by Hopen, David
“Sorry. The last few days have been a whirlwind—”
“Don’t sweat it. You’re not supposed to notice anyone outside your direct orbit, anyway. Isn’t that how it works here?”
“I’m not really sure what you’re driving at,” I said, “but I’m not some puppet.”
“May I ask the million-dollar question?”
“Go ahead.”
“How’d it happen?”
“How’d what happen?”
“How’d you end up with them?”
“I don’t follow.”
“Seems like you do.”
“They’re my friends,” I said, disappointed that I felt defensive over my inclusion in my new group.
“Of course.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Plus, it’s not like I’m assigning any great weight to this, so you know.”
“Weight to what?”
“A lot of people, you’ll probably soon notice, will extend certain . . . attention, let’s say, your way now.”
“Right, any friends I make couldn’t genuinely be interested in me. Who could possibly think that?”
“Yikes, didn’t mean to hit a nerve there,” she said. “I’m just saying that I’m personally not overly impressed with them. How you feel is your decision. But being your own person is acceptable, too.”
I ignored her, picked irritably at my tuna. I considered leaving but didn’t know where else to go. She, in turn, continued to sketch equations into the margins of her textbook.
When the bell sounded, she snapped her textbook theatrically and turned to leave. “Nice meeting you.”
“Likewise,” I said, hardly picking my head up.
“Sorry if I insulted you.”
“It’s all right.”
“For the record, I liked your answer better.”
I crumpled the Publix bag that held my lunch. “What’re you talking about?”
“Sophia’s was far too morbid for me.”
I frowned, trying to remember.
“Hartman’s class, on the first day. I sit four rows behind you,” she said, gathering her things. “It was a relatively coherent theory for a boy with two names.” She left, her bright-yellow backpack bouncing up and down.
* * *
ON WEDNESDAY, OUR CLASS WAS invited to “sunrise minyan,” an annual tradition during which seniors bonded by enjoying an uplifting beachside davening service, followed by a catered breakfast. We arrived at six, dizzy with exhaustion, a thin mist in the air. Small spokes of light were just breaking through the dim-lit sky.
Davening, surprisingly, was pleasant. I’m not certain if this had more to do with the setting—the sky drifting from shades of dark gray to soft blue, light waves rolling against the shore, everything empty and remote—or with the fact that we were half-asleep. Rabbi Feldman spoke briefly before we began: about sensing divinity within nature, about the beauty of greeting God at the earliest possible time, about what you feel in your gut when standing at the ocean and pondering your place in the world. I spent davening on my own, lost in thought, unworried about being judged for expressing too much kavanah, something I had to consider each morning in Minyan X. It was the first time I’d experienced a fulfilling prayer service since moving to Florida.
Afterward, Gio drove up in a van (“Bellow, you stoned motherfucker,” he said to Oliver when they were alone, “share the trees, I delivered damn balcony chairs, didn’t I?”) to provide bagels and waffles and glorious spreads of cream cheese and lox and rugelach and other unspecified gelatinous goods. Lighthearted touch football broke out. Rabbi Feldman quarterbacked a team of rabbis, including the diminutive Rabbi Schwartz, who on one play lost his footing and tumbled headfirst into the water, against Noah, Evan and Amir.
“Know something, Ari?” Rebecca and I sat off to the side on a soft patch of sand. We munched on waffles as we spoke. “These are those rare moments.”
“What do you mean?”
“What they’ll be telling us nonstop for the next nine months—what they’ve already started telling us. About how this is probably the prime of our life, the year we’ll look back on with a smile and with the wish that we enjoyed it a little more consciously.”
I tore my waffle in half. “I’m fairly sure no one’s saying that to me.”
She laughed. “Oh, they will. And you’ll shrug them off, just like I do, but they’re right. Look around. We have our friends, our teachers, around us all the time, our family and siblings. No jobs, no real responsibilities. We’ll never have this again, will we?”
“You sound really happy. It’s nice, actually, to hear someone sound like that.”
She touched my arm. “Don’t make it sound so exotic, Ari. You’ll start resembling that schmendrick.” She pointed to Evan, who had just made a diving touchdown catch on a long ball from Noah and was now spiking the football and trash-talking Rabbi Feldman. “Look at him. He’s been through a lot, of course, but he can be happy sometimes, can’t he?”
