Be Good Be Real Be Crazy

by Chelsey Philpot

  DEDICATION

  For Levi,

  I

  fell

  in

  love.

  That changes everything.

  EPIGRAPH

  Listen to the scientist . . .

  “Do not look at stars as bright spots only. Try to take in the vastness of the universe.”

  —Maria Mitchell

  the poet . . .

  “In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors.”

  —William Blake

  the philosopher . . .

  “All things in the universe arrange themselves to each person anew.”

  —Ralph Waldo Emerson

  and then, perhaps, write your own. . . .

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  The Parable of Lopsided Love

  The Island at the End of the World—or Maybe Just Florida

  The Parable of the Anywhere Girl

  The Night of Fiery Destruction and the Morning of Life-Changing Decisions

  The Parable of the Ordinary Guy (Who Just Wanted Something to Believe In)

  On the Road to Glory or Disaster

  Not as It Was Planned, but as It Must Be

  The Parable of the Accidental Oracle and the Forgotten Place

  The Strangest Show on Earth

  The Road to Away / The Road to Somewhere

  The Vision of a Failed Utopia

  The Parable of the Boy Genius

  The Rest Stop of Purgatory

  The Parable of the Never Been Anywhere Guy and the Four Miracles

  The Inn Where Time Stopped and Began

  Looking for Hope on the Hudson

  The Kindness of Strangers in a City Called Hope

  The Parable of the Girl Who Would Choose Her Own Name

  The Warehouse of Dancers and Dreamers

  The Car of Celestial Stink and the Town of Unexpected Everything

  The Parable of the Girl Who Could Break

  The Beach of Sand and Snow

  The Hospital Room of Broken Things

  Uncle Joe No Relation

  The Parable of Nobody Who Became Somebody

  The Car Ride of Truth and the Morning of the Day the World Could End

  Meeting the Wizard Who Was Just a Man

  The Parable of the Future Mad Physicist

  The Watching of the End of the World

  The Parable of the End of the World

  Acknowledgments

  Back Ads

  About the Author

  Books by Chelsey Philpot

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  THE PARABLE OF LOPSIDED LOVE

  ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE was a gentle giant of a boy and he fell in love with an unknowable mystery of a girl who did not, could not, love him back—at least not in the way he loved her.

  When did their one-sided romance begin? The day they first met? Was that when his heart flooded? It was so strange that he could remember everything else about that afternoon and not that one detail.

  It was a beautiful Tuesday in June on the small island paradise off the coast of Florida. The Girl didn’t drift into La Isla Souvenirs the way that most tourists did, sliding their hands over bric-a-brac, clicking and clacking shot glasses against one another, rubbing the T-shirts between their fingers to gauge the scratchiness of the cheap cotton.

  No, she pushed her way between the stuffed racks and packed shelves as if her default mode was to anticipate resistance. Her feet were bare and coated with a layer of white sand. Her hair was the color of fruit punch and her left ear was a semicircle of silver, copper, and plastic piercings.

  She didn’t say anything as she made her way toward the jewelry display on the wall near the dressing room. She hummed like she wanted to be heard while she picked up tacky necklace after tacky necklace. She tried on all the plastic bangles at once and wiggled her arm in the air, making them rattle like pebbles trapped in a balloon. She slipped cheap rings onto her left hand until all five fingers were hidden and then shook them off, letting each one fall onto the aluminum display tray with a ping.

  The first time her eyes met his in the warped floor mirror, the Boy blushed and changed the paper in the cash register, even though the roll in there was far from done. The second time, she smiled and puckered her lips like a fish. He laughed. The third time, she crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. He laughed again. He laughed all the times after, too.

  Her exit was as abrupt as her entrance. She left slapping her feet to an inconsistent rhythm that oddly complemented her off-key humming. When she reached the place where the shade from the store’s awning stopped and the sun-baked wood of the boardwalk began, she paused, spun on the balls of her feet, and smiled. Before the Boy thought to smile back, she was gone, leaving her footprints on the floor and a feeling of emptiness where there had been none before.

