Chapter 27 #2
“Vail, I’m sorry, okay? You know I’m not a stalker, and we both know you’re just mad that I didn’t show up for you on your birthday. And believe me, I’m mad at me too.”
You stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “Don’t tell me why I’m ‘mad,’ Joe. And I’m not ‘mad.’ I am simply reacting to what you did to me. Creeping up on Cynthia…I mean, come on.”
“I should’ve been at your party.”
You roll your eyes and tell me I’m insane. “I don’t give a shit about my stupid party….”
Oh yes, you fucking do. That extra hole is a black hole where all truth goes to die.
“I told you, Joe. I am ‘upset’ because you stalked me and scared Cynthia to death.”
CYNTHIA WHO brINGS MULTIPLE STRANGE MEN FROM PASSERBY INTO THE HOME YOU SHARE WITH HER. Gently, Joseph. I do that thing Cusack does when he thinks he lost the One. I hang my head. Sad Joe. Bad Joe.
It works. “What now, Joe?”
I shrug. “Nothing. I just…” It’s like passing a hot potato.
I have one shot to turn the tables. “I wish you’d just asked me to go to your party, ya know?
I wish you’d let me take you out for dinner and at the very least just…
I get where you felt rejected, like I don’t want you, so you come in screaming about me stalking you…
If there’s some other guy, I get it, Vail. ”
The man with the yellow hat didn’t make you come—I can see it in your skin, not so shiny—and your hands aren’t in your pockets, not anymore.
You rock back and forth. You like the attention we’re getting as that fucking couple.
“Look, Joe, I know you’re not a stalker.
” YES. “And I’m not gonna call the police. ”
THEY WOULD LAUGH IN YOUR LITTLE PERFECT FACE. “Okay.”
You pull your hair back into a ponytail, but you don’t have anything to make it stay.
You let go. You shrug. “Okay, yes. Turning twenty-five made me think about things, it made me think a lot. And I didn’t know how to say it, but…
Sometimes I think I’m too old for you. I’m in my life…
. I’m in my career. And it feels like the only thing you want is…
I mean, I can feel you wanting to be with me but you don’t know what you want beyond that and you just…
You don’t know me well enough to want this or… Whatever.”
“You always say you don’t know what you want. We both have stuff to figure out.”
“Yeah, but that’s the thing. I’m figuring it out. I’m learning and growing. I had my party mostly to get some job leads and you’re…”
“I just got fired for you.”
You rub your forehead like you don’t know what to do with this kid, like you’re gonna ship him off to military school. “Yeah. Okay. The birthday. I…I messed up.”
I knew it, but I’m not so fucking young that I say it out loud.
“Joe, you just…You have no idea how it felt. I told everyone I’m seeing this guy, this hot young guy, and then it gets later and later and you just…Why did you have to hurt me like that?”
What I say here matters. No. What I make you feel here matters. That poster in Miss Frascatore’s office where the sun smiles at the cloud. I have to make you feel good. I have to make you remember that I’m good. Meaning I have to remind you that you hurt me.
“Did you get my voicemail, Vail? The one where I sang to you…”
“Yeah, and I would’ve told you how much I…Well, you didn’t show up at my party. So the voicemail…I mean, that’s really all you wanted to give me on my birthday?”
I need a new plan. I could blame Dick. He’s the one who filled my head with his bullshit fucking theories, but then I’d have to tell you about his bullshit fucking theories. “Vail, you do remember that you directly told me that I didn’t have to come, right?”
“No, Joe. I told you there was no pressure. You blew it off. That’s on you. And maybe if you were a little older you would get that but I…I wanted you to read between the lines.”
“Well, much as I may like to read, I can’t read a book that doesn’t exist.”
I have you where I want you, in front of a Cosi full of businesspeople and their businesspeople salads. People who would be on my side if they knew what I know, if they knew about Harris Wesley Walker the OH WHO FUCKING CARES.
“Here’s the thing, Vail. You don’t know how it feels to be me trying to make sense of you. We’re practically living together, but your birthday comes around and you treat me like some random dude you just met. I didn’t know what to do, okay? You told me not to come.”
