Someday

by David Levithan

  I said all this, and still he wasn’t scared away.

  Now he goes back to reading Robinson Crusoe and I supposedly return to biology. Every now and then, he hums the song that’s playing in his head, and doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. It could be annoying, but I think it’s sweet.

  He’s told me about his exes, the ones who weren’t truthful with him. One moved away, and he hasn’t bothered to stay in touch with her. One kept lying even after they broke up, telling everyone that it had been Alexander’s fault, that he hadn’t even tried to make it work. They’re not in touch, either. But the most recent was this girl Cara, and the two of them have stayed friends. We’ve even hung out with her, in a bigger group. I felt a little weird about it, but Alexander told me that it was all good, that he and Cara knew they were bad for each other as boyfriend-girlfriend but okay for each other once they took the boy- and girl- off and just made it friend-friend.

  Thinking about Cara makes me wonder why I can’t be friends with A.

  I know it’s not the same. I know we didn’t break up because we stopped feeling like we should be together. We knew we should be together, or at least try—but we also knew we couldn’t. Which isn’t the same thing.

  But still, there’s nothing saying we can’t be in touch.

  The twisted thing is I’m thinking that I’m wanting it as much for Alexander as for me. Because until I can get this straightened out, my truth is always going to be dishonest. And if the stumbling block is that I’m missing A, then I should at least get through the silence, because the silence is the worst part.

  It’s not about getting A back.

  It’s not about being with A again.

  It’s about knowing where A is and what A’s doing.

  It’s about having A in my life in whatever way can actually work.

  So I take out my phone. I check my email. I try not to think about it too much. I just do it. I put A’s email in the TO: spot, and a simple Hello in the subject line.

  I keep the message simple.

  A,

  I know you thought it would be easier if you disappeared. It isn’t. Even if we can’t be together, I still want to talk to you.

  R

  I am about to hit send, but then I read it over and decide to change a word.

  A,

  I know you thought it would be easier if you disappeared. It isn’t. Even though we can’t be together, I still want to talk to you.

  R

  Without reading it again, I hit send.

  The response is instant.

  There’s an email in my inbox, telling me my message is undeliverable. The mailbox no longer exists.

  I check the address. I resend the message. The same thing happens.

  “Ugh,” I say out loud.

  “What?” Alexander asks from his perch.

  “Nothing,” I say. Then I decide to get closer to an honest truth. “I was just trying to email a friend of mine who moved away. But the mailbox is full or deleted or something. My email didn’t go through. I wish they’d tell you that before you spend the time writing the email instead of after.”

  “Ugh,” Alexander says.

  “Exactly!”

  He goes back to work, humming happily. I can’t go back to work—now that the idea of talking to A again has taken hold, it won’t let go.

  But there isn’t any other way.

  I think about the post I left on Facebook. The songs. If A saw them, why didn’t A respond?

  Maybe I wasn’t clear enough.

  Even though I can’t be too clear when I’m someplace other people can see.

  Dishonest truth.

  Or maybe just dishonest.

  But I have to try again.

  I go on to my Facebook. I think of another song to post. I go on YouTube and find one called “Say Something.”

  But how will A know why I’m posting it? How will A know it’s ours?

  And how can I post it without anyone else knowing it’s ours?

  I look at Alexander on the bed. Now I’m definitely being dishonest. Because I realize how I can do it.

  I attach the link for “Say Something”—and for the caption, I write:

  A— You can interrupt me any time.

  I post it. Exhale. Go back to my biology.

  About ten minutes later, Alexander says, “Something!”

  I look at him and find him smiling. His phone is in his hand.

  “Now, did you want me to interrupt you, or was this just a way to see if I was checking my Facebook when I should be reading this terminally boring book?”

  “Both, I imagine.”

  Still smiling, he puts down Robinson Crusoe and sails on over to the couch. I move my legs to make a space for him.

  “So now that you have my undivided attention…,” he says.

  Once he sits down, I put my legs back where they were, only now they’re on his lap.

  “Do you want to do my bio homework for me?” I ask.

  He playfully, emphatically shakes his head.

  “Do you want to read me the sexy passages from Robinson Crusoe?”

  Another head shake.

  “Do you want to kiss awhile and then get something to eat?”

  This gets a nod.

  A very enthusiastic nod.

  He is the first person I’ve been with who has been so enthusiastic. No doubts. No regrets. No conflict. Just…happiness to be here with me.

  I still feel dishonest. But the honest truth is that I want to kiss him, and mean it.

  So I do.

  A

  Day 6099

  Say something.

  I don’t see the message until the day is almost done. And it’s awkward because my father is hovering behind me—not exactly looking at what I’m checking out, but watching the clock closely, to make sure I don’t spend more than my allotted half hour on the computer.

  Turns out, I’m on probation.

  Or, more to the point, Lilah White is on probation.

  Her phone’s been taken away. She has to come home directly after school.

  She is not, under any circumstances, to talk to Jeff James.

  Her boyfriend. Or her ex-boyfriend. It depends on who you ask. Or it depends on who she’s talking to, because it seems like there are at least a half-dozen different versions out there.

