How to Be a Normal Person

by TJ Klune

  “What the fuck was that?” Casey demanded.

  “Sign language,” Gus said. “I learned what Mortimer would have said in hopes that I could be cast as the motion capture actor to play the monkey.”

  “You speak sign language?” Casey asked.

  Gus shook his head. “No. I only know the lines Mortimer had in my screenplay.”

  “You learned every line your monkey character would have had in your movie,” Casey said.

  “Yeah,” Gus said.

  “Dude,” Casey said. “You’re, like… dude.”

  Gus nodded solemnly. “I know.”

  “What did it mean?”

  “What did what mean?”

  “The last line, man. The twist.”

  “Oh. Oh. Well, Wolf Blitzer would have been interviewing Mortimer, right? And he would ask about his forgiveness. And Mortimer would sign back: Because forgiveness is human.”

  “But… but… he’s a fucking monkey!”

  Gus nodded. “I know.”

  “And he says forgiveness is human!”

  “Exactly,” Gus said.

  “That means… that means. Oh my god. Gus. That means he was more human than us all. The whole fucking time.”

  “Boom,” Gus said, giving jazz hands for some reason he didn’t quite understand. “Twist ending.”

  “That’s… that’s some Terrence Malick fucking shit.”

  “You still don’t know who that is,” Gus reminded him.

  “Okay, maybe not,” Casey agreed. “But. So. Okay. You’re like… the M. Night Shyamalan of monkey adventure films set on an island!”

  Gus shrugged, trying to play it off. “Could have been,” he said. “Maybe one day I’ll dig it up and see.”

  “I’m a writer,” Casey said. “I wrote things. Books. Weird, weird books. I could help you finish.”

  “We’d have to make it in Canada,” Gus warned him.

  “Why?” Casey asked.

  “Because it seems like a Canadian movie.”

  “Oh,” Casey said. “I don’t get it. Do they have tropical islands in Canada?”

  “Oh shit,” Gus groaned. “No. They don’t.”

  “It’s just a bump in the road,” Casey said, and that’s when Gus became aware that they had somehow started holding hands, fingers intertwined, palms pressed together. Casey’s thumb was rubbing over his own.

  He was instantly sweaty and completely out of his depth.

  And really fucking stoned.

  “So!” Gus squeaked. He tried to remember what he’d learned on the Internet. “Were you planning on attending the office Christmas party?”

  Casey’s brow furrowed. “The what now?”

  “Stoner Scrabble!” Gus cried. “We have to play Stoner Scrabble!”

  “Dude,” Casey said. “Best. Idea. Ever.”

  FIFTEEN MINUTES later, Gus frowned at the letters he’d drawn.

  Somehow, he’d gotten all vowels.

  Casey went first: THESIS.

  “Wow,” he said. “I’m off to a good start.”

  “Wow,” Gus mocked. “Shut up.”

  Casey grinned.

  Fucking vowels. Gus used the H to make the word HI.

  “Don’t say a word,” Gus said, drawing another letter. It was an E. Goddamn fucking vowels.

  “It’s okay,” Casey said. “And that was two words. Funnily enough, two is also the same number of letters you used in your turn.”

  Gus narrowed his eyes. “Are you shit talking me? At Scrabble?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Casey said, using the second S in thesis to spell SALIVATE. “Oh my. Double word score? How interesting. And look! I used all my letters.”

  “Are you some kind of Scrabble master?” Gus asked. “Do you practice daily and just failed to tell me?”

  “Gus,” Casey said. “Don’t be silly. Just because my words have syllables doesn’t mean anything. I still think you’re special, man.”

  “Whatever,” Gus said, using the T to spell TEA. “Three letters.”

  “Which is roughly how many points you have,” Casey muttered under his breath.

  “What?” Gus demanded.

  “What?” Casey asked, unfairly batting his eyes at Gus.

  Casey spelled VICTORY.

  Gus spelled YEA.

  “I don’t really think that’s even a word, Gus. At least mine is detailing what’s going on here.”

  “How can you shit talk at Scrabble? How are you even a person?”

  Casey spelled SUNDRIES.

