Like Lana

by Danielle Leonard

  No complicated thoughts about why they exist. No running around in circles to make life ‘easier’, to make more effective use of their time, only to find out that they’re still running around in circles, except now it’s even faster and, damn, when did life get so complicated? Squirrels simply run around in circles. Because it’s what they do.

  I started thinking about all the technological progress we humans have made over the past ten years. And then I thought about how much more progress we’ve made if I consider the past thousand years. And I looked at the squirrel again. I swore the little guy was staring back at me. Telling me I’ve got a long way to go before I get it. He knows what nobody in my species can figure it out. That nothing changes, even when everything changes.

  Then I felt depressed. Wanted to find myself a tree and build a big nest and search for nuts and eat until I’m downright stuffed. Live there till the day I die.

  But I had to get back to cutting grass. Mom rapped on the window telling me so. I pressed the gas button four times and, lo and behold, it worked. That lifted my spirits.

  September 7

  First day of school. I kept my head down most the day. Except in class. I’m officially a self-proclaimed nerd. I enjoyed every class and the teachers ain’t half-bad. Except for Mr. Moher. His voice is unnaturally high and when he gets excited about a topic (which is rather frequent) he spits. I made the unfortunate decision to sit in the front row and got a spittle shower. Glad I’m wearing my hat all day, but still. Who wants a fifty-three-year-old-man’s saliva soaking your hat?

  Met a couple okay guys. The girls are okay, too. Geeks, though. All of them. My “kind”, I guess. Though maybe not. One of the girls told me I’m “different.” I asked what she meant and she shrugged. I think she was blushing, which I’m not a big fan of. Just tell me what you mean, woman! I’m still wondering if it was a compliment. My New York City pedigree?

  Bernard is pretty cool. Everyone calls him Beavis. Not sure why, but OK. He showed me three ways to break into a cell phone. All kinds of badass. Then he asked me if I wanted to get stoned after school. Nah. It’s not for me. I’ve hung out with stoners (did I mention I live with one?) They bore me. Tomorrow he promises to show me how to break into the school’s computer system. Like I haven’t done that before, but what the hell. All in the name of making friends, right?

  Then there’s this girl. I know… Never start a sentence with ‘there’s this girl.’ You know it’s the beginning of heartache when you start a sentence like that. But I did it. So, too late. I don’t know her name yet. She’s stunning. I caught her eye as we were exiting the school. Me staring like a fool, as I often do. She held my gaze for long enough. Long enough for me to notice she didn’t carry that vacant look that pretty girls tend to have. She turned away, but not too hastily. Slow enough for me to see something. A connection? Then she ran into some bozo’s car and I lined up for the bus. Let’s all say LOSER together now, shall we?

  I must find out more about her. Tomorrow cannot come soon enough.

  September 13

  Her name is Lana. I caught a glimpse of her at the end of the day. Talking to four girls. Well, they were talking. She stood a little away from them. Biting her thumb and looking around for someone or something. After a few minutes, she joined the conversation. A guy showed up, who I assume is her boyfriend. Tall, buff guy with an ugly smile and wooden shoulders. Definitely not the right guy for her. Made my stomach churn to see him grip his arm around her shoulder like he owned her. Said something to her. She nodded. Then he pulled her from the girls and they took off. I tried to keep up with them. See where he was taking her, but the bell had already rung and I had to catch my bus. Stupid bus. At least in NYC, I took the subway. I feel like I’m in grade three here. Actually, everyone seems like they’re in grade three, here. Immature. Boring. Coddled. At lunch, the guy beside me (Eric) had an egg salad sandwich with the crust cut off. Really? You’re seventeen.

  If I told him my dad was in a mental hospital, he’d probably start sucking his thumb and run to mama. I’d guess things like people going insane doesn’t happen much around here. Doc has advised me to keep that information to myself. Said it will likely alienate me more. That seems unlikely. How does a person without friends get more alienated? I’m thinking of telling Beavis. Just to see how he’d react. He’s the closest to normal I can find here. Sometimes I feel like announcing it to everyone I meet. Just to see the reactions. But it’s not fair to Mom. She wants to keep it quiet, too.