  The facts, as I can figure them out, are:

  (1) Lilah and Jeff had been going out for a year.

  (2) Shortly after their anniversary, Jeff decided it was going to be their last anniversary, and broke up with her.

  (2a) Or, I should say, attempted to break up with her.

  (3) Lilah did not take it well.

  (4) Lilah tried to get him back.

  (5) This failed.

  (6) So Lilah decided to forward all the naked photos Jeff had sent her to any friend she had in her phone.

  (6a) Some of these photos had other people in them.

  (7) In retaliation, Jeff sent out the nudes Lilah had sent him.

  (7a) Some of these photos had other people in them.

  (8) Some of the boyfriends and girlfriends of the other people mentioned in (6a) and (7a) were not happy about this, and retaliated with more nude photos.

  (9) It did not take long for someone at their school to realize that the student body was suddenly awash in photos of student bodies.

  (9a) The chain was traced back to Lilah.

  (10) She was put on probation, and her phone was taken away.

  (11) She was also forbidden from seeing Jeff, who was also put on probation and, I assumed, forbidden from seeing her.

  (12) According to what Lilah has said
to some friends, Jeff felt so bad about everything and was so impressed by how upset his breakup had made her that he took her back and they’re now together.

  (12a) But considering what some of Lilah’s other friends had to say to her about Jeff today (asshole, user, jerk, so glad that’s over, etc.), there’s certainly a contingent that thinks they’re still broken up.

  There’s no way for me to ask Lilah for clarification—it was unhelpful enough to skim through her memories of Jeff. I learned much more about him anatomically than I did about him emotionally.

  All of the drama happened last week, so I made it through the day by remaining pretty silent; there were so many people talking to her and about her that she herself didn’t have to contribute much more than a nod or two every now and then.

  I am grateful that I wasn’t stuck in her body the day they discovered all the photos. The blowback a week later is still strong enough to feel. Her father can’t look her in the eye (although I can’t say for sure that he looked her in the eye before the photos got out there). But even with his eyes pointed toward the floor or ten feet over her head, he can still lay down the law. Which is how I’m forced to process Rhiannon’s post with his breath somewhere in the vicinity of my neck.

  Say something.

  A— You can interrupt me any time.

  The first time I see it, my heart skips seven beats, then lands on all seven beats in quick succession.

  She is writing to me.

  Talking to me.

  Telling me something.

  I read it again. And again.

  I play the song. Lilah’s father is now at the refrigerator, across from me. He pauses for a moment when the song comes on, looking confused. But he’d rather ignore his curiosity than have to engage with his daughter.

  Give me a siiiiiiiign, the singer pleads.

  I read the post again. And again.

  A— You can interrupt me any time.

  I look at the comments and the first one is from Alexander.

  I will be interrupting you in exactly three seconds.

  Then a comment from her.

  Thank you for the interruption. Though my statement is still open.

  Lilah’s father notices something on my face, and comes to see what I’m looking at. I quickly click to Lilah’s home page. Unfortunately, the first comment there is from a girl calling her a shamless slut.

  “Report her,” Lilah’s father says, reading over my shoulder. He even leans over and clicks on the box that brings up the Report Post link.

  “No,” I say instinctively. “That’ll only make it worse.”

  He keeps his eyes on the screen as he says, “Well, you should have thought about that before, no?” Then he reports her. Only it’s Lilah reporting her, since it’s Lilah who’s signed in.

  The comment disappears.

  I’m sure Lilah would say I hate you! now, or something to that effect. But I don’t see the point. And after what happened to Moses, I’m wary of opening my mouth when I shouldn’t.

  The one thing I know is that I’m not going to be able to respond to Rhiannon tonight. Not from this computer.

  I go to erase the history of what I’ve looked at. But Lilah’s dad sees me and stops me with a fierce “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” I say. “Habit.”

  “I think your half hour is done early tonight,” he replies, turning off the screen. “If you need the computer for your homework, let me know, and we can resume. Social time is over.”

  “C’mon, Dad!” I protest…but only because he’ll be suspicious if I don’t.

  “Go to your room,” he says. His words don’t have the force of a command. It sounds like he’s sick of having to say them. And it’s only been a week.

  I manage to complete Lilah’s homework without the computer. And late at night, I sneak out of my room and erase the history so Lilah will never have any connection to Rhiannon. I have to do it quickly, before her father catches me. I tell myself that’s why I don’t respond to Rhiannon immediately. But the truth is that I still don’t know what to say.

  Comment from M:

  You experience separation from your own body. I am in a different body every day.

  Comment from Someone:

  It’s not unusual to feel alienated by your own body, to feel that you don’t know it at all.

  Comment from M:

  I’m telling you—it’s impossible for you to understand. I am not talking in metaphors here.

  Comment from AnarchyUKGo:

  This shit is CRAZY! Keep going, man.

  Comment from Someone:

  Private message me?

  Comment from M:

  Okay. But there’s really no way you can help. I’ve tried everything. The only thing left is to try to erase myself.

  Comment from PurpleCrayon12:

  Often the moment we want to erase ourselves is the moment we most need to spell ourselves out.

