Calvin

by Martine Leavitt

  Susie: How do you know girls don’t want to kiss you? Have you ever tried?

  Me: No. You have to talk to them first. I think that’s the rule.

  Susie: Right. And you don’t talk to girls. And why is that?

  Hobbes: He’s socially awkward.

  Me: I’m socially awkward.

  Susie: They don’t know that. I know it, but I don’t tell them. I let them be intimidated by your silence.

  Me: Why?

  Susie: Because I wanted to be your first kiss.

  Me:

  Susie:

  Me: Have you ever kissed anyone?

  Susie: Of course. I had to practice so that when you finally got around to kissing me, one of us would know what to do.

  Me: Always a good idea to plan ahead.

  So I kissed her.

  I kissed her and she kissed me back so I kept kissing her and she kept kissing me and we kissed and kissed and I wondered if anybody else in the world had ever felt like this because how did they ever stop, and me in my parka and snow pants and hat and her in hers, we couldn’t stop. I thought we would burn a hole in the ice.

  That kiss felt like the meaning of life.

  Me: That kiss felt like the meaning of life.

  Susie giggled.

  Hobbes: You made her giggle. Yowza!

  Me (to Hobbes): Out!

  Susie: What?

  Me: I’m speaking to Hobbes.

  Susie: Stop it or I’ll make you cry.

  Me: Oh, yeah? Like to see you try.

  So she kissed me again, and I swear it did, Bill, I swear it made me cry, and for the first time I knew something my brain could never know, and for the first time I liked that it could ask a bigger question than it or I could answer.

  When we stopped to breathe, I opened my eyes and the moonlight and starlight filled up the tent.

  Me: Now I understand why a guy can give up his freedom and shackle himself to one girl and spend the rest of his life working at a job he hates just to support the girl’s offspring and then he dies, the end.

  Susie: Yeah, and now I understand why a girl can give up her freedom and shackle herself to one guy and ruin her body giving birth to the guy’s offspring and put her career on hold and not realize her dreams of travel so she can cook and clean and raise the offspring of the guy and then she dies, the end.

  Me: Wow. You win.

  I drew her close.

  Me: You’re real, Susie. Even if you’re not, you’re the realest thing that’s ever happened to me.

  When I woke up in the morning, the sun was rising and a warm wind was blowing outside and Susie was looking at me with this Mona Lisa smile on her face.

  I jumped up, knowing we had to travel as fast as we could, knowing we didn’t have enough food and water for a whole day, knowing it was probably going to take us a whole day, knowing you’d be there, Bill, waiting, wondering, worrying, with that comic strip.

  Susie: Good morning, Calvin.

  Hobbes: Good morning, Calvin.

  Me: Morning.

  Susie:

  Me: Don’t bother rolling up your sleeping bag. We’re leaving the stuff behind.

  She was staring at me funny.

  Me: What? I know it cost money, but maybe we can come back for it with a snowmobile later. The sled is slowing us down, and we’ve got to get a serious move on. We’re leaving it.

  Susie: Is that all?

  Me: Should there be something else?

  Susie: Yes.

  Me: What?

  Susie: Well, we kissed, you know.

  Me: I haven’t forgotten.

  Susie: You can’t kiss me and act like everything is the same.

  Me: I’m not acting.

  Hobbes: Here we go.

  Susie: You have to wake up in the morning and treat me like somebody who has exchanged saliva with you for the first time.

  Me: Susie, let me explain: We have to go.

  Susie: Argh. Never mind.

  She sat up and started lacing her boots.

  Susie: We kissed.

  Why was I so scared to tell her that at the age of seventeen I had just had the happiest event of my life, and it was all downhill from here because Susie McLean had kissed me like she meant it? And how I was scared that it might not be real, or it might not ever happen again because life wasn’t meant to be that lucky?

  But the expression on her face was the same as she’d had in first grade when I’d called her gross and booger brain. It was the same face I’d thrown snowballs at, and I knew I had to tell her.

