by Blake Nelson
I was mostly angry at my dad. My counselor said this was partly because my dad and I were so much alike. Whenever he pointed this out, he acted very proud of himself, like this was a profound insight. I did not think this was a profound insight. Of course people are like their parents; it’s called genetics.
During the separation, Libby and I were living with my mom, so we mostly heard her side of things. But to be brutally honest, I could see my dad’s side, too. He got sick of us. It happens. You get sick of people. I know parents aren’t supposed to do that, but I could see how they could. Dad got bored and annoyed and pissed off and he bailed. Then he saw how lame being a fifty-year-old divorced loser was going to be and he came back. My sister, Libby, totally freaked. She didn’t understand it at all. But I did. It still made me mad but it was not incomprehensible.
My counselor’s office was across the street from our local mall. Sometimes I walked over to the mall afterward and got a smoothie or whatever and thought about what we had discussed. I suppose I did learn a few things from my time with the counselor. I just can’t remember what they are.
The main thing about when your parents split up is that they stop being your parents. They become like couples you know at your school who are breaking up. The whole WE ARE YOUR ALL-KNOWING AND ALL-POWERFUL PARENTAL FIGURES breaks down and they become Kayla and Josh having a fight in the parking lot. That’s the part that screws up the kids. The feeling that there are suddenly no ALL-POWERFUL PARENTAL FIGURES standing over them anymore. Kids need that. They need the protection. It’s sort of sad how fragile we are, how dependent. The whole situation is just embarrassing, when you get right down to it. Which is why it would be better if it didn’t happen.
But it did, so there you go. And then my dad came back and there were all sorts of weird mornings and weird evenings and weird this and that. “Things change,” my mother used to say to us, during the worst of it. They sure do.
A HOFF FAMILY VACATION (continued)
The “leaving your sister at the TeenZone” controversy blows over and the next day we pack up our snowboards and go to Mount Bachelor. Riding on the chair lift, I think about sophomore-year Christmas, when we went to Costa Rica on a different last-second vacation. Sadie and I had been going out for about three months at that time and it was weird because I didn’t know what I was supposed to do when we were apart. I called her a couple times, but my parents didn’t want to pay the international rates. So then I wrote her a letter. Like on paper, with a pen, and sent it through the mail. Sadie loved that. She never shut up about “the letter.” It was two pages, in my bad handwriting. It was pretty sappy, actually. It said things like I will love you for as long as the trees whisper in the moonlight, for as long as the mountains stand guard over the sea. Or some crap like that. I kid you not. I wrote that. I should give myself more credit. I was an okay boyfriend.
That night we go back to the TeenZone and meet up with Libby’s friend, Tasha. It turns out she lives nearby and they know each other from horse camp. Tasha’s all right. She’s an eighth grader like Libby, but she’s more mature somehow. The three of us play video games and goof around in the lodge. Tasha kind of flirts with me. That’s a little weird. Also, she does that thing where she sort of challenges you, calling you on stuff. But I don’t mind. She’s funny. And it’s not like there’s anyone else to talk to.
It snows all night on Wednesday, and Thursday is a spectacular day on the mountain. Libby and I ride up on the ski bus and I stare out the window at the mountain stream, semi-frozen, beside the road. I imagine myself as a young Lakota brave, picking my way along the creek bed on horseback. The warm sun, the blue sky, the muffled silence of the snowy forest—how permanent the natural world would seem to that person. And how wrong he would be.
Later, after dinner, Libby and I walk back to the TeenZone. Libby catches a stray snowflake in her mouth on the road. She says to me, “See, the world is not in such bad shape.” Tasha is waiting for us and gets even more flirty when she sees me. She and I talk a lot that night. We keep ending up alone in odd places and having strange little conversations.
TASHA: So how far have you gone?
ME: What do you mean?
TASHA: You know.
ME: Not that far.
TASHA: But you’re in high school! And you had a girlfriend!
ME: Just because you’re in high school doesn’t mean that happens.
TASHA: That’s not what I heard.
ME: Well, you heard wrong.
Or:
TASHA: Do you think there’s a difference between being in love and being in lust?
ME: I hope so.
TASHA: What’s the difference?
ME: Being in lust is just horniness.
TASHA: But it’s not, though. When you’re in lust, it’s still about that one person. It’s like love but with your body.
ME: Yeah, like you know so much about it.
TASHA: I know a lot about it. More than you, from the sounds of it.
Or:
TASHA: Did you ever get so passionate with your girlfriend you couldn’t control yourself?
ME: I can always control myself.
TASHA: Is that really passion, though? Isn’t passion when you totally lose yourself in the other person?
ME: On TV maybe. I don’t live on TV.
TASHA: If I’m not intoxicated by a person, I won’t waste my time. Why should I?
ME: That’s the kind of thing people say on TV.
Later, when it’s time to go home, Tasha and I end up standing together on the steps in front of the lodge. We’re waiting for my sister, who’s inside looking for her coat. We stand for a moment surrounded by the snow and the trees and the glowing moon. Suddenly, Tasha turns to me and gives me this dramatic look. It’s like she thinks we’re wildly in love and the whole night has been building up to this moment and now I’m supposed to take her into my arms and kiss her passionately.