  Comment from AnarchyUKGo:

  Spell this: D-I-E

  AnarchyUKGo has been blocked by moderator

  Comment from PurpleCrayon12:

  Don’t listen to that asshole. He (and I’m sure it’s a he) has no idea.

  Comment from PurpleCrayon12:

  Are you still here?

  Comment from PurpleCrayon12:

  I guess you guys left.

  Comment from PurpleCrayon12:

  Good luck.

  Comment from PurpleCrayon12:

  I’m still here if you want to talk.

  A

  Day 6100

  I wake up in the body of Alvin Ruiz, and it’s like the body is happy to see me. I don’t have to drag it out of bed—it’s ready to leap out. My senses have a vibrancy that they rarely have at 6:49 a.m. I try to get a sense of his past, but I keep getting bounced into the present, because the present is calling, NOTICE ME NOTICE ME NOTICE ME. There are so many things to notice. So many things to do. The body is telling me to do them all. I want to do them all. I am capable of doing everything and today I will do everything.

  Wait, I tell myself. But I say it in a small voice. The body has a bigger voice today.

  I know I should get on the computer and respond to Rhiannon. But first I want to clean my room. No—I want to redecorate my room. I’m going to start by moving the bed into the middle of the room. And then maybe I can make everything in the room orbit around the bed. That would be pretty cool. Except I need to get breakfast. It is the most important meal of the day, and I am one of the most important people in the world, according to the body. And the body would know.

  I wish my parents and my two sisters a good morning and they’re tired when they look back at me. I can’t figure out which cereal to have, so I pour half a bowl of Frosted Flakes and then another bowl half-full of Raisin Bran, and I decide I will alternate spoonfuls of each. My mother asks me what time I went to bed; she says she heard me up late. I can’t remember what time I went to bed. It’s not important. Why waste time sleeping when there’s so much to do when you’re awake?

  I finish my cereal and see that one of the cupboard doors is off its hinges and I tell my parents I can fix that, and they tell me it’s time to go to school so I figure I’ll just fix it when I get home and then when I get back to my room I see that I haven’t done enough with my redecoration yet, but really I need to be messaging Rhiannon so I open the computer and try to ignore my sister telling me it’s time to go, but then I understand it’s time to go and figure I can just email Rhiannon from school.

  My older sister is driving us and she’s annoyed because I keep switching the radio looking for the perfect song—like, one I would sound really good singing along to—and every now and then I think I find that song and I sing along a little but it’s not good enough so I change it, and she tells me to stop but I start tell
ing her how I’m looking for the perfect song and she’s like, “It’s too early for this,” but I consider that to be unfortunate thinking because why would you give away hours of your day just because they’re “early” and there’s so much to do and you can’t give any hours away. I’m thinking this but I’m also saying this at the same time and my sister in the back seat has headphones on so she’s not a part of it, but my sister who’s driving is listening and maybe I’m getting through and making her life better even if I can’t find the perfect song.

  When I get to school, I see my friend Greg and I tell him I have to remember to message Rhiannon and he’s like, “Who’s Rhiannon?” and it’s like my mind pushes against the body a little then because I know that I need to shut up about Rhiannon, so instead I tell him about how I’m redecorating my room and how once people see what I’ve done, everyone is going to want to put their beds in the middle of their bedrooms. He says I’m in overdrive today, aren’t I? And I’m like, why be slow? Because there’s so much I can do. In fact, I offer to come over and redecorate Greg’s room after school, but he says it’s cool and his room isn’t big enough to have the bed in the middle. I tell him that’s small thinking and start telling him how small thinking leads to small lives, but then the bell rings and I have to get to first period, but when I’m in first period I’m restless to get out of first period, because school is just a way of imposing slowness on otherwise fast people, and I could be writing to Rhiannon right now but instead I’m having to listen to something about Oliver Cromwell, and with all due respect to Oliver Cromwell, Rhiannon seems a little more important to me, which the teacher doesn’t seem to recognize. I am tempted to take out my phone but I think I’ve gotten in trouble a lot for taking my phone out in this class before so I don’t do it though I really want to do it because Steve Jobs knew that an iPhone could be a device to break out of slowness and smallness, and I wonder if there’s a way for me to make an app that helps everyone else get over the slowness and smallness that things like school and work impose on us, and I’m thinking this is a really good idea and I’m dying to tell someone about it, but all anyone here wants to talk about is Oliver Cromwell and I can’t stand it, and I tell myself A, focus, because I can’t just message Rhiannon, I have to think of a way to do it without it being Alvin who does it, because there’s no point if she’s only going to respond to Alvin and not me, because I’m not going to be Alvin forever, even though maybe it would be a good thing to be Alvin forever, because the body is definitely telling me that Alvin is a great place to be and that other bodies don’t get to experience 10% of what Alvin gets to experience, and I have to say, it’s really convincing because even if Oliver Cromwell won’t recognize it, there’s a lot of shit that needs to be done, and it’s not the small or slow people who will do it. No, it’s people like Steve Jobs and me who will do it.