off to talk to her brother, and Eric is talking to the grocery-store guy. Only Kerem stays with you, and only because he doesn’t know anyone here, any more than you do.
“Let’s get some beers,” he says.
Follow Kerem. You follow him into the kitchen, which is, if anything, even more crowded than the living room. You are pressed by waists, hips. Girls in tall vinyl boots are laughing. Men are looking at you, they want to know what you are doing here. Kerem opens the refrigerator and gets a can of beer for himself and one for you. It tastes awful, but you hope that if you are seen drinking, people may mistake you for a midget, or a late-blooming fifteen-year-old. Kerem says something to you, but everyone is talking at once and you can’t understand him. He waves, he is leaving you, he is gone. You are alone in the forest of giants.
“Hi,” says a girl with vast blond hair. “What’s your name?”
Say your name.
“How old are you?”
Lie.
“Do you live in Thebes?”
“In New York,” you say.
“Oh, wow, that’s really great!”
You tell the tall girl about New York. She screams, “Mike!” and one of the giants turns around. “I want you to meet my new friend.”
“Hey.” Mike tips his beer toward you.
“Hey,” you say, and tip your beer toward Mike.
“He’s from New York,” the tall girl says.
This is good, Mike no longer looks at you as if you were a pituitary oddity. For all he knows, everyone in New York looks like this. It might be something in the drinking water. Keep people small to make the housing more efficient.
“The big city,” Mike says. “I love it! Wish I got there more often.”
“It’s not very far away,” you say, emboldened. “There’s a bus from Maplecrest. It’s like two and a half hours, and it goes straight to the Port Authority.”
Mike grimaces. You didn’t need to tell him about the bus. You turn to the tall girl, hoping for reassurance. “Do you ever go to the city?” She shrugs as though now she doesn’t know what city you’re talking about. “Or do you mostly stay up here in Thebes?”
You have come to a dead end.
Find Kerem? You look for him in the living room, but there are too many big people; if you go into that crowd you may never come out. You end up perched on the back of a sofa next to a kid with stripes shaved in his hair, who is willing to talk to you about the Dead Kennedys. “I kind of like the lyrics,” you say. “Like, you know, too drunk to fuck? That’s funny.”
The kid looks at you. “Have you ever fucked?”
“No,” you admit. There is a lull in your conversation. “Have you?”
The kid shrugs. “I think so.”
Much later, you’ll understand that this is what Mrs. Regenzeit meant by only part of his head , and you will laugh, and wish you could tell her that there is nothing to fear from the partially shaved. You excuse yourself, you have to pee. You wait on line for the bathroom.
Shelley is here. “Oh, my god,” she says, “it’s you!” She takes your hand. “I am so happy to see you.” Her eyes are red. “I just don’t feel like I ever got a chance to know you, and I think you’re probably a really great person.” She tells you how few great people there are in the world, and how her ambition is to own a big farmhouse somewhere in the mountains, and to get them all together, the great people, in a big sleeping loft in the barn, and, like, talk. The bathroom door opens.
“Don’t go away,” Shelley says.
She goes in, she comes out, you go in. You have never peed so quickly in your life. But she’s gone when you come out, and you can’t find her again. The apartment is crowded with strangers, and not one of them wants anything from you at all. What is this game you’re playing? Who wrote the code for it? You wish you were back in Kerem’s room, seated in front of the Heathkit H88, but you aren’t. You go back into the kitchen. Three boys are sitting at the table, taking turns throwing a
“Let’s get some beers,” he says.
Follow Kerem. You follow him into the kitchen, which is, if anything, even more crowded than the living room. You are pressed by waists, hips. Girls in tall vinyl boots are laughing. Men are looking at you, they want to know what you are doing here. Kerem opens the refrigerator and gets a can of beer for himself and one for you. It tastes awful, but you hope that if you are seen drinking, people may mistake you for a midget, or a late-blooming fifteen-year-old. Kerem says something to you, but everyone is talking at once and you can’t understand him. He waves, he is leaving you, he is gone. You are alone in the forest of giants.
“Hi,” says a girl with vast blond hair. “What’s your name?”
Say your name.
“How old are you?”
Lie.
“Do you live in Thebes?”
“In New York,” you say.
“Oh, wow, that’s really great!”
You tell the tall girl about New York. She screams, “Mike!” and one of the giants turns around. “I want you to meet my new friend.”
“Hey.” Mike tips his beer toward you.
“Hey,” you say, and tip your beer toward Mike.
“He’s from New York,” the tall girl says.
This is good, Mike no longer looks at you as if you were a pituitary oddity. For all he knows, everyone in New York looks like this. It might be something in the drinking water. Keep people small to make the housing more efficient.
“The big city,” Mike says. “I love it! Wish I got there more often.”
“It’s not very far away,” you say, emboldened. “There’s a bus from Maplecrest. It’s like two and a half hours, and it goes straight to the Port Authority.”
Mike grimaces. You didn’t need to tell him about the bus. You turn to the tall girl, hoping for reassurance. “Do you ever go to the city?” She shrugs as though now she doesn’t know what city you’re talking about. “Or do you mostly stay up here in Thebes?”
You have come to a dead end.
Find Kerem? You look for him in the living room, but there are too many big people; if you go into that crowd you may never come out. You end up perched on the back of a sofa next to a kid with stripes shaved in his hair, who is willing to talk to you about the Dead Kennedys. “I kind of like the lyrics,” you say. “Like, you know, too drunk to fuck? That’s funny.”
The kid looks at you. “Have you ever fucked?”
“No,” you admit. There is a lull in your conversation. “Have you?”
The kid shrugs. “I think so.”
Much later, you’ll understand that this is what Mrs. Regenzeit meant by only part of his head , and you will laugh, and wish you could tell her that there is nothing to fear from the partially shaved. You excuse yourself, you have to pee. You wait on line for the bathroom.
Shelley is here. “Oh, my god,” she says, “it’s you!” She takes your hand. “I am so happy to see you.” Her eyes are red. “I just don’t feel like I ever got a chance to know you, and I think you’re probably a really great person.” She tells you how few great people there are in the world, and how her ambition is to own a big farmhouse somewhere in the mountains, and to get them all together, the great people, in a big sleeping loft in the barn, and, like, talk. The bathroom door opens.
“Don’t go away,” Shelley says.
She goes in, she comes out, you go in. You have never peed so quickly in your life. But she’s gone when you come out, and you can’t find her again. The apartment is crowded with strangers, and not one of them wants anything from you at all. What is this game you’re playing? Who wrote the code for it? You wish you were back in Kerem’s room, seated in front of the Heathkit H88, but you aren’t. You go back into the kitchen. Three boys are sitting at the table, taking turns throwing a
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