looks like you in that photo you showed us from your visit to San Francisco. He’s even wearing a collar, too,” Sheena says.
Will’s cheeks flame red. I give him a quick nod, letting him know his puppy play kink is none of my business.
Though this is an unexpected side from my buttoned-up TA.
“You never told us you have a dog,” Will says, desperately trying to change the subject.
“He’s not mine.” I push my glasses up and give a half-smile. “He’s my roommate’s.”
The word roommate feels so weird in my mouth, maybe because the taste of Bryce is still on my tongue.
Will rubs behind Bobo’s ear, who flops back on the ground. This dog really knows how to put on a show. More people gather around, and Bobo can’t get enough. They give him pets and treats. I’m not sure if there’s a doggie heaven, but if there is, this has got to be what happens there.
I feel bad for the other dogs that people brought—some small designer dogs in purses that aren’t as big of a hit. There’s something about a big dog that is just so warm and lovable. They’re meant to be hugged because they’re almost human-sized.
“I can’t believe this big guy lives in a small apartment,” Will says.
“Me neither,” I laugh. “He barely fits, but we make do.”
Again, I think of Bryce.
Someone grabs a tennis ball and throws it across the grass.
It snaps Bobo from his attention coma. He jumps over Will’s lap to retrieve the ball.
Bobo and I wind up doing a few rounds of catch, which helps me stay calm.
I’m less nervous about talking to my colleagues.
They congratulate me for what they’ve heard have been some good lectures over the past couple of weeks.
Another reason why I keep thinking about Bryce.
Sheena wraps her arm around my shoulders. “You know,” she says, “folks have been watching you, Emerson. And I’ve heard nothing but fantastic reports.”
“Even from my first day?”
“Nobody’s watching the first few days. Everyone needs a week or so to find their sea legs.” She knocks her hip against my thigh. “You have to apply for the tenured position now. You still want it, right?”
I glance down at my friend and blink.
“Emerson, this is what you’ve been dreaming about. A full-time tenured position. In New York City. With me. Don’t you want to stay?”
Stay. Here.
My fingers get lost in my beard as I glance around at the staff. The park. Bobo drooling as he returns the ball to Will, who’s now squatting.
“I do,” I say.
“Good. Well, the interview process is going to start soon.” She guides me to a long folding table with refreshments and grabs us both a glass of white wine. “Don’t be nervous. Just be yourself.”
Myself. A few weeks ago, that would’ve sent me into a spiral. But now, with how Bryce has helped me …
“I’m excited,” I say.
My free hand rubs over my phone in my pocket.
I’m itching to text Bryce and tell him the good news.
Why is he the first person I think about?
I can’t help imagining the big smile on his face, some snarky comment coming out of his mouth, a strong desire to celebrate even though nothing’s happened yet with the position.
His energy is infectious, and I never want antibodies to form.
The afternoon flies by, and I appreciate the fun times because it keeps me from thinking about who’s waiting when I get back to the apartment.
Bobo is sad to go, and he whimpers a little as we leave. He’s really playing it up, trying to look behind him at the guests with their unlimited pets and treats.
“Oh, come on. You know how to milk it, I’ll give you that,” I say as we walk away. “You have dinner waiting at home.”
We make our way through the park, meandering down the paths until, oddly, we come across a quiet area.
“Bryce is going to get such a kick out of hearing about our day.” I laugh to myself as I go through the highlight reel.
“He was totally right about you being a draw. I can’t wait to tell him how cute you were.
How you were playing into everyone’s hands and filling up on treats. Ah, that’s our Bobo.”
I stop walking.
“ His Bobo. Because you’re not my Bobo. We aren’t your parents, Bobo.
Well, Bryce is, but I’m not.” I start walking again, but then stop a few steps later.
“Not that I don’t want to be your parent.
It would be … nice.” Bobo stares up at me, his giant brown saucers trying to make sense of what I’m saying.
“The three of us, going for walks together. Bryce and I cuddling in bed talking about your silly antics.”
In spite of how bananas that sounds, I smile. Of course, if Bryce heard all that, he’d run away screaming. Metaphorically, since he can’t find a place of his own.
“You’re dangerous, Bobo. You get me talking.”
We stop at a hotdog cart, and I buy myself a pretzel. It’s warm and has that crisp, slightly burnt bread smell with a hit of salt. I pick off a corner and throw it to Bobo, then toss a piece into my mouth. There’s truly nothing like a New York pretzel .
He gawks at me for another piece.
“You had so many snacks at the picnic! I barely ate anything. I was too busy schmoozing. I’m famished.”
He whimpers and stares at me as if he hasn’t eaten in a week.
“Fine.” I toss him another piece. “But you’re not getting the soft center. That’s my favorite part.”
