by TJ Klune
And they just stopped.
And stared.
Gus, for his part, knew that change was hard for some people to accept. He also knew he didn’t need to justify anything to anyone if he felt like this was right for him. Gus could change all he wanted and didn’t owe anyone an explanation.
(Granted, he realized the irony of such sentiments that he of all people could make changes when and how he wanted to. Gus was almost friends with a hipster, therefore his life was mired in irony already.)
“Huh,” Bertha finally said.
“Hmm,” Bernice said.
“Heh,” Betty said.
Gus ignored them. “Welcome to Pastor Tommy’s Video Rental Emporium. Can I make a recommendation for an Emporiumarvelous film?”
“What,” Bertha said.
“Whoa,” Bernice said.
“Okay,” Betty said. “What the hell is going on? This can’t be because he ate too much jerky, got stopped up, and needs a colon cleanse.”
“Gross,” Gus muttered.
“Maybe we should have bought him that enema kit,” Bernice whispered to the other two. “Just as a precaution.”
“Grosser,” Gus muttered.
“Do you think he realizes he’s wearing orange?” Bertha asked. “Can not having enough fiber and being stopped up cause you to go color blind?”
Gus sighed, because this was his life. Voluntarily.
“Just ask him.”
“You ask him!”
“Butter my biscuit,” Betty said. “I’ll do it.” She marched forward until she stood in front of the counter. She flipped the collar to her pink jacket, looking cooler than Gus ever would. She said “Gus, good morning” like he hadn’t heard every single word they’d said since they had arrived.
“Good morning,” Gus said. “Enjoy your films?”
“Cannonball Run II was unnecessary and redundant,” she said. “The second was Cape Fear with Gregory Peck and Robert Mitchum. The sexual chemistry between them was off the charts.”
“The sexual what now?” Gus choked out. “He was trying to kill him.”
“Exactly. Now. Gus. Why are you dressed like every single white person who has ever gone on vacation in Hawaii?”
“That’s offensive,” Gus said. “And racist. I think. Somehow. And I will not even dignify that with a response.”
Bertha and Bernice peered over her shoulders.
Gus glared at them.
They stared back.
The front door opened.
“Ladies,” Casey said cheerfully. “I was hoping to see you again. Man, you guys got my followers on Instagram salivating. You’re Internet famous now.”
“Huh,” Betty said as he came to stand next to them, Gus resolutely not thinking about hugging, what the hell. “I wondered why we suddenly got four thousand new followers in two days. I just thought we were that amazing and wonderful.”
“You are,” Casey said. “Why are we having a stare-off? Can I play?” He turned and stared at Gus.
Gus, of course, flushed slightly and averted his eyes.
“Ooh,” the We Three Queens said.
“Now I get it,” Betty said.
“Holy crap,” Bernice said.
“This is so awesome,” Bertha said.
“What’s going on?” Casey asked, still staring at Gus.
“Yes, Gus,” Betty said. “Care to tell us what’s happening?”
Desperate to have any and all attention directed anywhere else, he said, “Why do you have so many followers?”
Casey shrugged. “I told you. I’m a writer.”
“What does that have to do with followers? And also, that sounds slightly cultish.”
Casey blushed slightly and Gus thought about hugging him some more. “Eh. It’s not that big of a deal.”
Gus frowned. “What’s not?”
“Holy shit,” Bertha said, looking down at her phone. “You’re C.S. Richards.”
“Surprise,” Casey said, looking rather embarrassed.
“Who?” Gus asked.
The We Three Queens stared at him.
Casey grinned like Gus was the greatest thing to exist. “Awesome.”
“C.S. Richards,” Bertha said. “He’s written a series of extremely popular young adult postapocalyptic vampire/werewolf novels.”
“Postapocalyptic vampire/werewolf novels,” Gus repeated. “What… what is… that?”
“It’s a lot more convoluted than it sounds,” Casey said. “I even have to keep notes on it.”