  Plastic. that’s the word I’m looking for. Everyone here is so plastic. I have to meet Lana. She’s different. Just not sure she realizes it yet. I have to meet her, (didn’t I say that already?) but in a place like this, a nobody doesn’t just walk up to a beautiful girl and say ‘Hi. I’m in love with you.’ Wait. That would seem odd just about anywhere. I need a plan.

  I hear the stairs creak outside Demit’s bedroom. Slam the book shut and sit, straight as an arrow. Demit’s mom pokes her head in.

  “You want a drink? A snack?” she asks.

  I shake my head, “No thank you.” I’m busy reading your son’s inner-most thoughts and I’m just fine, I add silently. When she disappears, I look for the page I was on. Skim through the next ten, or so. Mostly small observations of what I was doing when he saw me. It appears I argue a lot. There’s a couple spots where he describes me fighting with Stu. Apparently, I lift my hands into the air like two ping pong racquets, too. Who knew? I really should put this down and not read another word. I can’t believe his father is crazy. What does he mean by that? So, does that mean he doesn’t work in Hollywood? Or is he out of the hospital?

  And all this stuff about me. It feels both weird and comforting to know that he was observing me and wanting to meet me long before we actually became friends. I’m not sure if I should be creeped out or flattered.

  September 15

  The fabbie girls (I’ve recently learned that’s what everyone calls them) were gossiping about Lana today. I stood a couple feet away from the ice queen. Alysa is her name. Tall with long dark hair, never a strand out of place, and a permanent scowl carved on her complexion of ice. I heard the puppet (ice princess’ puppy dog follower) say “here comes the slut” loud enough for everyone in the front hall to hear. They shot their heads in my direction and looked past me. As was their habit, they squabbled like rabid chihuahuas whenever she came near. I couldn’t hear them perfectly, but the word bitch seemed to punctuate most of their sentences. They’ve stopped talking to her completely I’ve noticed, preferring to only talk about her. I still don’t know what happened, but it’s been almost two weeks since they began making Lana’s life a living hell. It’s sickening to watch. Particularly how it’s affected Lana. She’s crumbling like a stale cupcake (I am inundated with cupcakes thanks to my mom.) Hiding behind her long hair. Rushing. Always rushing.

  It was a good day for me though. Lana bumped into me. Her bag fell to the floor. I couldn’t believe my luck. It was my chance to say hello. Make my move (since a plan had yet to materialize in my head.)

  I picked up the bag and handed it to her. She said, “Shit, I’m such an idiot.” Ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. Then she looked at me. Really looked at me. And smiled, said thanks. The girls behind me called her some choice names, but I wasn’t listening to them. I was trying to drum up the perfect words to say.

  Which was next to impossible, since my tongue turned epileptic on me. I could barely breathe, much less introduce myself. Finally, I managed to say, “You’re not an idiot” just as her bozo boyfriend yells at her from across the hall to hurry the hell up. And that was it. She flipped her eyes to him, then back at me. I got a quick nod, and she was gone.

  I imagine how it would have played out in an alternate universe – if it had divided in my favour. I keep waiting for the many worlds theory to spin my way. A little quantum theory, Demit-style. Somewhere in another universe, this is what played out:

  Lana ignores Stu’s call,
and says “I’m Lana. What’s your name?”

  I say, “I’m Demit. Nice to meet you.”

  Then, the universe divides again. Likely, she would have said bye and left with Stu. (Based on the Demit probability which states nothing goes my way.)

  In another universe:

  I tell her I’ve loved her since the beginning of time. She:

  A) calls me a freak and walks off, never to speak to me again.

  B) recommends me to the local psych ward, and never speaks to me again.

  OR

  I ask her if she wants to grab a coffee one day after school. She:

  A) says ‘I’d love to.’ But I’ll have to ask my big football jock boyfriend, first. And I get my ass kicked by said boyfriend.

  B) kindly declines, and never speaks to delusional stalker ever again.

  Somewhere in the span of time and space, these universes may be playing out. So, when I consider my options. Today’s scenario is not so bad.

  Speaking of psych ward, Dad was supposed to be released this week but the doctors have decided he’s not ready to face the real world yet. Mom cried when she told me. My sister cried. I didn’t. I got angry. Why can’t he get his shit together? Mom says it’s not his fault, but I don’t agree. He abandoned us. His mind abandoned us.