  Gus spelled RED.

  “Do you know what that is, Gus? Do you know what sundries are?”

  “Yes I know what sundries are!”

  “Wow. Your face is red. Like your word.”

  Casey spelled DIVINITY.

  Gus spelled BOY.

  “Huh. Divinity Boy. That sounds like a Christian boy band where they get sexy for Jesus. Hey, girl. Come touch my body of Christ. Then go buy our merchandise.”

  “You are going to hell so fast.”

  Casey spelled TREASURE.

  Gus spelled RACE.

  Casey had been digging through the letters, but Gus didn’t even care. He was totally going to kick Casey’s ass. He was stoned, his ferret was curled up on the couch near his neck, he was playing fucking Scrabble, and he was fucking happy, okay? He was fucking happy and he was going to win, or he was going to lose, but fuck it all. It didn’t matter right now. It didn’t—

  Casey laid out letters using the C in RACE.

  Gus didn’t quite understand the word. It was too long. Far too long for Scrabble.

  His mind didn’t quite get it. It was still a little foggy.

  Casey looked nervous.

  He was even blushing a little.

  Gus looked back down at the word.

  There was a C and A and N, then I, K, I, S,S—

  Gus got it then.

  Not one word.

  But four.

  CAN.

  I.

  KISS.

  YOU.

  (At this point in his life, Gustavo Tiberius had lived almost thirty years. His birthday was coming in October (“You’re a Libra,” Pastor Tommy had told him. “It’s means you’re loyal and brave and will do anything to help the people you love be happy. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a more apt description of a person in my life. That’s you, Gussy. That’s you.”). In his almost thirty years on earth, Gus had kissed five people.

  His first had been a boy named Micah when they were six years old. They’d been playing in the rain and stomping in puddles and Micah had leaned over, grabbing his face and kissing him soundly on the lips. Gus, shocked into almost a quiet awe, had just stared at him. Micah had moved away a few months later and Gus had never seen him again.

  Three were those he’d slept with, sloppy kisses that were a means to an end.

  His last had been the brief brush of his lips against his father’s, the body already cooling, the machines switched off, a nurse rubbing soothing circles on his back. He’d been blinded by tears, meaning to kiss his father’s cheek or his forehead, but instead grazing his lips, and something had settled over his chest then, a weight at the knowledge that his father was gone, gone, gone, and the moment he left the hospital—hell, even this room—he’d be alone and would probably remain that way. He’d kissed his father and twenty-seven minutes later was out on the street in front of the hospital, unsure of how he’d get home.)

  Gus said, “Um.”

  “It’s okay,” Casey said. “If you don’t want to.” And he meant it. Gus could see that. Somehow, that meant almost as much as the request itself.

  Gus said, “Wow,” because once again, words like endearing and adorable were running through his head and he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop them.

  Casey grinned that lazy grin, eyes hooded and sleepy.

  He looked happy.

  Gus was also happy.

  It felt like he’d been struck by lightning.

 
; So Gus (once again being Gus) tried to ruin the moment. “I thought you didn’t like kissing. Or sex. Or something. And that’s okay! Really. I just thought you didn’t want… me. Like that.”

  Casey cocked his head, and just when had they started sitting so close? They were practically sitting side by side. Gus could feel the heat of Casey’s skin against his and it was there, that low-level burn of arousal, but it wasn’t overpowering. It wasn’t intrusive. It wasn’t more.

  It was nice. And sweet.

  Casey said, “Want and need and desire can be different things, Gus. I don’t need sex. I don’t desire it. I don’t even particularly want to most of the time. But just because I typically don’t do something doesn’t mean I won’t. And kissing is separate from all that. Kissing doesn’t need to be about sex or lust. Kissing can be about friendship and trust. I trust you, man. I care about you. I just hope I don’t need to sleep with you for you to believe me.”

  “Can I hug you first?” Gus choked out, unsure why he suddenly had a lump in his throat.

  Casey’s smile widened. “Yeah, man. I’d really like that. You’re starting to give me some of the best hugs of my life. I’ll never say no to a hug from you.”