After the game drew to a close, with Rabbi Feldman botching a reverse lateral Hail Mary, we were instructed to head to school for third period. Noah, Rebecca and I hung back for a few minutes, helping Gio and the rabbis clean the mess. When we joined everyone in the parking lot, Evan was standing in front of the exit, blocking traffic. Donny and several others encircled him. Cars lined up, honking, but Evan refused to move. He had Donny’s car keys in his hands.
“Ev, c’mon,” Donny said, making halfhearted efforts to swipe away his car keys. “I have to get going.”
Evan grabbed Donny by his enormous shoulders. “Both your parents work, don’t they?”
Donny gave a faint nod, his eyes darting from face to face, seeking help. No one intervened.
“So if my math proves reliable,” Evan pressed, “your house is currently sitting there empty, begging to make itself useful?”
I felt an upsurge of sympathy for our friendly giant, reduced to stuttering by Evan’s one question. Part of me hoped Noah would intercede, but he remained silent. “Maybe, uh, maybe we can hit your house instead, Ev?”
Seeing Evan’s face darken, Donny immediately mumbled a hasty apology. Evan, in turn, returned the keys and, on his tiptoes, ruffled Donny’s buzzed scalp before walking over to the Audi and taking what had been my spot in the passenger seat. When Noah, Rebecca and I walked over, Evan called out my name. “Eden?”
I blinked, uncertain why I was being singled out. “What?”
“I assume you’re scampering back with Amir?”
I did, in fact, want to return peacefully to school, where I could slump into Tanach and listen drowsily as Rabbi Feldman lectured. It was a nice event, I wanted to tell him—why repay thoughtfulness by spitting in the administration’s face? Despising myself, however, I shook my head.
“Really?” Evan said. “I’m shocked.”
I watched as several cars pulled out of the lot. Sophia, I noticed, drove by herself. I could run over, ask to accompany her to school. Instead, I turned back to Evan. “Why’s that?”
Evan looked at me with cold eyes, confident he was about to elicit the response he wanted from me. “You don’t strike me as someone who participates in anything bold.”
I climbed into the back seat, cursing myself. Evan, wearing that thin smirk, slammed his door.
* * *
BY THE TIME WE ARRIVED at Donny’s there were some twenty people in the backyard, drinking and listening to the Minyan X playlist, which I’d grown to abhor. Oliver, having raided the kitchen, served screwdrivers from a rusty chaise lounge. “M’lady. Gentlemen. Eden. Can I interest anyone in a drink?”
Rebecca, Noah and Evan each agreed. I waved him off.
“Can we please try not finishing the juice,” Donny protested, as if this were his biggest concern. He hovered over Oliver, giant sweat stains ringing the armpits of his gray varsity basketball T-shirt. Their height differential, in that moment, was inversely proportional to their power differe
ntial. “My siblings guzzle that stuff. My mom will be pissed.”
“The bad news is that your momma will definitely be pissed,” Oliver said. “The good news is it won’t be because of the OJ.”
Donny itched nervously at the spot of his head covered by his yarmulke. “Dude, it’s, you know, expensive.”
“Really? How much? Actually, sorry, know what? Have yourself a Leon Bellow cocktail, named for my semi-alcoholic father”—Oliver poured two extra shots into a cup and forced it into Donny’s colossal hands—“and allow me to reimburse your family for their generosity.” He rummaged in his wallet for four twenties, rolled them into a wad and crammed them down Donny’s shirt. “Think that’s adequate?”
Commotion overhead. Evan, shirtless, was scaling a ladder positioned against the exterior patio wall. He hoisted himself onto the roof until he stood over us, accepting drunken cheers. Slowly, he raised his hand for silence.
