Chapter 15
I stop home after school, holding out Elijah’s number like a compass that leads to my phone on a pile of dirty clothes. I want to message him right away but I’m already almost late for work, so I get in the car and rush to the library.
Warren Williams stands behind the front desk, tucking his tie under a V-neck sweater.
“One minute early, Sean. Love the enthusiasm!”
“Getting right to work!” I grab the cart of books and wheel it toward the elevator. “Bye!”
Once I’m safely hidden in the back corner of the second floor, I pull out Elijah’s number and my phone.
The lock screen is filled with messages Andi sent this morning while we were driving to school.
I am not someone who hopes or tries, they wrote. I take things as they are and that’s that.
But seeing your set last night, you were reaching
Searching
It made me want to face my fears with MY art, with my whole life
So I wanted to thank you for that.
In the comfort of texts I know you won’t see for a while.
An hour later, they wrote, I too am surprised by the sincerity of these texts
Delete delete
Now I write back, I care about you, friend.
Very much.
Is that weird?
I add, Save save
They don’t reply.
I feel like there’s so much to discuss, I write, and they still don’t reply.
I look at Elijah’s phone number again and go to open a message to him, but I see Tony also wrote to me this morning. He sent a link to last night’s set, adding, When you’re prepared, let’s review.
I position myself at the side of a row of books so I can see if anyone is coming up the elevator or the staircase, and I put in one earbud and load up the video.
The lighting is well-balanced, the colors are strong, and the audio is clear.
Tony’s craftsmanship has jumped another level. Or maybe he bought a new phone.
There aren’t many laughs. There certainly aren’t as many as for my previous sets. But even the table of unhappy guys don’t take their eyes away.
When it’s over, I watch it again. I’m mesmerized by this version of myself, this person who can say thoughts I didn’t even know I had in a way that makes people applaud.
I watch the video again, but this time I feel far away from the person onstage. Like I was able to be him for five minutes, but now I’ve returned to the real me.
When I play it a fourth time, I keep picturing the disgust on Mom’s face when her friend’s boyfriend peed.
I remember how, around that same time, I used to drop my apple cores behind the couch instead of throwing them out even though I knew Mom would have to clean them up.
Once, I stole twenty dollars from her purse.
Once, at a new school with a group of kids who never became my friends, I made fun of how she always accidentally knocks over her drinks.
Suddenly I’m in a memory of her crying in the kitchen in our first house, which leads to a memory of her crying in the kitchen in the next place we lived, and in the next, and in the next.
I only drift back to the library because I’m so surprised to have been overcome by memories. This doesn’t usually happen.
I message Mom, Are you working tonight?
She doesn’t reply because she’s working now.
I message Tony, I don’t know if I’m ready to discuss but I guess we should
Also you’ll be happy to hear I’m performing in my English class on Wednesday so I can try out the revised set there
He doesn’t reply.
I close my eyes and remind myself I can say things that are honest and true, and people can hear and accept them. I look at the paper with Elijah’s number. I want to message him, but it makes me feel guilty, like it should be Christy I’m emotionally connecting with.
I message Christy, Were you in school today? How are you?
I’m doing okay over here, though I’m being flooded with memories
Like in opening myself up to non-funny thoughts, I’m now unable to close myself off from them.
She doesn’t reply. I don’t know if I’m being needy by burdening her or being generous by sharing with her. Mom didn’t know if she was being reckless for changing jobs or being loving by prioritizing our time. Either way I think she was being brave for trying her best.
I write to Christy, Like when I was in the fifth grade, I walked past my mom having a beer with a friend in the kitchen. She said, “Sean knows the truth. He knows adults are kids pretending to be grown up.” I pretended I didn’t hear her. I hadn’t known the truth before, but now I did.
One summer Mom and I went to a festival with a wood pole covered in cooking oil and a hundred dollars at the top.
After all the local guys leaped up and slid down, I approached.
I’d covered myself in dirt. I’d filled my pockets with dirt.
Every time I started to slide down the pole I took a handful of dirt from my pocket and pulled myself back up.
That night, Mom and I went out for dinner.
Once I went to the dentist and I had nine cavities. He told my mom that she had to make sure I brushed my teeth. Mom never mentioned it again.
One time I went to the school counselor and she told me there was an epidemic of loneliness among young men.
She said societal expectations of masculinity discouraged us from sharing our emotions, and our reliance on digital connections worsened the isolation.
I tried watching videos about it later but they were all about who to blame.
One time we had good insurance and Mom found me a therapist. He fell asleep during the session. It was kind of a relief though. My problems couldn’t be that bad if they weren’t interesting enough to keep someone awake.
The tooth fairy usually left me two dollars but once it left me twenty-one. When I told my mom in the morning, she cursed.
Some nights I ask God to help me. I’m not sure exactly what kind of help I’m asking for. I don’t think I’m Christian, but I believe there is something out there, or more likely in here, deep inside me in the place that’s protected from my conscious thoughts, that’s sacred.
I don’t know why it’s in that same place that I feel so lonely.
I watch the phone. She doesn’t reply.
I think that’s one reason I’m drawn to saying these things out loud. If someone else can hear me, and understand, then we both feel less alone.
I know you’re not here right now, but you will be at some point. I’m going to trust that at that point you’ll read all this and understand.
Thank you.
I put my phone away and tap my hand on the bookshelf. I blink. I’m on the second floor of the Paumanok Public Library, apparently being paid an hourly wage for my work.
A video call comes in from Tony. Maybe he makes video calls more than I realized.
I answer, and his perfectly lit face appears.
“Go for it,” I say.
“Preparing to go.” He gives serious eyes. “Did you watch your set?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“When I was done I watched it three more times. It had a weird effect, but it’s the first time I’ve wanted to watch one of my sets more than once, so that’s meaningful.”
He takes a labored breath. “Thursday’s competition is a big deal.”
“It is.”
“I’d like to do a rehearsal at my place before then.”
“Oh.”
“You’re capable of nailing this show.”
“I agree.”
“Last night’s set was great.”
“Okay.”
He inhales. “But you’re gonna need more laughs at the competition.”
It’s a physical pain in my chest.
Tony sits forward. “I’m just trying to—”
I hold up a hand. I can barely speak. “You’re right.”
“Sean?” comes a voice that isn’t Tony’s.
I tell Tony, “We’ll rehearse soon and we’ll get more laughs.”
“Thank you,” Tony says. “I’m sending you a document with your greatest hits from all your performances so you can practice it in English on Wednesday. Then we’ll have a rehearsal that afternoon.”
“Great. Thank you.” I give a thumbs-up and hold it until Tony ends the call.
“Sean!” It’s Warren. He’s glaring down at me, an enormous model ship in his hands. “I need you to set up the Columbus Day display.”
I show my thumbs-up to Warren.
My chest is shaking as I follow him past the empty shelves that once held books on gender.
It keeps shaking as I go downstairs and arrange the ship on a table under an American flag.
I surround the ship with books Warren has chosen, which the back covers tell me are about Italian American heritage, the Age of Exploration, and Giovanni da Verrazzano, the first European who landed on Long Island about a hundred and fifty years after Columbus landed in the Bahamas.
My chest is still shaking after work, when Tony sends me a document called THE GREATEST HITS, and instead of reading it I sit in my car rereading my texts to Christy and looking at the space where she still hasn’t replied.
I whisper to the phone, “I’d like to rewind my life, please,” but no one is around to laugh.