I’m like, dude, you’re fourteen.
So we just stand there until my sister comes out. Later, I feel bad. I do like Tasha. She’s fun to argue with. People are interesting sometimes. I forget that. They’re interesting and complicated and sorta cute sometimes.
On Friday night, my dad wants to have a family activity. So we go ice-skating. It’s me and my mom and my dad and my sister. It’s like we’re all together. It’s like a beautiful dream. It’s like the Disney Channel. Except that my dad and I hate each other. And my mom hates herself. And my sister is humiliated by the bunch of us. And I’m secretly waiting for the inevitable devastation of our entire civilization.
But except for that.
On our last night, there’s an 80s Dance Party at the TeenZone. I go with Libby. I’ve never done so many social things with Libby, so it’s been an interesting week in terms of that. We really are “being a family,” whatever that means. We arrange to meet Tasha. I’m looking forward to that, actually. Could I be falling for her? No. She’s just entertaining.
But then Tasha shows up and she’s dressed up all sexy. I don’t know what to make of that. I mean, she’s got eye shadow and lip gloss and this low-cut dress on, like she’s trying to show cleavage. But she doesn’t have anything to show.
The music starts. “Girls on Film” is the first song. Tasha seems very focused on me. We dance a little. Then Libby goes off somewhere and leaves us alone, which is not good. Tasha and I end up dancing close and she gets a little touchy. So then I suggest we play video games, to hopefully keep things under control, but that’s just as bad. She’s bumping shoulders, bumping hips, I feel her hand graze my butt at one point. The hard part is, she smells good. And the top of her head seems to fit perfectly right under my chin. And there’s only so many times a girl can touch you and lean against you and brush her fingertips across your arm before you start to respond…
So we kiss. It just sort of happens, just for a second, next to Intergalactic Commandos or whatever. Then, before I can say anything, she’s pulled me into this lit
tle storage room. We really start making out then. It’s pretty crazy. After a minute of this, she looks up at me with one of her dramatic expressions.
“There’s something I haven’t told you,” she says. “I have a boyfriend.”
“Good!” I say back.
That makes her mad. We go back to the dance and I try to act normal, but she keeps giving me these angry looks. It’s all very awkward. Especially when Libby comes back. The two of them go off and talk, and they both ignore me after that.
We drive home on Sunday. Libby and I sit in the back of the Pilot. We wear our seat belts and don’t look at each other. She’s probably not thrilled about the whole Tasha situation. It was pretty weird.
We leave Sun River and get back on the main highway. Instantly, the outside world changes from shiny SUVs, shiny people, shiny eighth grade girls to dirty trucks, broken-down cars, dull-faced people looking across at you. I think about Tasha, how she rested her hand on the small of my back during the video games. How she raised her face so slyly up toward mine for that first kiss. At one point she whispered, “I like how you touch me.” Or some crazy thing. She’s in eighth grade!! Unbelievable.
Meanwhile, in the front seat, my dad is cursing the lack of radio reception. My mom is checking our home messages with her cell. There’s a message for me, she says. That’s a surprise. She hands me the cell phone and tells me to push 1.
I push it and listen: “Hey, James, Sadie here. I want to talk to you about something. If you wouldn’t mind. You’re probably off somewhere on vacation but can you give me a call when you get this? Thanks. See you.” I lower the phone from my ear.
Wow, I think.
Wow.
James Hoff
Junior AP English
Mr. Cogweiller
EXTRA CREDIT ASSIGNMENT: four-page paper on topic of your choice
POSSIBILITIES OF HOPE
Many people come up to me—well, no one has actually, but theoretically if someone came up to me—and asked, “James, what can I do to help stop the destruction of the planet and everything on it?” To these individuals I would say, “Fear not. There is hope.”
I can’t believe Sadie called me.
First of all, consider Native Americans. They are a model of sustainability. They lived with nature. Not on top of it. Not beating it with a baseball bat. They integrated themselves into the natural order of things, and did so with respect for other species and humility toward the earth.
I wonder what Sadie wants. Don’t think about it. She called. So call her back.
Other native cultures—the tribes of New Guinea, for instance—managed to thrive without any technological advancement. Did they somehow sense the suicidal nature of continuous development? Oddly enough, we think of these peoples’ lack of ambition as a sign of their inferior culture. They aren’t “driven.” They don’t “work hard/play hard” like we do. But the truth is, they are happy and healthy. They have established a harmonious existence on the earth.
I should have gotten some sun. And I have a new zit starting on my nose, which I can feel. I’ve gotta stop touching it.
Other cultures—the Greeks, for instance—were able to downshift from their dominant place as a center of trade and commerce. They were able to stop growing, stop conquering, and simply exist, content within themselves, not suffering from low self-esteem.
What could she want to talk about? What if it’s something about Will? What if she wants to meet somewhere, to talk, and I end up alone with her. I’ll kiss her. I totally will. No, I won’t. That would totally freak her out.