  Gus thought the first time he would initiate a hug with Casey, he’d falter a little bit. There’d be hesitation, some awkwardness, and maybe an elbow or two in the ribs. He’d sputter out an apology and then Casey would quietly fix it until they were lined up right.

  It didn’t happen that way, though.

  Sure, they were side by side so the angle was not the best. He had to twist his back a little and it wasn’t exactly comfortable. But they moved like they’d done it countless times before and Casey’s arms went under his, and his went around Casey’s shoulders. They were almost chest to chest and Gus found his fingers in Casey’s hair, long locks falling loose from the leather strap.

  And Casey held him so fucking tight, and Gus couldn’t believe that he had this, that here, right now, this moment was his. Sure, they were stoned. Sure, it was off of something called Origami Star Fucker that Gus had eaten in a cookie. Sure they’d just played a really lopsided game of Scrabble and sure Gus had just spilled his deepest, darkest secret about his Monkey Island Adventures screenplay, something he’d sworn himself to never reveal to anyone.

  Jesus Christ, it was good. All of it was good.

  They stayed like that, for a time. Harry S. Truman was watching them with interest until it went on far too long to be a normal hug. He curled back up and closed his eyes.

  Gus could feel Casey’s breath on his neck.

  Gus sighed. It was nice.

  Casey pulled away first, but he didn’t go far.

  He said, “I’m going to kiss you.”

  Gus swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

  “Just… no tongue or anything.” Casey looked away briefly. “Is that okay?”

  “Yeah. Yes. That’s fine. That’s more than fine. It’s awesome.”

  “And I don’t like a lot of… movement. Not right now. Just nice kisses. With lips.”

  “Yes. No movement. None. I’m a statue. That you’re going to kiss.”

  Casey laughed. “Maybe a little movement.”

  “Okay, but I don’t—”

  Casey kissed him.

  It was firm, and it was dry, and there was the briefest moment where Gus had the natural reaction to deepen the kiss, but he held it back. It was easier than he thought it would be, to push that innate desire down. It wasn’t about that, and Gus was finding that maybe he didn’t need it to be. Because out of all the kisses he’d received in his life, the four that counted, this was the one that meant the most. This was the one that made him feel the best. The safest. The happiest.

  And there was a little movement. Casey’s lips parted slightly, but instead of the scrape of a tongue, Gus felt a small sigh of air and somehow it was more. Casey cradled Gus’s face in his, his grip soft, thumbs brushing against Gus’s cheeks. Their noses bumped gently. Casey’s grip tightened slightly. His beard was soft against Gus’s chin and lips. Gus could almost taste the green tea Snapple Casey had drunk at the Strawberry Festival.

  Gus couldn’t say for certain how long it went on. Maybe seconds. Maybe up to a minute. But it was enough time that the lump in his throat melted away. He felt fuzzy-headed, whether from the kiss or the pot, he couldn’t quite say. It was pleasant, that low-thrum rolling through him like an undercurrent of electricity.

  Casey broke away first, and Gus made a low noise in the back of his throat that he would probably be embarrassed about when he was completely sober. He didn’t open his eyes right away, part of him convinced that Casey would have a look of disdain on his face because Gus had done something wrong. That even though Gus was trying, he still wasn’t completely normal yet.

  Then lips were on him again, this time on his cheek, first the left and then the right. Then his nose. Each eyelid, the heat of the kiss almost making him squirm. The last was on his forehead and he opened his eyes then, as Casey pulled away, hands trailing down Gus’s face and his arms until he linked their fingers together.

  Casey was watching him. When he saw he had Gus’s attention, he said, “Good, that was real good, Gustavo.”

  Gus said, “Yeah, yeah it was,” and neither of them chose to acknowledge the roughness in their voices.

  LATER, THEY lay on their backs on the floor side by side holding hands, shoulders touching. Every time Casey turned to look over at Gus, his hair would tickle Gus’s ear.

  Gus brought Casey’s hand and arm over his face, getting a close-up look at the sleeve of tattoos on his left arm. The centerpiece was a peacock on his forearm, the tail feathers lowered and stretched down along toward his wrist. The detail was remarkable, and Gus traced the feathers with a finger.

