by Dyan Sheldon
The movie has ended. Tonight they watched a science-fiction film about highly evolved aliens who come to save the Earth from the destruction caused by humans, which has led to a discussion about entertainment versus information.
Right now would be a good example of how Josh’s preoccupation with Jenevieve “My Friends Call Me Jena” Capistrano interferes with his everyday existence. He sits in an armchair facing Carver and Sal, looking as if he is following their argument with thoughtful interest, but, having changed his mind about Jenevieve Capistrano being another girl among millions, what he’s really doing is wondering if he’ll ever get to talk to her in a meaningful and unembarrassing way. The way he talks to his family, his friends and his cat.
“But it was informative,” Sal is saying. “It showed you what human nature is like. I mean, come on, man, look what happened to the poor aliens. All they wanted to do was help. But we wouldn’t let them. That was the whole point of the movie.”
“I get all that,” concedes Carver. “I’m not debating it had a message, but it was buried in shoot-outs and chases.”
Sal’s sigh is heavy with sarcasm. They have had this discussion – or one very similar – before. “But—”
“But, firstly, most people who see that movie aren’t going to come away musing about human behaviour or how we’re killing the planet. They’re going to be thinking about what they’d do if there was an alien invasion. They’re going to be wondering if they could make a bunker in the basement.”
“And secondly?”
“And secondly, even if they are thinking, Boy, people are pretty grim, what advanced life form would want to try to help us when, if we don’t kill them, we’d put them in a zoo? they’re going to forget that by the time they get in the car. What they’ll remember is whether or not it was exciting and had some good jokes.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” demands Sal. “Everything doesn’t have to be a documentary about the end of life as we know it.” Carver is going to be an environmental scientist; when it’s his turn to pick a movie they almost always wind up watching a documentary. A depressing documentary, according to some. “You can entertain and inform at the same time. People don’t want lectures.”
“No, what they want are special effects. Talking toys. Flying broomsticks. Animals that sing and dance. So they can forget about anything serious and just have a good time.”
“!Madre de dios!” Sal’s voice rises. “As usual, you’re totally ignoring the power of plot and character.”
Carver’s voice doesn’t rise; he might be talking about socks. “And, as usual, you are totally ignoring the talent people have for putting their heads in the sand and seeing only what they want to see.”
Carver’s calm only makes Sal more emotional. He waves his hands in the air. “That’s why you wrap your message in a good story. Lure them into it. Sugar coating on the pill.”
“Now’s not the time for that shit,” says Carver. “This planet has some serious problems that need some serious solutions.”
“But you love Star Trek and Blade Runner and Hitchhiker’s Guide—”
“They haven’t changed anything, though, have they? They’ve entertained and amused and made some people a lot of money.”
“Josh, man,” moans Sal, “help me out here, will you? I’m starting to lose the will to live.” Josh continues staring into space. Sal picks up a pretzel from the bowl on the table and aims it at Josh’s head. It bounces off his glasses.
“Hey!” He blinks like someone who’s just stepped out of a deep, dark cave. “What’s up with you? What’d you do that for?”
“What’s up with me?” Sal laughs. Sarcastically. “What’s up with you? You’ve been acting like a refugee from The Boy Who Wasn’t There all week.” The Boy Who Wasn’t There is a favourite movie of Sal’s, about a teenager whose body is taken over by beings who can move through time the way humans cross a room.
“Nothing’s up with me.” Josh picks the pretzel from his lap and pops it into his mouth. “I was just thinking, that’s all.”
“You know, Sal’s right,” says Carver. “You have definitely been mind-surfing all week. Either that or looking around like you’re expecting the cops to turn up.”
“I’m not the one who has to worry about the cops, Jefferson.” It was Carver who almost blew up the science lab last year. He was conducting an experiment to prove the inaccuracy of drones – which was the other thing it accomplished.
“So, if not the police, who is it you’ve been looking for?” asks Sal.
“No one. You’re imagining things. My eyes probably wander because I’m tired of staring at your ugly mugs.”
“I bet I know what’s on your mind,” says Sal. “It’s a girl, isn’t it? It has to be.” How does the boy whose own mind is always occupied with scripts and camera angles know that? “You’ve had that lobotomized look lately.”
“I wasn’t thinking about a girl,” lies Josh.