Love is war and you are tongue-tied. I am winning. “Vail, I wanted to be there. Hell, I made you a mixtape.”
You look at me and I did it. Got you.
“You made me a CD?”
“Of course I did. Yeah, I’m ‘young,’ and this is new for me but I also know you’re…” The only two words that can’t take a man down. “I’m sorry. And you can have the mixtape, if you still want it.”
Dick would be proud—my mixtape Seduced; it Destroyed—but you’re fighting the urge to love me, jump me.
“Joe, I can’t believe that and…I’m young in my own way.
I don’t know what I want sometimes, and I know it must’ve felt weird, me being all casual, but I’ve had some pretty bad birthdays when it comes to guys, okay?
You think he cares about you and you let your guard down and he uses your birthday to show you he doesn’t care. ”
“Well, that’s not me, Vail.”
I forget it sometimes. The simple math of it all.
Your heart is a weathered thing. It’s been around, and your feathers are battered.
You say that I must think you’re crazy and pathetic and immature.
“You’re over me, Joe. Just say it. I messed up.
I would be over me and everyone gets bored of me ’cause of shit like this and wow…
You made me a mixtape, and I’ll never get to hear it. Sounds about right for my life.”
“I’m still here. And I like doing things for you.”
You shrug. Words are not enough. It’s your birthweek. You want presents and I want you back. I need to give you all my gifts, even if it means giving fuel to the “stalker” fire.
“It’s not just the mixtape. I did something else…I went to Dalton for you, Vail.”
“You went to what?”
“Well, I went to your party and stole a disposable camera because I was late.”
“Wait, wait, wait. You showed up after I…You stole one of my cameras?”
Your pupils are dilating. You like this. I stormed the castle for you. I stole for you. That’s me. Me! I can’t stay mad at you; I love you. You want to be wanted and courted and I want you. I court you. You!
“I stole the camera and I stayed up all night so I could be at the camera shop first thing. Most of the pictures were blurry, but I saw you with the Dalton guy and you looked…”
You cover your face. “Drunk. Believe me, I know.”
You are too quick to shame—I brought you shame when I let you down—but this is how we fix it, by making you realize you are loved. Worthy. I tell you about sneaking into the school to dig up old yearbooks. I exaggerate a little—you are visual, you need to see me scale a fence—and you are awestruck.
“But why…I mean, what was the goal of your Dalton fence-breaking heist?”
Heist. “Well, you were vulnerable, last spotted with this guy. I couldn’t reach you and if you disappeared, I wanted to have a name for the cops and the mixtape, the heist at Dalton, it’s all the same…I’m into you, Vail. And I’d do it all again in a fucking heartbeat.”
A commuter lady from the ’80s in Reeboks jabs you with her bag. You don’t even feel it, do you? You see me, Vail. You are not stalked. You are just not used to being loved.
You throw your arms around me. “Wow,” you say. “Wow.”
I pull you in for a kiss, but you flinch. Seriously?
“Joe, wait. I have to ask you something.”
This is not a time for questions. We are in love, love, love love…crazy love you but the Van Morrison between us fucking scares you. Then again, reaching the last level of any video game to capture the princess is always a fucking trial.
“Okay, Vail. Ask away.”
Your eyes zero in on me, and they kill Van Morrison. “How old are you, Joe? Truth.”
I answer the question with a question. “Who is Harris Wesley Walker the Fourth? Truth.”
You pluck a banana clip off the strap of your messenger bag and pull your hair up.
It stays put. You seem different. Bereft or something.
Like you’re only just now realizing that you want to make Van Morrison songs with me for the rest of your life.
You know what love is. It’s the CD with your name on it.
We freeze up in front of all the businesspeople and their business salads.
The air is polluted. Could I forgive you for cheating on me with the man in the yellow hat?
Will you dump me for something as stupid and out of my control as my age?
Are we really gonna end it in front of a fucking Cosi?
You take off your banana clip, and are you trying to distract me? You tap my shoulder with your banana.
“I asked you first, Cusack. How old are you?”