  Sucks I can’t even visit him. Knock his unsteady mind back into balance. Why did she agree to stick him in a hospital in California, anyways? Sometimes I think she wanted as much distance between me and him as possible. I see the look she gives me. I worry her. We’re too much alike, me and Dad. He’s got his parents, she keeps telling me. They visit him every day. Says he needs them more than he needs us right now. I don’t tell her how much that hurts to hear. She has enough on her plate. Which is why I only cry before I go to sleep. Even that – I barely do anymore. In another universe, Dad is out of the hospital and on a plane to Canada. In that universe, our family works again.

  September 17

  Best day ever. Am I finally experiencing the universe that bends in my favour? I was listening to music on the bus, not paying attention to much when I look up to see Lana standing beside my seat. It was like one of those glorious moments prophets write about in the bible. A light. An epiphany. A knowing. I knew, right in that instant, that our intertwined life was beginning. Of course, she didn’t recognize me. Ouch. Really? You didn’t get that split second of connectedness when we looked into each other’s eyes that one day? Guess it was just me. So, I decided to play it cool. She’d never waste time with a guy who acts love-sick. And, really. That’s not my style, as much as my insides are melting with insecurities, I’ve heard my exterior is generally rock-solid.

  I think I was a little too casual, though. We sort of got into an argument when I told her the fabbies were assholes. I thought she’d agree with me? Nope. The assumption here is that she wants back into their fold. I’ll have to change that.

  Another universe division in my favour – Lana and I both missed the bus home (although she insisted she was waiting for a drive. Regardless, the outcome is unchanged, so it’s irrelevant.) The conversation goes more smoothly this time. She looked so sad. Lost. I assume it’s over this photo fiasco, which I coincidentally learned today. One of the fuckers at lunch was showing the picture. I secretly exploded a pen over his chemistry assignment. Oops. Blotted it to all hell.

  Twists my anger inside-out just thinking about it. I can barely even write about it. If the world unfolded consequence-free, I’d kill Stu for what he did to her. All the suffering he’s caused her. Doc says when anger arrives, I can welcome it, acknowledge it, then let it go. I struggle with that last part. It sits quietly inside of me.

  ***

  The door creaks. My head jerks up. Demit stands at the doorway. One hand on the knob, head tipped to the side and scrunched eyebrows. I blink. Stiffen.

  “You’ve read it.” He says. His voice cracks.

  I nod, shutting the book. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have.” I hand it back to him, look down. “I should go. I’m so sorry.” What I don’t say is that I’m also freaked out that he has been carrying all these opinions and thoughts about me. That he’s lied to me about his dad. I wonder if I ever really knew him. I stand up to leave.

  “Don’t be sorry,” Demit says. “I wanted you to read it. I left it there for you. I know I’ve kept a lot from you, but I wasn’t ready to tell you.” He grabs my hand. “I’m glad you read it. Even though you probably want to run as far away from me as possible.”

  His hand is warm. “Kinda, yea,” I answer. “But not really.” I look into his eyes. They’re softer than the usual cold gaze I get.

  “You’re welcome to finish reading it,” Demit lifts the journal, removes his hand from mine. I open it, thumbing through the pages I haven’t yet read. There are still questions I have, but everyone deserves a few secrets. Don’t they?

  “No,” I hand it back to him. Some questions are probably better left unanswered. At least for now. Despite my confusion, I’m more certain of one thing than ever before. I know he will do anything for me. It’s a weird feeling. Like I could jump off a cliff and know he’d catch me. A sort of invincibility, I guess. Maybe this is what love feels like. It’s new to me. Comforting. I lean over and kiss him. Push the questions and doubts to the back of my mind. We can talk about them later. What matters most is that Demit is here for me. No matter what. And I need that more than I need anything else in the world.

  “Thank you for trusting me with your journal,” I say.

  “Thank you for not hating me after reading it,” he responds, then lifts a small white bag and hands it to me. “And, now, onto our problem with Alysa. I got the prescription. We need to decide what we want to do with it.”