  Me: Okay, let me explain something to you.

  I put my hand on hers so she would stop lacing her boots.

  Me: See, Sooz, your brain stem takes care of your biological functions: your heart beating and your lungs breathing. That’s the part of your brain that wires you up to mature and produce hormones and so on. Okay, mine did a good job on the hormones, at least. And then there’s the R-complex or your reptile brain, and that one is responsible for basic survival. It’s aggressive and territorial and drives you to have sex. That part of my brain also works well, to my huge relief. And then there’s the limbic system, and that’s over your emotions and moods. That’s the one that makes you fall in love. That one took care of business when I was in first grade.

  Susie (smiling soft):

  Me: And then there’s the cerebral cortex. The cerebral cortex is the brain that is intuitive and analytical and creative and spiritual. The cerebral cortex is the brain that is responsible for art and science and all the things that make us human. That’s the brain that makes you get married in a church and makes you stay in the relationship for sixty years and makes you write poetry to your wife when she’s seventy years old. And that, Sooz, is the part of my brain that may be sick but is firing on all cylinders over you right now.

  Susie: Your cerebral cortex?

  Me: Yup.

  Susie: That’s the most romantic thing … I mean, ditto.

  Me: Ditto? I make this whole long speech and you say ditto?

  Susie: Okay, let me put it this way: your cerebral cortex is firing up my R-complex.

  Me: That sounds interesting.

  Susie: Oh, it is, it is.

  She stood up.

  Susie: But we have to go.

  We quickly ate our peanut butter tubes and our raisins, and I kept glancing at her and she kept being there. When we were done she dug in the duffel bag for the compass and pulled something out with a whoop.

  Susie: Cookies!

  Me: Cookies?

  Susie: Thank you, Orvil Watts!

  We grinned at each other. Susie checked the compass and we got walking.

  It wasn’t a white sun, it was orange as tiger fur. The lake ice was rough now, slabs like tumbled blocks, and swells of shattered ice. Soon I was sick of hearing my own breath pumping in my ears.

  We were still sore and blistery from the day before, and it just got worse. We put one foot in front of the other until I forgot why I was doing this and where I was and who I was. Hobbes growled a lot. For a long time we didn’t talk. We were stuck in that place between hating to move and not having any other option.

  Susie checked the compass often.

  Susie: What does S stand for again?

  Me: It’s a direction.

  Susie: What’s a direction?

  Directions didn’t mean much in the middle of a white-lake nothing.

  Orvil was right when he said the lake was a leftover ocean. People who only looked at her from shore, from solid ground, never really knew anything about the vastness of her. She was an immortal being. Immortal beings don’t understand mortals. They don’t understand what it feels like to know that any given minute might be your last. The lake didn’t know what it felt like to be hungry, when your stomach started digesting its own protective lining and your intestines were collapsing in on themselves and your liver and pancreas were puzzled and on standby and all your cellular functions had nothing to function with.

  Lat
er in the day the sky was white-blue and the ice was blue-white and it felt like we were in a sensory deprivation cell. We weren’t even casting shadows. It was warmer than the day before, a lot warmer, in fact, but the wind never let up, and it sucked the heat and water right out of us. We took sips of water, and I made Susie drink the last bit. I started talking all over the place to keep our minds off it.

  Susie: You’re scared, aren’t you.

  Me: Why do you say that?

  Susie: Because you’re talking a lot. You’re trying to keep my mind off things.

  Me: Things like what?

  Susie: Like I can’t feel my feet anymore.

  Me: Did you know it is possible to find two snowflakes exactly alike?

  Susie: No. It’s not.

  Me: Yes, it is. Of course, the odds of finding twin snowflakes is one in 10158, which is greater than the number of atoms in the universe.

  Susie: It’s cool to think that odds can be bigger than the universe.

  Hobbes: The odds of you making it home alive are bigger than the universe.

  Me: Susie, do you believe in God?

  Susie: You asked me that before.

  Me: Yeah, but that was when I thought he gave us a car.

