Persuasions?”
My chin was getting a nasty case of rug burn. But I was still too shocked to speak. How could Tyra give away my idea right in front of me?
“Nothing about Persuasions was worth writing about?”
Still dazed by Tyra’s news, I shook my head.
Tyra leaned back in her chair, studying my face. I concentrated on the cartoon sperm swimming on the poster above her desk: SAVE THE WIGGLEPUPPIES .
“I’m disappointed,” she said.
Now I was really confused. If this is how she really felt, then why was Hy writing
my
essay? And it got even more baffling.
“When I read the editorials from your high school paper, I thought, Jeepers creepers. Here’s someone who is onto the joke of her suburban New Jersey existence. Here is someone who is brave enough to expose the artifice of the culture that has made her what she is. Here, I thought, is someone
True!”
I took this all in and thought, Are you kidding me? I have no idea when anyone around here is being real or ironic. Genuine or game. All or none of the above.
One thing I do know is this: If I were really
True,
I would have confronted Tyra about my connection to Hy and my stolen idea. But I didn’t. So I guess I’m not.
the nineteenth
Today is Marcus’s birthday. We had agreed that we would celebrate in the city.
Instead, I got a dizzying phone call.
“Come here,” he said, without saying hello. This isn’t unusual. He doesn’t call much, but when he does it’s because he has something very specific to tell me and can’t wait for social conventions like hello.
“Marcus, what are you talking about? And why aren’t you on your way?”
“Come here!” he said again, ignoring my question, his voice sunnier than the California sky.
“Marcus, I know it’s your birthday, but
you
were supposed to come to
me.
So why do
I
have to come to
you?”
“Why are you focusing on what
didn’t
happen instead of what
can
happen next?”
“Why are you answering my question with a question?”
“It’s a Buddhist thing,” he said, keeping his tone light.
This is his half-joking stock response whenever Marcus talks about concepts too complicated to explain without sounding preachy. I felt a nauseous thud of emotion, one I don’t like to admit to: annoyance.
“My dad is depressed about not being able to get around,” Marcus continued. “And my birthday is more important to him than it is to me. So I feel like I should stay here.”
“I’m sorry, Marcus. It’s just that I’m dying of boredom and I can’t wait to see you and I made special reservations at Czarina, this crazy Russian restaurant on Fifty-second Street where the waiters are circus performers and they do insane acrobatic tricks as they serve your food and I don’t understand why you just couldn’t tell me that you weren’t going to come . . .”
I stopped talking because I was sounding like a hysterical girlfriend and I did not want to be that girl.
“Am I your alternative to boredom?” he asked.
“Well, yes. I mean, no.” Lately, talking to Marcus had felt more like a test than any of my actual end-of-semester exams. I never had the right answers. “I mean, I’m bored because I’m alone here and I don’t have any money and it would be less boring if you were here with me . . .”
“Where are Bethany and Marin?”
“They met G-Money in the Hamptons,” I said. “You know, I’ve been staying with Bethany for almost a month and I’ve only seen her husband three times. I think he’s avoiding his wife. Or his
life.”
“Maybe they need to be separate to be together.”
“How can you be both separate and together?” I asked. I was eager to hear the answer from the boyfriend I hadn’t seen much of for the past year. I didn’t want the stock answer either. “And don’t tell me it’s a Buddhist thing.”
I could almost hear his mouth snapping shut. Without his joke to fall back on, Marcus changed the subject.
“What did you do today?”
I was feeling manic,
My chin was getting a nasty case of rug burn. But I was still too shocked to speak. How could Tyra give away my idea right in front of me?
“Nothing about Persuasions was worth writing about?”
Still dazed by Tyra’s news, I shook my head.
Tyra leaned back in her chair, studying my face. I concentrated on the cartoon sperm swimming on the poster above her desk: SAVE THE WIGGLEPUPPIES .
“I’m disappointed,” she said.
Now I was really confused. If this is how she really felt, then why was Hy writing
my
essay? And it got even more baffling.
“When I read the editorials from your high school paper, I thought, Jeepers creepers. Here’s someone who is onto the joke of her suburban New Jersey existence. Here is someone who is brave enough to expose the artifice of the culture that has made her what she is. Here, I thought, is someone
True!”
I took this all in and thought, Are you kidding me? I have no idea when anyone around here is being real or ironic. Genuine or game. All or none of the above.
One thing I do know is this: If I were really
True,
I would have confronted Tyra about my connection to Hy and my stolen idea. But I didn’t. So I guess I’m not.
the nineteenth
Today is Marcus’s birthday. We had agreed that we would celebrate in the city.
Instead, I got a dizzying phone call.
“Come here,” he said, without saying hello. This isn’t unusual. He doesn’t call much, but when he does it’s because he has something very specific to tell me and can’t wait for social conventions like hello.
“Marcus, what are you talking about? And why aren’t you on your way?”
“Come here!” he said again, ignoring my question, his voice sunnier than the California sky.
“Marcus, I know it’s your birthday, but
you
were supposed to come to
me.
So why do
I
have to come to
you?”
“Why are you focusing on what
didn’t
happen instead of what
can
happen next?”
“Why are you answering my question with a question?”
“It’s a Buddhist thing,” he said, keeping his tone light.
This is his half-joking stock response whenever Marcus talks about concepts too complicated to explain without sounding preachy. I felt a nauseous thud of emotion, one I don’t like to admit to: annoyance.
“My dad is depressed about not being able to get around,” Marcus continued. “And my birthday is more important to him than it is to me. So I feel like I should stay here.”
“I’m sorry, Marcus. It’s just that I’m dying of boredom and I can’t wait to see you and I made special reservations at Czarina, this crazy Russian restaurant on Fifty-second Street where the waiters are circus performers and they do insane acrobatic tricks as they serve your food and I don’t understand why you just couldn’t tell me that you weren’t going to come . . .”
I stopped talking because I was sounding like a hysterical girlfriend and I did not want to be that girl.
“Am I your alternative to boredom?” he asked.
“Well, yes. I mean, no.” Lately, talking to Marcus had felt more like a test than any of my actual end-of-semester exams. I never had the right answers. “I mean, I’m bored because I’m alone here and I don’t have any money and it would be less boring if you were here with me . . .”
“Where are Bethany and Marin?”
“They met G-Money in the Hamptons,” I said. “You know, I’ve been staying with Bethany for almost a month and I’ve only seen her husband three times. I think he’s avoiding his wife. Or his
life.”
“Maybe they need to be separate to be together.”
“How can you be both separate and together?” I asked. I was eager to hear the answer from the boyfriend I hadn’t seen much of for the past year. I didn’t want the stock answer either. “And don’t tell me it’s a Buddhist thing.”
I could almost hear his mouth snapping shut. Without his joke to fall back on, Marcus changed the subject.
“What did you do today?”
I was feeling manic,
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