  Chapter 17

  Hug and Make Up

  “Oh God, you have no idea how much I love you right now.” Alysa takes the bottle from my hand, flips off the lid and sprinkles two pills into her hand.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re happy,” I answer, stepping away from her to return home. She’s dressed in tight jeans and heels, so I assume she must have a big night planned. I’m more than happy to keep this meeting short.

  “Wait,” Alysa says before popping the pills in her mouth and taking a gulp from her water bottle. “I need to talk to you.”

  I stop and look at her impatiently. Her fake lashes look fresh and black liner coats the outline of her eyes. Even so, she looks like crap. Like she hasn’t slept in a hundred years.

  “Listen Alysa, I’m done. Don’t ask for anything else from me. No more drugs. No more favours. This is it. You can’t hold me hostage forever. Just leave me alone, okay?”

  “I just want to tell you how much I appreciate this,” Alysa purrs, grabbing me by the arm. “Let’s do something fun tonight. Like old times. Didn’t we get into the best kind of trouble together? Don’t tell me you don’t miss it.”

  “I don’t miss it.” I sound convincing, even to myself. But I know I’m lying. I do miss the fun nights out. My life has been a massive borefest since I lost all my friends. But I hate myself for thinking this way. After everything the fabbies have done to me, I can’t even consider hanging out with them again.

  “You’re so full of shit.” She dumps her container of pills back in my purse and wraps her hand around my arm, propelling me in a direction away from my car. “There’s a party tonight. You’re coming with me. You need a fun night out. Hell, we both do. You can even invite your boyfriend, Demit. He’s actually kinda cute for a nerd.”

  I allow myself to be dragged along, half wanting to let loose like old times. But knowing Alysa is not someone I can trust for even a second.

  “I’m not going to a party. I’d rather spend the night pulling leg hairs with a tweezer. Here.” I lift the pill container out of my purse. “Have a blast,” I hand her the meds.

  “Don’t you want your scarf back?” she asks.

  “My scarf? What do you mean?”

  “Stu told me you visited him yesterday
. Said you left your scarf and a bottle of gin.” She is smirking in a most annoying way.

  “Yeah, I left my scarf, so what?” Of course she knows about last night. Alysa has always made everybody’s business her business.

  “Do you want it back or what? He said it’s in his front hallway, ready for you to pick up. He said he didn’t want to text you because you were acting kinda weird at his place.”

  I laugh. “I was acting weird? As in, I told him I didn’t have any desire for him anymore and couldn’t stand him?”

  “That’s not what he said.” I stare at her through slit eyes. Don’t know if she’s bullshitting me. I’m starting to wonder if anyone on this planet tells the truth anymore.

  “What did he say?” I regret my response the second it’s out of my mouth.

  “That you wanted him. He told you he was over the two of you but you said you missed him. Want him back. You tried to kiss him.” I shake my head in disbelief.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Alysa drops her mouth, eyes widen. “Me? Don’t shoot the delivery girl, Lana. I’m just replaying what I heard. I know Stu’s an asshole. Maybe he is lying. Wouldn’t be the first time, right?”

  “I really don’t care, to be honest. But I do want my scarf back. I guess I’ll go grab it tomorrow.”

  “I think you should get it tonight,” Alysa sighs as if she’s pondering something.

  “What is it?”

  “Well,” she drops her head to the side. “He said he was going to throw it out. Said he wants to get you out of his life for once and for all. Whatever.”

  “You’re full of it.” This is so ludicrous I can’t believe I’m still standing here listening to this.

  “But don’t worry! I talked him out of it. He said he would hold onto it for tonight, but after that he’s getting rid of it.” I look up at the black sky. It’s a clear night with more stars than usual punctuating the darkness. I focus on a lonely, but bright, one. What should I do? I ask. It’s my favourite scarf. Mom bought it last winter on sale at a boutique in Toronto. And damn, it’s cashmere. I can’t leave it at Stu’s and risk losing it. Don’t go. It’ll be trouble. That’s what I think I hear. But I want my scarf. I ignore that thought or voice, whatever it is. Probably nothing. Just paranoia. I’ll quickly grab it from Stu and go. Fifteen minutes out of my life. Tops.