  There were flowers curled into the feathers attached to vines that twisted along his skin. The flowers were blue and purple and red, blooming across his skin.

  Gus turned his arm over and on the underside of his wrist, curled into the vines, lay a violet triangle, the bottom of the interior shaded black, until it faded up, leaving natural skin.

  “What’s that?” he murmured.

  “Ace pride,” Casey said, eyes on Gus. “I got it when I figured out who I was. It was my first. All the others came after.”

  “Why, though?” Gus asked as he dropped their arms between them.

  “Because I’m proud of who I am,” Casey said, a quirk to his lips. “Even if others might not understand. I had finally found a way to be comfortable in my own skin and I could breathe again.”

  “I like it when you breathe,” Gus said seriously. “I like it when you do a lot of things.”

  Casey grinned at him. “Ditto, Gustavo.”

  Gus didn’t know if he had the right to ask, but couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “Who didn’t understand?” He winced. “I mean, not that it’s any of my—”

  “My parents.”

  “Oh.” That was something Gus didn’t understand. Not completely. Sure, he never knew his mom, but he’d had Pastor Tommy. “Do you talk to them?”

  Casey shrugged. “Sometimes. Just to check in every once in a while. But it’s not something I like to do. And I don’t think they care all that much.”

  “But… they’re your parents.”

  Casey laughed quietly. “That doesn’t mean they do it right.” He pointed at another tattoo, this time on the soft skin of his right forearm near his elbow. It was of a small bird flying out of a broken cage. “I got this when I realized it would probably be better for me if I didn’t go home again. A little on the nose, but it felt right. And once I made that decision, that weight was gone, you know? It helped that I had Lottie to talk to when I needed it. She was the black sheep of her family growing up, so she understood. She didn’t have a lot to do with my parents anyway. They don’t think much of her. That’s okay, though. Because I think she’s awesome. She’s my family.”

  Gus tried to find the words to say
he understood. That he was sorry. That he was glad Casey had found a new home on his own. That he hoped maybe he could be a part of Casey’s home too. But that didn’t seem like what a normal person would say on a first date. So instead, he repeated “I like it when you breathe.”

  And then there was a knock on the door.

  “Huh,” Gus said. “People seem to do that a lot now.”

  “Knock on your door? You got people coming over all the time now, Grumpy Gus?”

  “Yes,” Gus said. “There’s you. And now there’s whoever is knocking on my door. It’s like it never stops.”

  “You should probably get it.”

  “Nah,” Gus said. “They’ll go away. And plus, I’m stoned, so I’m pretty sure I don’t want to see whoever it is.”

  Casey’s eyes went wide. “What if it’s pizza?”

  And holy shit, that sounded amazing. “Did you order pizza?”

  “No,” Casey said. “But what if?”

  “So… it’s hypothetical pizza?”

  “Dude. That’s my favorite kind. Hypothetically, it could also be pepperoni.”

  “We should get the door,” Gus said, because now all he could think about was pizza.

  “Okay,” Casey said. “You get the door. I’ll get my wallet. We’re on a date and I’m going to pay for it because you deserve it.”

  “You can’t Instagram this,” Gus said. “You are banned from Instagram right now.”

  “Why not?” Casey said. “That’s what food is for. To be Instagrammed and then consumed.”

  Gus pushed himself up off the floor, reluctantly letting go of Casey’s hand. “You’re such a hipster,” Gus said. It was supposed to be insulting, but it came out sounding so disgustingly fond that Gus was sure he was about to start shooting rainbows out his ass. “And I wasn’t talking about the food. I was talking about taking pictures of me while stoned and then posting them on the Internet. You could ruin my political aspirations.”

  “You want to be a politician?” Casey asked, sounding horrified.

  “Maybe,” Gus said as he stumbled toward the door. “You don’t know. I could be mayor of Abby. Or something. I’d legalize marijuana. And I’d let asexuals get married to whoever they want. And I’d start a pizza delivery service that specifically serves people that are stoned. Guess what I’d call it?”