In other places, like Oslo, there is a sense of planning. There is an overriding intelligence to everything people do. People in Oslo would never buy a vehicle that gets ten miles to the gallon. It doesn’t make sense. Oslonians don’t allow lumber companies to destroy their forests. Or car companies to sit on their asses and not develop more efficient vehicles. They think about the consequences of things before they do them. Our government is mainly concerned with keeping us buying stuff, the crappier the better. But our government is also somewhat fluid. Which means there is a chance for change.
The End
[Not handed in]
A HOFF FAMILY VACATION (continued)
When we get home from Sun River, I bolt for the house and run straight for the phone. But then my dad yells at me and says I have to help unpack, so I run back out and empty the crap out of the car and drop it on Libby, who refuses to catch it. Most of it crashes on the pavement, and a few things roll down the driveway. Libby stands there with her arms crossed. She says, “Why don’t you go call Sadie instead of trashing our stuff?”
She knows Sadie called because my stupid mom announced it to the car after I listened to the message. My mom was like: “So are you and Sadie friends now?” No, Mom. We’re not friends. But we’re still in love with each other and we never had sex. Not to mention that she believes in positivity and the goodness of the human spirit while I believe in nothingness and the conflicted nature of the soul. So the “getting back together” thing isn’t going so great. But I’m trying.
Anyway, so I pick up the crap off the driveway and run inside, but now it’s like 10:15 at night and I’m not sure I should call this late. On the other hand, if I don’t call her, there’s the danger that I’ll see her at school and she might come up to me in the crowded hallway and say whatever she wants to say and then I won’t get a chance to talk to her privately. So I bound up the stairs and call Gabe really quick to see what he thinks, but he doesn’t answer. Then I call Jessica, who is perplexed by the problem.
“What do you think she wants?” she asks.
“I have no idea,” I answer.
So the “getting advice at the last minute” thing doesn’t go anywhere. Which means it’s up to me. I go to my room and flop on my bed and lie there for a second. I stare out the window at the trees outside. I still remember her home number by heart. I dial it and lie there. I put the phone to my ear. It rings. It answers.
“Hello?” says Sadie Kinnell.
It’s the most natural thing in the world to talk to her. Even though the rest of me is shivering with nerves, my voice sounds calm and clear, totally normal, my best self, which she always seemed to bring out.
She asks about my vacation, where we went, how it was. I tell her, going heavy on the mountains and the snowboarding and leaving out the fourteen-year-old drama queen. I ask if she’s ever read Black Elk Speaks. She has, of course. She says it broke her heart.
“Me, too,” I say back.
I continue along, conversing, asking questions. It is so great to talk to her, to actually discuss things, to not have to edit myself or pretend in any way. Oh my god, I think, I AM STILL SO TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH HER. I want to cry. But I don’t. I keep my mouth shut and listen and she conveniently starts talking about the pond by Carl Haney’s house and how they’re draining all the swamp area nearby, which will destroy the habitats of the local ducks and frogs and stuff. “That sucks,” I repeat several times. She says she talked to a woman who runs an organization that’s trying to stop the development. It’s called Save the Wetlands, and they’re getting a petition going to get the zoning board to approach the city council, etc. etc. I don’t really follow this part. The point is, this woman needs people to get signatures. Sadie is going to do it. Would I be interested? It would only be a couple days a week, after school…
I say yes. Of course I do. I say yes before she’s even finished telling me what exactly we’re doing. Yes yes yes. I will do it. Yes.
PART
5
James Hoff
Junior AP English
Mr. Cogweiller
EXTRA CREDIT ASSIGNMENT: four-page paper on topic of your choice
THE LESSONS OF OSLO
I went to Oslo with my dad when I was in seventh grade. He was going to a meeting there for work and he took me. We landed at the airport and went in a taxi to a big hotel in the city. At first, Oslo looked like any other ci
ty. But then I began to notice how organized it was. Like the lines on the road, the way the traffic lights worked, there was an advanced logic to things.
We went to the hotel and had lunch. My dad said the food in Oslo wasn’t so great, but I liked it. There were lots of rolls. The cups and bowls were different. The plates were square. The forks were stubbier than American forks.
That afternoon, my dad went to a meeting and I stayed in the hotel. He said I could walk around if I wanted, but I was afraid, so I stayed in the room and read my Harry Potter book. After a while, though, I stopped reading and looked out the window. It was cold and misty and very gray outside. The cars were smaller than our cars. And the trucks seemed like toys somehow. I thought, These poor people. They can’t afford real trucks. They have to do everything really small and puny because they’re not Americans like us.
I went downstairs. I told the lady at the front desk that I was going for a walk. I stepped through the sliding glass doors and onto the street. It was very cold, but people were walking around. The Oslonians looked different from Americans. The actual shape of their faces was different. But they were very trim and well dressed. I was careful to stay out of their way. They looked busy.
I walked down the main street. Everyone had the latest cell phones and headsets. They had their odd minicars, and their Mercedes buses and their sleek, colorful streetcars. I went into a supermarket and everything was small and compact and computerized. It was like being in a science fiction movie, but only ten years in the future. Everything felt like it was designed very carefully. Everything was there for a reason. And it wasn’t like they were walking around congratulating themselves about it. They just did it because that was the logical thing to do.
