Perfect Fifths
Page 16
“To what? What do you think I’m trying to do?”
“I don’t think you’re trying to do anything … yet. Which is why this conversation has been so pleasant. But with the time ticking … What time is it any—huh. That’s strange.”
“What?”
“My watch stopped.”
“The battery?”
“I don’t know. I just got this watch yesterday from my mom for my—I mean, it’s brand-new.”
“Do you have to wind it?”
“Wind it? I have no idea. Ask me to churn butter or wire a telegram while you’re at it. Seriously, who wears watches anymore, anyway? … Hey, you’re wearing a watch. What time do you have?”
[Throat clearing.] “It doesn’t.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t?”
“This watch doesn’t tell time.”
“It’s broken?”
“No, it’s … It’s not a watch that tells time. It doesn’t have hands or numbers.”
“What? Let me see. This watch doesn’t have any hands. Or numbers.”
“I told you.”
“Well, duh, Marcus. Duh.”
“I know. Duh.”
“I mean, really. Duh. What is this? Some pretentious statement about the illusory nature of time? How it’s just an artificial construct created by humankind to make sense of the natural world? Duuuuuuh.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you. It was a gift.”
“That’s the biggest dumbass gift ever.”
“Again, I completely agree.”
“Then why do you wear it?!”
“Why do you have a Barry Manilow ring tone?”
[Long pause.]
“How about this, Jessica? You tell me the story of the ring tone, and I’ll tell you the story of the dumbass watch. Then we’ll be even.”
“No, I’ll still be ahead by a buck.”
“Ah, but the conversation isn’t over yet.”
“But time is ticking. Or it would be if you wore a functional watch.”
“Need I remind you that your watch isn’t working, either? This isn’t merely a case of arrested development, Jessica. We have officially stopped the arrow of time.”
[Pause.]
“Why are you looking at me like that, Jessica?”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to stab me with a spoon. Or beat me with your discarded tea bag.”
“Why do you think I’m looking at you like that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, then I don’t know, either.”
ten
(yes)
“Okay. I guess I’ll start.”
“And with such enthusiasm, too.”
“Woo-hoo.”
“So much better, Jessica.”
“The story is only half as long as it would normally be because you already know the first part.”
“Which part?”
“The part about you tracking down the absurdly awesome, one-of-a-kind, not-for-sale decoupage Barry Manilow toilet seat cover I once coveted at an outdoor art festival and giving it to me as a get-back-in-my-good-graces gesture after vanishing in the desert for two years.”
“Jessica. I did not vanish. You knew where I was. I sent—”
“The postcards. The crazy-making one-word postcards. I… WISH … OUR … LOVE … WAS … RIGHT … NOW … AND …”
“And I gave you the toilet seat cover not as a reconciliatory gesture but because it was Christmastime and I had always regretted not buying it for you when we first saw it.”
“You see it your way, I see it mine. And this is my version of the story. You can tell your Rashomonic version another time.”
“Rashomon. Oh, man, you really are a—”
“A highbrownnoser.”
“Ha! That’s exactly what you are. And quite a wordsmith as well.”
“Thanks, I think. So, how did you find the one-of-a-kind not-for-sale decoupage Barry Manilow toilet seat cover?”
“There’s this wondrous new invention called the Internet.”
“Har-dee-har-har. But how did you persuade, ah, what was the name of the crafter-slash-Fanilow?”
“Lorna.”
“Lorna. How did you persuade Lorna to part with it once you found it?”
“I have my ways.”
“Seriously, Marcus. She was dead set against selling it. She said it was her masterwork.”
“I traded sexual favors.”
“Of course you did.”
“Once a manwhore …”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“I’ll tell you. But I thought you were telling the stories right now, not me.”
“You’re right. I am.”
“Do you still have it?”
“Have what?”
“The Barry Manilow toilet seat cover. That’s what we’re talking about, right?”
“Are we? Because I’m losing track.”
“We are.”
“It was stolen, Marcus. Remember? When Hope and I were supposed to go on that road trip. We had it in the backseat as sort of, I don’t know, a good-luck token, I guess. A lot of good it did us, huh? It was stolen, along with the diaries you had given me to read and everything else in the car. Remember?”
“I do remember now. Yes.”
“For the longest time, I thought it would turn up.”
“What?”
“All of it. The toilet seat cover. Your diaries. Everything I had lost.”
“Everything that was stolen, you mean.”
“Lost. Stolen. What does it matter when it’s all gone? Why did they have to take everything? Why not just take our money and credit cards? Why take a box of notebooks? Why take a toilet seat cover? Who would want such a thing?”
“Besides you.”
“Right. Besides me. Actually, I know someone else who would have wanted such a thing. [Cough.] I mean, who would want it still. [Cough.] She still wants it.”
“Jessica? You okay?”