“I’ve read all of them,” Bernice said. “Three times. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To work on the fourth. Tell me. Tell me what happens. Now. Does Desmondo end up with Catarina or Martindale? Do they find the Nexus of Power and take down Count Vladimite?” Her eyes were wide and she was slowly advancing on Casey.
“Desmondo?” Gus said, grimacing. “Martindale? These are names of people? They sound like abandoned Greyhound bus hubs from the seventies.”
“Says Gustavo Tiberius,” Betty muttered under her breath.
“You know the story, Gus,” Bertha said. “They made the first book into a movie. We made you go see it last year, remember?”
And he did remember, because the We Three Queens had forced him to go with them to the theater twenty miles away, saying they would not take no for an answer. He’d ended up riding behind Bertha on her Vespa, arms around her waist, a pink helmet on his head that proclaimed him to be a We Three Queens Groupie. It was the worst experience of Gustavo’s life. Well. One of them, anyway.
“You wrote the book that The Hungering Blood Moon was based on?” Gus asked, staring at Casey. “But that movie was terrible!”
“I know!” Casey said, cackling gleefully. “They completely butchered what I’d written. It was amazing. I saw it sober and spent the entire time wishing I was stoned and anywhere else.”
“I liked it,” Bernice breathed, standing only inches away from Casey now. “I liked it so much. You have to autograph something for me. Like my dreams.”
“Eep,” Casey said.
Gus made a strangled noise because it was not adorable when Casey did that. And what the hell was the word adorable doing in his vocabulary?
“Bernice,” Bertha said. “Pull it back, just a little. You’re going to scare him off and then Gus will pout.”
Gus glared at her. “What part of me suggests to you that I’m capable of pouting?”
“Your lips,” Betty said. “You’ve got pouty lips.”
Gus wished he’d never been born with lips at all. Especially since everyone seemed to be looking over at them to either confirm or dispute such a notion.
“Totally does,” Bernice said.
“Completely,” Bertha said.
“I want to Instagram them,” Casey said.
Gus groaned and put his head down on the counter and realized it was too late to dispute the fact that he would pout. But he wouldn’t.
“Casey, now that we know you’re super famous,” Bertha said, “and will most likely be stalked by Bernice—”
“So much stalking,” Bernice whispered. “You should live with me and write the stories I breathe in your ear.”
“—inquiring minds will want to know what you’re doing in Abby?”
Casey shrugged and tapped his fingers on the counter, near Gus’s face. For a moment, Gus focused on them and only them and it was nice. He didn’t know why. “Trying something different,” Casey said. “Los Angeles was getting too crowded for me, and I couldn’t think. I thought maybe some mountain air would do me good.” He glanced quickly at Gus before looking back at the We Three Queens. “Seems I was right.”
“Very interesting,” Bertha said. “And what are you doing here in the Emporium?”
“Bringing Gus his sandwich,” Casey said. He reached into the small messenger bag he carried at his side and pulled a wrapped sandwich and placed it on the counter. “It’s turkey and Havarti.”
“What the hell is Havarti?” G
us asked.
“Semisoft Danish cow cheese,” Casey said. “You’ll love it.”
“That… sounds disgusting,” Gus said. “You should have just called it cheese. I don’t know if I can eat cheese from a semisoft Danish cow.”
Casey laughed, throwing his head back. Gus felt inordinately pleased with himself.
The We Three Queens were staring at him again.
“What?” Gus snapped.
“Did he just tell a joke?” Bernice whispered to her sisters and/or lovers.
“It’s like he’s Bizarro Gus,” Bertha said.
“Have you been brainwashed by the enemy, cadet?” Betty demanded.
“What are you talking about?” Casey asked. “Gus is funny all the time.”
They turned slowly to gape at him.
Gus ignored them. “Maybe not all the time.”
Casey rolled his eyes. “You still want to watch a movie?”
Because, somehow, Gus had found himself inviting Casey over that afternoon to watch a movie on one of the Emporium’s TVs that were scattered around the store. He hadn’t turned them on in so long because they typically played a loop of previews and commercials that Pastor Tommy had cut together himself.