I sit on a bench and hold onto his leash, yet he nudges me back toward the hotdog cart. He’s insistent, and being a big dog, there’s only so much I can resist.
“What? You want a Diet Snapple?”
He drags us past the cart, though, to a lamppost. A poster is taped on both sides of it. It’s of a male dancer’s body in silhouette. Too slim to be who we’re thinking of but close enough.
“Look, Bryce and I, we had a great time, and … that was it. You saw how he was when he came home this afternoon. He could barely look at me. I think he was embarrassed. You know, we both crossed the line. We got wrapped up in something. So I was giving him a way out. I was giving us both a way out.”
Bobo looks at me, and I swear he cocks his head as if he thinks I’m spewing BS.
“It’s true. And it doesn’t matter. I came here to get my career back on track, and I’m doing just that. I’m up for this amazing position. They want me to come in and interview. That’s where my attention needs to be.”
Bobo looks up at the picture again.
“I know the reason I even have a shot at the job is because of the serious headway in my lectures thanks to Bryce. You don’t have to rub it in.”
Bryce knew how to help me make my teaching … better. For as little as we have in common, he seems to really have insight into my life.
I pull us back to the bench. I’m the human here. I should be the one in control. “We are not talking about Bryce anymore. ”
I take a big bite of my pretzel. I offer a piece to Bobo, but he declines. He keeps staring up at me with those big eyes that are like two gumballs injected with truth serum.
“I know. I screwed things up. God, I … I wasn’t calling him a slut. I know he’s not, and that was the wrong word choice. I know that.”
I wash down my pretzel with some orange pop.
“Bryce just has experience I don’t have, and there’s a reason for that.”
I look down at my hands, trying to shake this feeling that I really messed up. Bobo rubs his nose against my hand.
I stare at all the lovely people gallivanting past us, all with their full, busy lives to get to. It reminds me of how quiet my world can be, how I can be in the most populated city on Earth, a place with so many people that a park can feel claustrophobic yet still evoke a sense of loneliness.
“I haven’t been close to a lot of people in my life.
You wouldn’t get it, Bobo. You’re a dog.
You’ve always been a dog. You fit in that box to a T.
Whereas I … I never fit into any box I was supposed to.
I was a kid in a small town who wanted to listen to and talk about classical music instead of the NFL.
I wanted to stare at boys, not girls. I was a mystery nobody wanted to acknowledge, let alone solve.
” I turn the soft center of the pretzel around in my hands, grains of salt sprinkling to the sidewalk.
“The last person I was truly close with was my sister, and look how that ended.”
Her face lights up my brain. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized I’m one of those people not meant to have a large social circle.
I don’t make friends easily. Finding real friends has been a struggle all my life, while others can do it without thinking.
The people who I manage to connect with, I want to hold close.
They’re rare gems. That’s what makes my sister’s loss feel like a sinkhole inside of me that won’t close.
I feel myself finding that connection with Bryce, but my body can’t bear another chasm if things didn’t work out with us.
“I have to focus.” This time, I’m the one staring at Bobo. “The fact is, I’m going to lose him no matter what because this thing is temporary. And surely, I can’t stay in this apartment, even if I do get the job.”
I stare at the soft, warm center of the pretzel. It’s a golden brown versus the dark brown of the outside.
“It’s time I get Bryce out of my head.” If that’s even possible.
I offer the rest of the pretzel to Bobo, and he gobbles it up as I stand.
Maybe the city has answers for me.
“You know,” I say, “Even if Bryce and I stop talking, I’m still going to find a way to talk to you.”
Bobo trots along, finding a pathway to the street.
Maybe, despite everything, I’ve found myself caring about my loopy, zany, very hyperactive—really, really hyperactive—roommate.
It’s strange how someone can drive you up the wall one minute and make you laugh until your cheeks hurt the next, but that’s exactly what he’s done to me.
Bryce is a rare gem.
He’s my rare gem.
And I called him a slut.
I wasn’t calling Bryce out. I was pushing him away.
Bobo tugs on the leash, wanting to go home, and yet I can’t move. I’m frozen with realization and shame.
“Bobo, I messed up.” He turns around and cocks his head. “I messed up bad.”
For a second, I think Bobo is going to respond with something profound, but then he trots to a tree and lifts his leg.
This isn’t the end for me and Bryce, though. A flicker of hope sparks in my chest. Like a Carly Rae Jepsen song, this is merely the bridge that will lead to an explosive, emotion-packed final chorus.
“I need to show Bryce how I feel. And I think I have the perfect idea. Let’s go, Bobo!” We walk briskly through the park, Bobo pulling on his leash.
Bryce isn’t the only man in apartment 6A who has a flair for the dramatic.