“Friends.” He kicked off his Nike Roshes, which landed near Oliver’s head. “Welcome to the final year.” He ripped off his socks, unzipped his jeans and tossed them over the edge, watching his clothing drift below. Remi caught his pants, to further applause. Evan stood now only in Calvin Klein boxers. “Soon enough,” he said, pacing the roof, “we’ll gain independence. How thrilling. We’ve dreamed of it long enough, haven’t we? We’ve imagined it since childhood, being old enough to no longer rely on parents and teachers and rabbis, to no longer accept living by rules devised by other people.” I shielded my eyes from the sun as I stared up at Evan. Certain movements allowed his body to be swallowed by light, making it difficult to discern anything more than his silhouette. “But now that it’s here, what will we do with it? Will we live, after all, like everyone else? Will we opt into precise replicas of our parents’ lives? Will we perpetuate what’s broken? Gossip, hypocrisy, greed, overpriced food, competition over cars and houses and tzedakah—everything we’ve been born into”—he paused again over the edge, arching his toes, peering down fearlessly—“can end.”
“Jesus,” Noah said beside me, “this guy knows how to ruin a good time.”
“Blame Bloom,” Oliver said indifferently, mixing another drink. “All that philosophy shit.”
“Such freedom,” Evan continued, now standing directly at the edge of the roof, “if we have enough courage, should be used to break boundaries.” With that, he removed his underwear and threw himself from the roof, cannonballing into the pool.
Silence. When he surfaced, he treaded toward Remi, who had her feet dipped into the pool. He whispered something in her ear, causing her to refocus her gaze beneath the water. In an elegant motion, she rose and, basking in openmouthed stares, stripped off her clothing and dove into the pool.
A static charge persisted a moment longer, as the image of Remi White undressing replayed in everyone’s minds. Then, on cue, a frantic dash for the ladder and for the water, clothing flying in all directions, lean bodies animated by transgression: Noah and Rebecca, hand in hand; Nicole, skirt around her ankles; Oliver, boxers over his head. He kicked over a Grey Goose bottle as he sprinted.
Bodies fell from roof to water, vodka bled near my feet. I stood motionless, unable to tear away my eyes as Nicole resurfaced, lowering my gaze at the sight of Rebecca. Snapping harshly to my senses, I slipped through the sliding glass door and fumbled through the house—wet footprints, spilled drinks, overturned chairs—to the driveway. Tanach had just started, I thought, attempting to erase what I’d seen, and if I could figure out transportation I’d get to class without being too late. For a crazed moment I entertained dialing my mother, only to imagine her greeted by Evan and Remi, gloriously nude. Battling the erotic panic building in my chest, I called an Uber.
The five-minute wait was agony. I resisted my growing urge to return poolside, kept looking over my shoulder to make certain nobody had realized I’d vanished; they hadn’t, of course, which was worse. Finally, my Uber arrived: an older man with a grisly beard and Vietnam hat, reeking of rancid aftershave. I guided him to the Kol Neshama parking lot, in which he swerved frantically to avoid flattening the security guard. I slammed the door, cutting off an unsolicited soliloquy, and hastened inside. As I signed in at the front desk, Mrs. Janice lowered her horn-rimmed glasses and unleashed a reproving look. Head bowed, I walked into Tanach thirty minutes late, sinking into the seat nearest the door.
Rabbi Feldman was making a point about Rashi as I walked in and so didn’t address my lateness, though he did pause to glance my way. When I finally had enough courage to look up from the floor I saw how laughably empty the class was, about two-thirds unfilled. Amir was trying to catch my eye from the other side of the room, but I returned my gaze to my shoes, unwilling to draw attention. I sat through the remainder of the period like this, knots in my stomach, images of Nicole and Remi dancing through my head. When the bell finally rang, I sprang from my seat and disappeared into the crowded hallway.
* * *
THERE WAS A SLOW TRICKLE into school as the day wore on. Noah and Rebecca showed at the end of lunch. Lily snuck into the back of J-Hip. Remi stumbled in during math, smelling strongly of rum. By the end of the day, Evan, Oliver and Donny were the only ones absent.
I arrived early for biology, hoping to catch Sophia. “Look who showed,” she said, taking the seat beside me, “Aquaman himself. Bring your Speedo to class?”
“You heard what happened?”
“More or less,” she said. “I’m told it got slightly—risqué.”
I blushed. “It was revealing.”
“So who?”
“What?”
“Who’d you see?”
“Definitely more of Oliver than I’ll be able to live with.”
“And who else?”
I made a show of retrieving my textbook from my bag. “Oh, everyone, kind of.”