But that’s what normal people did, right? They hung out. And Gus was normal.
“Sure,” he said. “That sounds groovy. Or whatever.” And immediately realized he should never ever talk again.
“Groovy,” Bertha mouthed at the other We Three Queens.
“Groovy,” Casey said cheerfully. “I’ll go pick one out.” He moved off into the store, humming quietly to himself.
“Gus,” Bertha said.
“Seriously,” Bernice said.
“Groovy,” Betty said.
And Gus absolutely refused to acknowledge any of them.
Chapter 11
HOW TO Be a Normal Person
Step 2: Have Healthy Body Habits like a Normal Person (Male Version)
Now, it might go without saying, but having good hygiene is definitely normal. Unruly hair and facial hair is an indicator of not being normal. People can often make snap judgments based upon appearance, and if your hair is too long or if you have pungent body odor, it can be off-putting and will not allow you to find your sense of normalness. Make sure to brush and floss your teeth and schedule regular proctological exams to ensure you smell clean from both ends.
In addition to having a healthy outer personal appearance, make sure to take care of your inner you. After all, eating nothing but cake and cheese and burritos will cause your inner you to expand your outer you, thus affecting your appearance. Avoiding gastric inflaming foods will help to alleviate any potentially awkward situations. Stick with fruits and vegetables, and food with healthy fats and carbs. If someone says to you, “Hey, let’s go have a meat-lovers pizza with beer and cheesy bread and just have no respect for ourselves or our bodies,” suggest an alternative. For example, you could say, “Hey, bro, I have a better idea. Let’s go try that heart-healthy vegan restaurant that just opened over on Main Street. I hear their crispy kale and tofu salad is the bomb!”
Gus could do this part.
It was easy.
He already took care of his body.
Well, mostly.
His hair was a little long, sure, but he didn’t have “unruly facial hair” (or really any facial hair at all, much less unruly). He didn’t necessarily think much of his personal appearance, flexing in the mirror aside.
He hadn’t had a zit in weeks, thank god. And he had strong teeth and gums and his tongue was a little short, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He didn’t think he was particularly pungent, but he supposed he’d better check just to make sure.
He called Bertha on the phone the next night. She sounded surprised, but she quickly recovered. “Gus! What can I do for you?”
“Yes,” he said. “Hello. I am calling for advice.”
“Shhh,” she snapped, sounding slightly muffled. “I’ll put it on speaker, just be quiet. Did you hear what he said? He needs advice. He’s totally going to do it! Casey will be so—ahem. Hello, Gus. Nothing is going on here at all. It is just me and no one else. What sort of advice are you looking for?”
Gus could do this. It wasn’t that hard. They were friends, of a sort. And friends asked each other for advice. “Yes,” he said, ready to get this over with. “Advice. Well. It has come to my attention that I need to check if I am pungent or not. Who is your proctologist, and do you recommend them?”
Dead silence.
Gus didn’t know if he should repeat the question. He pulled his phone away from his ear and saw the call was still connected.
Finally, Bertha said, in a rather choked voice, “You want me to recommend a proctologist.”
“Yes,” Gus said, suddenly very glad they were not having this conversation face to face.
More silence.
Then, “Dr. Wong is very… thorough.”
“Good,” Gus said with a resolute nod. “I would like to hire his services.”
“Oh my god,” he heard someone moan in the background.
He heard more muffled whispering before Betty’s voice came on the line. “Gus, who told you that you were pungent?”
“No one,” Gus said. “I just need to make sure.”
“You’re not pungent,” she said. “You always smell nice. Like autumn leaves and gingersnaps.”
“Huh,” Gus said. “I use a body wash called Fall Cookies. That might be it.”
“Yes, Gus,” Betty said. “That might be it.”
“So, no pungency.”
“None whatsoever.”
“Well,” Gus said. “I suppose that makes things easier.”