[Cough.] “Fine. Just perfect. [Cough.] Two years ago one of the Do Better girls thought it would be funny to hack my multipurpose cell so it would only respond with a Barry Manilow ring tone and I’ve had it ever since. That’s the story.”
“That’s the story.”
“Actually, she’s the same girl from the story about the hammock.”
“Oh. What’s her name?”
“Her name?”
“She’s come up in conversation quite a bit, so I’m just curious. What’s her name?”
[Pause.]
“Her name is Sunny. Sunny Dae.”
[Singing] “Sunny day, keeping the clouds away …”
“It’s a good thing she’s not here right now. She hates it when people do that! She would tae kwon do your ass and …” [Coughing.]
“Jessica? Are you okay?”
[Pause.]
“We are the only people talking right now. It’s weird, right? All this noise, and yet you look around and no one is talking. It’s all texting or Twittering or Tetrising.”
“Why are you changing the subject in such an alliterative manner?”
“That’s a gorgeous sweater, Marcus. Don’t forget to put it back on before you leave. It would be a shame to lose a gorgeous sweater like that.”
[Throat clearing.] “Thank you. Why are you changing the subject?”
“Is it cashmere? It is, isn’t it? And not some cheapo Wal-Mart nineteen-ninety-nine cashmere, either. That’s, like, shorn from the underbelly of embryonic Mongolian lambs.”
“I really don’t know.”
“Where does one get a sweater like that?”
[Pause.]
“I know what you’re doing, Jessica.”
“You do?”
“You’re changing the subject for my benefit.”
“I am?”
“Sure you are. There’s something about your story that could hurt my feelings, but you didn’t realize it until you were already in the
middle of it.”
“Uh …”
“I appreciate the gesture. I do. And I’ll gladly let you change the subject if you think it will be so damaging to my psyche.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“However, your change of subject is sort of… dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
“Because the story of the sweater is related to the story of the watch.”
“It is?”
“Of course it is, don’t act so surprised. You’re a woman. You were following a hunch. You’re curious, and yet you realize that these are stories you may not want to hear.”
“I bet those stories overlap the story of how you learned to drink.”
“Socially and in moderation.”
“And, of course, the already legendary story of The Beard, or rather, the shaving of The Beard.”
“And the more incidental shaving of the dreads, yes.”
“What about your glasses?”
“The glasses?”
“Are they part of any of these stories?”
“No, they have nothing to do with the sweater or the watch or anything else. I was getting horrible headaches. I thought it was stress. Or from reading too much. It turned out that I was nearsighted.”
“I like them. The glasses. They suit you. Your face.”
“Well, thank you. I … oh …”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“‘Never have I met someone for whom nothing so obviously meant something.’”
“Touché, Jessica.”
“So?”
“Okay. [Throat clearing.] I was thinking how I wish you, too, were wearing a new pair of glasses.”
“Why?”
“So I could say they suited your face. So I could pay a compliment to your appearance in a way that wouldn’t embarrass you. And I can see by the flush on your cheeks that I’ve embarrassed you anyway.”
[Pause.]
“Thank you, Marcus.”
“You’re welcome.”
[Pause.]
“I have no idea what I was talking about, because you so graciously let me change the subject.”
“For now.”
“We’ll… uh… see … about that.”
“If you wanted me to tell my story first, why didn’t you just say ‘Hey, Marcus, go first.’”
“I don’t know. Maybe I was less hesitant to tell my story than I was to hear your story.”
“And now?”
“And now I’ve changed my mind.”
“Fair enough. So you want to hear it?”
“I think I do.”
“Do you or don’t you?”
“Well, after all this buildup, I most certainly do.”
“Even if it might… I don’t know … Make you uncomfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll tell you. [Deep breath.] The story goes like this. A man receives a cashmere sweater and a watch that doesn’t tell time from an ex … er … ex.”
“An ex, er, ex?”
“‘Girlfriend’ isn’t quite right.”
“Lady friend? Or is that too silver fox? How about ‘lovah’?”
“Ah, love, Jessica, had very little to do with it.”
“I see.”
“This ex also encouraged the man to trim his beard and dreads but not cut them off completely.”
“I see.”
“And he did.”
“I see.”
“With her, the man learned to drink socially and in moderation. Then they … then it … ended. And he shaved off the beard and the dreads down to the skin. He still wears the sweater because it’s a warm sweater and it’s cold outside. But the watch—he wears the watch … He wears the watch as a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“Her.”
“Oh. I see.”
“And … er … [Throat clearing.] That’s the story.”
[Pause.]
“Marcus?”
“Yes, Jessica?”
“I’m sorry, but that story sucked.”
“I know it did. There was one really excellent part about it, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Your apology! Pay up!”
“Damn. Now we’re even.”