“Was Rem—”
“Yeah, but I mean, I looked away.”
Sophia’s facial expressions remained unchanged. “You didn’t enjoy the show?”
“I left right away.”
“Don’t tell me you deprived the senior class from seeing ‘Hamlet’s transformation—so call it.’”
My face reddened further. “You’ll be disappointed to know nobody saw ‘my secret parts of fortune.’”
She flipped through her textbook to our current chapter. Each page featured detailed handwritten annotations, accompanied by highlighted text. Her very handwriting seemed to conjure something bright inside my chest. “To be honest, I don’t understand why you went in the first place.”
“Neither do I.”
“You could’ve driven with me, you know. I’m excellent car company.”
“I wish I did.”
“But you listened to him, didn’t you?”
“To whom?”
Dr. Flowers burst into the room, slammed the door and launched into an unnecessarily hateful diatribe about triglycerides and fatty acids. Instead of pretending to pay attention, I allowed myself to become irrationally depressed from Sophia’s last remark and to agonize over the prospect of disciplinary action. (“I do hope that anyone involved in today’s controversy,” Mrs. Hartman had said in her class, “prepares for a wrath worse than what ‘brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.’”) With only twenty minutes left in the period, head aching from Dr. Flowers’ voice, I heard Mrs. Janice’s Southern drawl over the classroom telecom. Aryeh Eden.
Avoiding eye contact with Sophia, whose disapproval, I knew even without visual confirmation, was boring a hole through the side of my face, I rose and made my way to the office.
“Not for me,” Mrs. Janice said, motioning across the hall. “This time it’s the big guy.”
Light-headed with anxiety, I walked toward Rabbi Bloom’s office. Through the glass window I could see him waiting. I knocked.
“Come in, Mr. Eden.”
I let myself in, stood meekly at his doorway.
“Please, sit.” He motioned toward the conference desk in the center of h
is office. “Can I get you coffee, tea, water?”
“Oh. Uh, just water, please,” I said, only to immediately wonder whether I was supposed to have politely declined.
He brought me a bottle from a small refrigerator hidden beneath his desk and took a seat opposite me, swiveling in his chair. “Do you like it here, Mr. Eden?”
I felt unexpectedly tense, bearing the weight of his undivided attention for the first time. “I do.”
“Better than your old school in some ways, I’d imagine?”
“Yes.”
“Surely it’s not easy being new, though. There are—pressures here.”
I nodded unsurely.
“I must say, you look fairly concerned to be sitting here.”
“Somewhat, sir.”
“My apologies, in that case. Truly, there’s nothing to be alarmed about. I’ve been meaning to introduce myself, actually. I’ve heard some interesting things about you. Mrs. Hartman, for instance, speaks unusually highly of you.”
“She does?”
“Your literary acumen, particularly in light of your background, is impressive. But I can’t say I’m surprised. Your application essay was remarkable. Perhaps the best piece of writing I’ve read from someone your age.”
“Wow, I—thanks,” I said. “Frankly, I’m kind of surprised you remember it.”
He smiled and returned to his desk, rifling through a drawer for a folder. When he found the folder, he opened it and passed me a page. The final paragraph was highlighted.
The Sages utilize a unique calculus to determine how we orient ourselves while praying. People in the east turn west, people in the west turn east. People in the north turn south, people in the south turn north. The blind, incapable of discerning directions, focus their hearts toward God. Exiles visualize Eretz Yisroel, Israelites Jerusalem, Jerusalemites the Temple, kohenim the Holy of Holies. The Gemara thus institutionalizes what we learn from Plato: the sting of longing cannot be satisfied. “You think it’s no use even dreaming of happiness,” Tuzenbach asks, “but what if I am happy?” The Gemara’s answer is emphatic: dreaming of happiness is all-important, even if you are not happy. Happiness shall elude you, and yet you shall pursue it. We never reach permanent happiness, but we move steadily after its shadow, both physically and spiritually. We creep closer and closer toward God, each time halving the distance, but what we stand before is only an approximation. We move to new places, we visualize new achievements, but the yearning remains, because a life devoid of longing is not, in the eyes of the Talmud, a life fit for a human.