“Gus, what brought this on?”
“Oh nothing. Nothing at all. Just… thinking. About stuff. And things.”
“Really.”
“Yes.”
“Well, this wasn’t the advice we were expecting to give, I guess.”
“What were you expecting?”
She laughed. “We thought you were going to ask us how to woo Casey.”
Gus sputtered for one minute and thirty-six seconds. It was a new record for sputtering, at least for Gus. By the time he’d finished, his hands were sweaty and he wished the We Three Queens had never heard of Abby, Oregon.
But much to his surprise, he said, “I can figure out how to do that myself.”
And hung up the phone.
THE NEXT morning, Gus made sure he had excellent hygiene before he left the house for the day. It was Saturday, and Casey had made mention of possibly coming over again at lunch to watch another movie. Gus wanted to tell him he would read his book, but since he had no interest in young adult fiction, postapocalyptic fiction, werewolf and/or vampire fiction, and bisexual love triangles, he was probably not going to. He just needed to figure out how to say it without it sounding rude. He was happy for Casey that he’d found such success (well, maybe not happy, because Gus couldn’t really parcel out a specific feeling he had toward Casey other than vague unease) but such things were not for him. He’d tried to look down the next steps in his how to be a normal person list, but there was nothing in there to assist in telling an asexual hipster that you weren’t going to read their book.
The Internet had failed Gustavo Tiberius.
But he was in a two-year contract with it now.
It was like a loveless arranged marriage.
God, his life was hard.
He left the house, this time wearing a green Hawaiian shirt and a pair of khakis, a brown belt, and a pair of flip-flops he’d found in his own closet from a couple of years ago when he’d decided to be daring during the summer.
The bell rang overhead as he walked into Lottie’s Lattes, and once again, Lottie stood in the front next to Casey, as she had been the last few days, eyeing him suspiciously. Casey had told him the day before that Lottie was sure that the Gus before them was a doppelganger, and that his aura was shifting into multiple c
olors. Gus had replied that he most certainly was not a doppelganger for heaven’s sake, and that Lottie should not be staring at his aura so hard.
“Gus,” Lottie said, eyes narrowed. “Best Supporting Actor winner 1961.”
“George Chakiris for West Side Story.”
“Best Documentary Short, same year.”
“Project Hope.”
“Hmm,” she said. “I’ll make your coffee, Gus. If that’s your real name.”
“Actually,” Gus said, remembering what he’d learned about being normal. He needed to take care of his body better, and the amount of caffeine he’d consumed over the last fifteen years was frightening. “Can I order the… oh for fuck’s sake, really? I have to say that? Ugh. The Bombastic Berry Blast fruit smoothie.” And then, “Please.” And then, “Thank you.” It was perfectly normal.
Of course, Lottie just glared at him.
“Good choice, man,” Casey said. “It really is bombastic. Just when you think you’ve gotten past the blackberries and raspberries, there’s this boom of acai that just hits and it’s… man, I don’t even know. It just hits right.”
“Yes, exactly,” Gus said, even though he had no idea what acai was and why it should hit anything at all.
“Dig the shirt,” Casey said, looking him up and down.
“Oh,” Gus said. “Thank you. I dig you.” Oh fuck. “I mean, your shirt. Er. And your… tattoos. And your bracelet.”
Lottie started coughing quite loudly.
Casey smiled shyly at him. “Thanks, man.” He reached up and ran a hand through his messy hair, pulled back and held loosely with a leather strap. His glasses were folded and hanging off the collar of his shirt, which announced he was a member of the Kearney, Nebraska Elks Lodge #984. Gus almost wanted to know where he’d gotten the shirt, but figured it was a hipster secret and he wasn’t privy to such information. He wondered if there was an entire hipster underground where they got together and compared ironic situations.
“Hey, I was thinking,” Casey said. “If you didn’t have any plans tonight, we should do something when you get off of work.”
And Gus was not prepared for this.
He had not read anything on his normal list to deal with this.