“Yes, I suppose we are.”
[Pause.]
“What time do you have to be at the gate?”
“According to my cell phone, I should probably start heading over there any minute now. I guess we’ve run out of time. We’ll never get the full, uncensored versions of each other’s stories.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t mind if those stories go unfinished right now.”
“Right now.”
“I didn’t mean to invoke the postcards. It was an accident!”
“Aha! I thought there was no such thing as accidents!”
“That was definitely one of the more regrettable things I said during the course of our conversation. I didn’t even mean it at the time. I just wanted to have an excuse to bring up Jung. You know, go nose-to-highbrownnose with you.”
“So if that was just one of the regrettable things you said, what were some of the others?”
“Don’t you have places to go?”
“Now who’s changing the subject?”
“I suppose it’s easy for you to talk about my regrets when you don’t have any at all.”
“Even if I did, I wouldn’t apologize for them now. And I don’t want you to start apologizing, either. Not when we’re finally all evened up. I wouldn’t want you to be …”
“In your debt?”
“Technically speaking, yes.”
“Oh, Jessica …”
“What?”
“For having passed the hours in such an entertaining manner, I am, I assure you, already in your debt.”
[Pause.]
“I really should get going now.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Where? To the gate?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“I just figured we would get our awkward good-byes out of the way now, you know, so we don’t drag it all out and make it even more awkward later on.”
“I see.”
“Because if it gets really, really awkward, all that awkwardness could undo all the goodwill engendered in our conversation.”
“You think too much.”
“I do. I really, really do.”
[Pause.]
“So, Marcus, are you coming with me or not?”
“Are you allowing me to tempt the fates of awkwardness by accompanying you to the gate?”
“Yes. You sure you don’t mind?”
“Mind? Why would I mind?”
“Well, because we’re even.”
“So?”
“If we stop talking and go our separate ways, we can be sure to keep it that way.”
“Oh, no. I’ll take my chances.”
“Okay. Me, too.”
[Pause.]
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“What? Now you don’t want me to walk you to the gate?”
“No, that offer still stands. But I may have to jump on the plane as soon as we get there. So I think I’d like to get the good-byes out of the way now before I run out of time.”
“Okay.”
“You know, just as a preemptive measure.”
“When you put it that way, it sounds so … combative.”
“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the past two hours? Battling wits?”
“I thought we were just talking.”
“Marcus, we have never just talked.”
“True enough.”
[Pause.]
“So. Uh. Good-bye, Marcus.”
“Good-bye, Jessica.”
“I’m glad I ran you over.”
“I’m glad you did, too.”
“I enjoyed catching up with you.”
“Me, too.”
“I enjoyed it far more than I thought I would. No offen
se!”
“None taken. I know what you mean. It was a nerve-racking proposition.”
“And now that it’s almost over, it seems stupid that I was so nervous about it.”
“Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that.”
“Twenty-twenty. ‘Like perfect vision’… Bridget and Percy …”
“What?”
“Uh, nothing. Just a reminder of why I really need to get on the next flight.”
“Of course.”
“Still, it really is too bad that we don’t have more time to, you know, hang out or what—Uh… oh …”
“Or whatever?”
“Right. Whatever.”
[Pause.]
“I know what you mean, though. I feel like we were just getting started and—Shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Shit. Shit. Oh, man. Shiiiiiiiit.”
“What is it, Marcus? The police? Are you about to get hauled off?”
“Worse. Far worse. Pick up the pace, Jessica. Try to keep up with me. Stay with me.”
“Why? What is going on?”
“Just walk quickly, past the thAIRapy sign.”
“Why?”
“Hahahahahahahahahahaha! You are hilarious! Such a brilliant conversationalist! Go on, go on!”
“Are you mental? What is with you?”
“You must go on. We’re walking and talking. Walking and talking. Emphasis on walking. Go on, go on, go on. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”
“Does this have anything to do with the chickie in the lab coat who’s waving at you? Desperately trying to get your attention?”
“I don’t see her. Nope. Just keep moving—hahahahahahaha—you are telling me the funniest story I have ever heard in my life! You are the most fascinating woman I hahahahahahahahahahahahahahave ever met!”
“I think you could seriously benefit from some thAIRapy, Marcus.”
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“You know, I think I could benefit from thAIRapy. I always feel so out of my body when I travel. Like I’m not where I was and I’m not where I need to be. I feel totally disassociated from everything; I’m not really anywhere.”
“That’s good stuff, Jessica. Keep talking, keep walking. Hahhhhh … I think I’m safe now.”
“You’re safe. I’m clearly in the company of a madman.”
“It makes sense, the purgatorial feeling. We are in a terminal, after all.”
“No, no, no. You can’t just pretend you weren’t acting like a total maniac. Are you going to tell me what was up with your girlfriend back there?”