  The Boy knew he should have stopped her. He should have asked her to turn out her pockets or called his dads to the front or recited the warning on the sign taped to the cash register, the one that promised, “All Shoplifters Will Be Prosecuted to the Fullest Extent of the Law.” But he did none of those things.

  Maybe he had started loving her that first afternoon? When, after all, does the fall begin—at the first thought of flight or the moment you’re airborne?

  However, the Boy could tell you the exact moment he knew he loved her. It was 3:03 p.m. on a July Thursday. She had just come through the curtains that separated the front of the store from the back. Her shoulders were hunched, her steps uncertain. On her wrist was the rope bracelet he had seen her take the first day. The Boy liked the idea of sharing a secret with her, so he never told his dads—not before, and certainly not after they hired her.

  The curtain was still swinging behind her when the Girl looked up and saw him watching her. “I need your help,” she said.

  Four.

  Very.

  Simple.

  Words.

  In that moment, the universe paused.

  In that moment, he felt the bliss of being needed, of having a purpose. In that moment, he knew he was in love.

  He understood from the beginning that she could not love him back the same way he loved her. She was too not-of-this-place. Too strangely beautiful to love a confused boy with a worried heart.

  Theirs would be a lopsided love. But it would be enough.

  It had to be.

  THE ISLAND AT THE END OF THE WORLD—OR MAYBE JUST FLORIDA

  HOMER ONLY NEEDED TO HEAR the opening chords of the song about to play on La Isla Souvenirs’ ancient stereo to know that he had to change the station—and fast. Unfortunately, he didn’t even have time to turn around before his brother’s voice traveled loud and clear from behind the men’s swimsuit rack.

  “I love this song. Homes, turn it up.”

  His eyes still on the computer screen and the order form he’d been working on all morning, Homer reached back and slowly turned the ball of tape that served as the volume knob on the store’s stereo until the music faded from mind-numbing to a mere murmur.

  “Hey—” Einstein’s voice cracked with indignation as a hanger from the swimsuit rack caught the neck of his T-shirt. “Not cool, Homes.”

  Homer raised both arms above his head like he was stretching. “Awww.” He forced a yawn as he turned around. “Would you believe the sound system’s broken again?” Homer dropped his arms and immediately focused his eyes on the computer screen so he wouldn’t have to meet Einstein’s stare.

  “You’re the worst liar in the whole world,” Einstein said as he shook himself loose. “I hate these new h
angers.”

  Homer glanced down at his little brother. His round cheeks and the fact that he was short for his age made Einstein look younger than thirteen. Add in his puffy afro, smudgy glasses, and rotating selection of cheesy science T-shirts, and it was no wonder strangers talked to him like he was ten. “How can you see through all that gunk? Here.” Homer grabbed the roll of paper towels from beside the stereo and tossed it to Einstein. The roll hit the floor and opened like a carpet, stopping when it hit the legs of the beach umbrella display. “Guess they don’t teach hand-eye coordination at Mercy State University, huh?”

  “Don’t change the topic.” Einstein grunted dramatically as he bent forward. “D.B. said I get to be in charge of the music the first week of break. Dad, isn’t that what you said?” Einstein’s voice rose and cracked as he ripped a square of paper from the roll and halfheartedly wiped his glasses.

  “Steiner, I’m in the front of the store. Not on another island. No need to shout.” The top of D.B.’s head appeared over the shelves nearest the store’s entrance, the ones that were stuffed with beer koozies, cheap sunglasses, pinwheels, and plastic plantain figures. The floorboards, swollen with humidity and worn by years and years of shoppers coming and going, creaked under D.B.’s feet as he walked toward the counter. “What is it, my beloved second born?”

  Einstein ignored D.B.’s sarcasm. “Homer is messing with the music and it’s my choice today.”