  Susie: You can’t believe only when you get stuff.

  Me: So are you saying you do?

  Susie: Yes.

  Me: You do? Really?

  Susie: Yes.

  Me: Why?

  Susie: Don’t act like it’s so strange—me and three billion other people in the world.

  Me: So you believe so you can be part of a club? What about evolution?

  Susie: Evolution—maybe that’s the way God does it. Maybe God came down every so often and said, Hey Life, Get Complex!

  Hobbes: And then he created the tiger and rested from his labors.

  Me: There’s no God.

  Susie: Prove it.

  Me: Haven’t you heard of Russell’s teapot?

  Susie: Huh?

  Me: This philosopher guy, Bertrand Russell—he said, if I say there’s a teapot orbiting the sun somewhere, it’s up to me to prove it, not up to the other guy to disprove it.

  Susie: So?

  Me: So? The teapot? You prove it.

  Susie: Of course there’s a teapot.

  Me:

  Susie: Quantum physics, anyone? Infinite number of universes? In one of those universes is a teapot in space.

  Me: Is there tea in it?

  Susie: Warm, with sugar.

  Me: Are there crumpets?

  Susie: What’s a crumpet?

  Me: Something that goes with tea.

  Susie: Then there shall be crumpets.

  Me: So why doesn’t God show himself?

  Susie: I don’t know—maybe I don’t believe enough. Half of me yes, half of me no, but I always speak for the yes side. And I mean, if there is a God, it’s probably a good idea to believe in him. But if there isn’t a God, then we’re just an accident of nature, a virus, pond scum gone berserk, and it won’t matter one way or another if I believe or not because who cares?

  Me:

  Susie: And so if it doesn’t matter, then I choose to believe. There’s something mindful about it, about the universe having a heart, us being watched over, maybe life and everything meaning something …

  Me:

  Susie:

  Me: I guess I wonder, who is in charge here? Where is the evidence of the Ultimate Grownup? Seems like everyone goes around thinking someone is in charge, and they go through their lives thinking that the higher they get on the mountain, the closer they get to meeting the guru on top. And then one day they get to the top and nobody’s there. God could clear up a lot of things if he’d just show up to a meeting at the UN or make a brief appearance at the White House, maybe the Pentagon, Times Square—

  Hobbes: Free all the tigers in the zoos…!

  Me: You’d think somebody who hears a tiger all the time could believe in something other people don’t see. But actually it makes it worse. Maybe the first guy who invented God was delusional. Maybe if reality is up for grabs, then there’s no Ultimate Reality, which is what God would be in charge of if there was one.

  Susie was concentrating, like she was replaying in her mind every word I just said.

  Susie: That’s the thing, isn’t it. Why doesn’t he show himself? Course some people say he does—to them—but people don’t believe them and they kill them or beat them up or drive them away for saying it, and some people do believe it but use it to make themselves think they’re better than anybody else which causes all kinds of problems. God’s probably sitting up there smacking his forehead and saying, kids, kids, what’m I gonna do with you?

  We walked along without talking for a while, but walking without talking felt desperate and boring and soon all you could think about was the pain in your legs and food and water and sleep.

  Me: It will be awesome when Bill shows himself.

  Susie: He burned out. You can’t do something that consistently brilliant for ten years and not burn out.

  Me: No excuse to disappear.

  Susie: He knew he’d done his best work. He worked like a madman. He needed a rest.

  Me: No reason to deny interviews, not show up for awards, refuse to answer fan mail.

  Susie: He rejects fandom. He’s modest. Sensible. He knows all that stuff is shallow and pointless.

  Me: He’s an artist! Art means communication! Why doesn’t he communicate?

  Susie: Maybe someday he will. Even Lee Salem said that, said Bill hasn’t locked the door and thrown away the key. He’s just not a sellout, is all. He thinks selling out is buying into someone else’s values. Or maybe he knows there’s power in creating something and then stepping out of the way. All that silence, that refusal to show up for adulation—it forces you to look harder at the creation itself, like he’s saying, this is what I have to say. You laugh, you cry, you think, you change—and that’s the point.

  We walked in silence for a long time. She was getting slower, breathing harder, but she picked up a little when we talked.

  Me: He’ll be onshore with the comic strip when we get there. He’ll swear us to secrecy, and we’ll take it to our graves.

  Susie. Okay. How much longer?

  Me: Not much.

  Susie: Promise?

  Me: Promise.

  Susie: Calvin, this past year?

  Me: Yeah?

  Susie: That was the worst part, not having talks about stuff like this.

  Me: Yeah. That was the worst for me, too.

  Susie gave me one cookie.

  Me: You eat mine.

  Susie: Why?

  Me: I’m rationing.

  Susie: I’m the leader of this expedition. I’ll say when we’re rationing.

  Me: All great leaders listen to the rank and file.

  Susie: I think you think you don’t deserve that cookie.

  Me: And you’d be right. You know what’s interesting to me about the digestive process? We know empirically that the food in your stomach can be all colors. Like when you throw up you never know what color it’s going to be. But you know pretty much what color it’s going to be when it comes out the other end. I guess bile does that—makes everything brown. Unless you’re a baby. My mom’s cousin had a baby and his poop was always surprising. Once he had a game piece in there, the Monopoly iron. Another time he had a Lego. Blue.

  Susie was staring at the cookie with a disgusted look on her face.

  Susie: I’m eating it anyway, but only if you eat yours. We’ll take a bite at the same time.

  Slowly we lifted our cookies, staring into each other’s eyes. We bit in at the same time, and then stuffed the rest into our mouths as fast as we could.

  * * *

  Lunchtime had come and gone without any lunch except oatmeal cookies, which Susie handed out like hundred-dollar bills. My legs felt like lead prostheses and still no sight of shore. The wind coming from the south was relentless. It never slowed or took a
breath.

  Susie was taking deep breaths. All I could think about was food.

  Me: Did you know I disagree with both individual and world hunger?

  Susie: And war.

  Me: And war. I bet if we got all the Mensas and all the big moneymakers and all the big technology brains together, and all the artists and musicians and filmmakers, and put them in a room and said, don’t come out until you’ve solved world hunger and war, I bet they could do it. Right, Susie?

  Susie nodded.

  Me: You have to answer.

  Susie: Yeah. I bet, too.

  It sounded like yeahh ah beh too because her mouth was as cold and dry as mine was.

  Me: Which raises a philosophical question. If I’m against war, how does this impact the decisions I make on a more personal level? Take Maurice. When he acts like a jerk toward me, like some countries do toward others, do I fight back? Isn’t that how wars are started? It goes against my principles to lower myself to his level of behavior, but I’ve tried reasoning with him, I’ve tried being nice to him, I’ve tried being a good sport, and things just get worse.

  Susie: Why didn’t you ever tell me?

  Me: You mean why didn’t I call on my allies? Should I have involved them in peace negotiations? Do you think that would work?

  Susie: No.

  Me: We’d have to impose sanctions. Like you could refuse to talk to him, refuse to let him throw his arm around you as you’re walking down the hall, for example. Not share my sandwich with him.

  Susie: That was your sandwich?

  Me: It’s always my sandwich. He doesn’t share his own.

  Susie: Hmm … You could just punch him in the nose.

  Me: Maybe it’s the uneven distribution of resources that causes the problems.

  Hobbes: You unevenly distributed your peanut butter.

  Me: So stupid how some people have four toilets and some people have none, how NBA players get a new pair of shoes for every other game while some kids go their whole lives without a single pair. Right, Susie?

  Susie: Right.

  She said right without the t on the end of it.

  Me: And what is it about balls anyway? Find a person who can hit a ball really well with a stick or put one through a hoop or knock one into a little hole in the ground, and we pay them bazillions of dollars. Seriously, people, it’s a ball. A toy! Huh, Susie? What if we gave all that money to the poor people, set them up in business or something?