  “I don’t know how you can like that song,” Homer interrupted. “The lyrics are ridiculous. Listening to it is a betrayal of your species or something.”

  “First, Apollo Aces is awesome,” Einstein sniffed. “And second, what do you mean by my ‘species’? The socially inept?”

  “No.” Homer leaned against the wall, taking care not to crack his head on the shelf behind the cash register. “I mean the genius sapiens species. I bet you’re the only genius in the world who loves Apollo Aces’s mindless pop ballads. What would your idols at I-9 think if they knew?”

  Einstein scoffed so hard his glasses, which were somehow even more smudged than before he cleaned them, slid to the ball of his nose. “So now you’re maligning my choice of role models as well as my musical preferences?” Einstein crossed his arms. “For the record, I imagine that Dr. Az and the other I-9 scientists are very open-minded when it comes to cultural tastes—unlike some individuals.”

  “Okay,” D.B. interrupted. “Homes, just because you’re a giant doesn’t mean you get to be music dictator. Steiner, you know your father and I fully support your intellectual curiosity.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Especially if it should lead to a billion-dollar discovery that allows us to retire while we’re still young and extremely handsome.” D.B. paused. “That said, you are a certified genius. Can’t you come up with a hobby that’s a little less morbid than studying the demise of humanity?”

  “Et tu, D.B.?” Einstein pressed his hands over his heart. “The world’s leading physicist says the planet could get sucked into a black hole in a few weeks and you guys are more worried about the glow stick order getting here in time for New Year’s Eve than about whether human beings will still be around to celebrate.” Einstein flung his hands in the air, nearly knocking over an inflatable palm tree. “Is Mia the only person on this island who understands me?” Einstein waited for the palm tree to stop swaying before he continued. “Mia doesn’t think I-9 and Dr. Az are a joke. In fact, she thinks they’re both ‘super-duper fascinating.’” Einstein raised one eyebrow. “Her words exactly.”

  Homer coughed and started straightening the rows of ChapSticks in the cardboard display next to the cash register. Of course Mia will listen to Einstein ramble for hours.

  “On that note, Madame Curie is out of mice, so if anyone needs me, I’ll be at the pet store,” Einstein said. A few stomps later, he was on the boardwalk and out of sight.

  “I really hope he grows out of this I-9 thing. The snake thing would be good, too.” D.B. sighed, but quickly pasted a smile on his face as he waved at a woman and a little girl in matching green sundresses who were sifting through a bin of tie-dye tank tops. “How’s it going, folks? Those are part of the post-Thanksgiving bonanza.” He pointed to a sign on the wall above the bin. “Fifteen percent off all weekend.”

  “Hey, Dad,” Homer said, tapping the side of the store computer screen. “You want to come look at this before I send it?” He made a few adjustments to the spreadsheet and then slid out from behind the counter so D.B. could slide in.

  “Did you grow overnight? You get taller. Einstein’s hair and brain get bigger.” D.B. frowned and wiggled the mouse side to side, but when a family of four shuffled past, he smiled. “Hi there, folks. Everything’s fifteen percent off.” He pointed to the sign again. “Part of the annual end-of-the-year sale.”

  “Well, isn’t that just our luck.” The man spoke like he was storing marshmallows in his cheeks.

  Homer waited until the dad, mom, daughter, and son were by the shelves in front of the changing rooms before he whispered, “Ten bucks. Suburb of Omaha.”

  “You’re on,” D.B. said, turning his eyes back to the computer. “This order looks good. I’ll send it this afternoon. The stock should be here for you and Mia to go through on Monday.” D.B. whirled around so quickly, Homer was startled into leaning back. “Speaking of Mia,” D.B. continued, “I need you to stop by her place on your way home.”

  “Why?” Homer felt his cheeks prickle.

  “I need you to remind her about the lot.”

  Homer suddenly felt like all the spit had been vacuumed out of his mouth. “Can’t you postpone again? It’s not like it’s easy to find a place to park a boat.”

  “Homes, I wish I could. But I’ve had Doug and his crew reschedule three times. If I ask again, I’m not sure the lot will ever get repaved.” D.B. tapped his knuckles against the countertop one, two, three times, then looked up at the ceiling—key signs that a class-A rant was coming on.

  “With as much as that poor kid has had to move around, all the shit she’s been through,” he said, “it’s a freaking miracle that she turned out so great, so positive.” D.B.’s voice got louder. “Mia’s story is a damn case study, a freaking perfect example of how messed up the system is. And not just in Alabama.” D.B. exhaled. “Mia was born in Alabama, right?”

  “I think so.”

  “Anyway, it’s messed up here in Florida, too. Your dad and I were lucky, plain and simple. We had a great attorney. Adopting you and Einstein was just a matter of paperwork and patience.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  When D.B. looked at Homer, his eyes glistened at the corners, but his hands were knotted into fists. “Kids shouldn’t be shuffled around like pieces in a board game.” His voice softened to just above a whisper. “You’d have to be superhuman to go through all that and not end up with some scars.”

  “Dad?”

  D.B. sighed. “Yes, my one-and-only firstborn?”

  “I’ll remind her. Can I go now?” Homer asked, already shuffling toward the back office. “I want to catch Mia before her shift.”

  “Go on,” D.B. replied, the tension in his body melting like a Popsicle on a summer afternoon. “Remind her that she’s welcome to stay with us. And that if there’s anything we can do, we’ll do it.” He pressed his hands against the counter. “It takes a village. Really does. And she doesn’t have to do it alone.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  “Good.”

  Mia was perched on the deck of her small sailboat, her tan arms folded over the lower railing and her legs swinging against the sides as if the boat was bobbing on gentle waves instead of planted on asphalt. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail that left long strands of cherry red drifting around her face. Her body was turned toward Homer, but she was looking forward over the bow at the harbor.

  Most of the time, Homer couldn’t help but smile when he saw her. But every now and then, just thinking about Mia caused his insid
es to feel like hurt and anxiety had declared war and both sides were winning.

  It wasn’t anything she said or did. It was all the things Mia didn’t say or do. She never mentioned La Isla de Plátanos using the future tense or called it her “home.” She cheerfully refused to move into an apartment, preferring her house on wheels. And though she hated to wear shoes, she always had a pair with her. If she had kept flip-flops or wedges in her purse, Homer would have thought nothing of it. But she carried sneakers, and sneakers were made for running.

  Homer literally tried to shake his thoughts from his head as he moved across the lot. But when he stopped at the circle of junk around the S.S. Canterbury, his brain was still buzzing.

  Homer and Einstein had helped Mia build her “gate” two days after she started working at the store. The memory of how methodically Einstein had gathered sun-faded beer cans to decorate the entrance posts—two shredded tires—made Homer smile. When Homer had found two buoys on the beach, both stained green with dried sea gunk, Mia had squealed and hugged him around the waist. He’d been amazed and a little stupefied at how easy it was to make her happy. It had been a good day.

  “Hey, you.” Mia’s voice shocked Homer back into the present.

  “Oh, hey.” Homer stopped a few feet out from the tire posts, just far enough that he had to look up to see her. She was still resting her chin on her arms, swinging her legs, looking at Homer now instead of the water.

  “Question. Do you think I look Old McGee-ish today?” Each time one of Mia’s heels connected with the hull, a sound, like someone playing a huge drum far in the distance, boomed. Thump. Thump. Thump.

  “Sorry. What’d you ask?” Homer had to take his hand out of his pocket to shield his eyes as he looked up.

  “You know, I’m turning twenty exactly three days after the world’s supposed to end. Einstein told me.” Mia raised her arms above her head, stretching them behind her and arching her back so that her T-shirt pulled against the round ball of her stomach. “December twenty-third, the date I officially become old.”

  “How can you listen to Einstein’s rambling? It’s so depressing.”