But apparently not convincingly. Carver shakes his head. Thoughtfully considering. “Oh no, I do believe Sal is onto something here.” He eyes Josh as if he’s a piece of scientific evidence. “Now that he’s mentioned it, I’ve noticed it, too. He’s right, isn’t he? You’re all warped out by a girl.”
“No, I’m not.” But because he’s so caught by surprise, he decides to reshape the lie. “To tell you the truth, I was thinking about girls – but in a general kind of way.”
“In a general kind of way?” repeats Carver. “Like you only just noticed them? What were you wondering – how they got here?”
“Just in general, Carver. You know, like you might think about the ocean or the Arctic Circle or whatever. We don’t talk much about girls and stuff like that.”
“Nor do we talk much about abseiling or hunting,” says Carver. “But that’s because we’re not exactly involved in those things, either.”
“Yeah, but unlike hanging off a mountain or shooting deer, we will be involved with girls. Someday. Won’t we?” As unlikely as it sometimes seems, there is a strong probability that, eventually, at least one of them will have a date.
“So you want an old-fashioned bull session, is that what you want?” laughs Sal. “Like on the Memorable Fourth?”
The Memorable Fourth of July occurred two summers ago when the whole Salcedo clan gathered for a holiday barbecue. Because beds were needed, Sal was moved to a tent in the backyard. He liberated a couple of unclaimed six-packs, and Carver and Josh crashed there with him. There was a lot of talk about girls and stuff like that, that night. Though how memorable any of it was is up for debate. What they remember most is waking up in terror when the raccoons knocked over the garbage cans, and managing to collapse the tent in their panic.
“I guess. Yeah. Something like that.” But sober. “It’s just that I don’t think I even know how to get started with a girl.”
Carver grins. “Oh, I think we all know how to get started, Josh. You didn’t miss Sex Ed 101.”
“I don’t mean sex. I mean dating. You guys know how dating works? You read the manual?”
“Don’t quote me or anything.” Carver is good at sardonically smug. “But I believe you begin by asking someone out. And then you go out. It’s an A, B, C kind of thing.” Unable to resist, he adds, “Like sex.”
“But what if you’re, you know, not so sure about asking her out in the first place?”
“Not sure you want to, or not sure you should?” asks Sal.
“You know you want to. That’s the part you’re sure of.”
Sal absent-mindedly picks up a pretzel. “You mean you’re infatuated? Is that what you mean?” Still not looking at it, he breaks the pretzel in half. “It’s not just that you think it’s time to go on a date. You have a thing for somebody.”
“Ah, an infatuation…” Carver makes it sound like an exotic but deadly disease. “Statistically, I suppose it’s bound to happen to one of us eventually. Like cancer or going bald.”
“Dios mío, man,
you don’t have to be so negative.” Sal snaps the pretzel again. “They’re not the same thing at all. What’s so bad about having a crush on someone? I think it’s cool.”
“Maybe.” Carver sounds as far from convinced as the Earth from Mars. “But if you ask me it can distract you from what you should be concentrating on.”
Sal groans. “Man, you really are a young fogey, Carver. You must’ve been born middle-aged. No wonder you’re already thinking about going bald.” Now in crumbs and pieces, the pretzel falls to the floor, but Sal doesn’t notice. He leans towards Carver. “If you ask me, it’s a lot more normal to have the hots for someone than it is to act like you’re some kind of monk and above all that stuff.”
“I’m not acting like anything,” says Carver. “I’m just saying that I’ve decided not to even think about getting involved with anyone until I’ve at least done my Master’s. Get the important things out of the way first.”
“Yeah, right,” says Sal. “Who are you kidding? You know damn well that high-school girls aren’t turned on by guys who talk about nothing but greenhouse gases. You have less chance of getting a date than of stopping climate change.”
“Women can be very distracting,” says Carver. Environmental science is no place for someone who isn’t stubborn. “You have to get your priorities right.”
“What about your biological imperatives?” demands Sal. “You going to put them on hold till you get your Master’s? Hang on, millions of years of evolution, I just have to get accepted to a PhD programme and then we’ll be good to go.”
“There are ways of dealing with biological imperatives.” Carver winks. “As I’m pretty sure you know.”
“Excuse me,” interrupts Josh. He is not the first person in mankind’s history to wish he’d never said anything. Maybe he’s the one who should be a monk; in an order that takes a vow of silence. “You don’t mind if I rejoin the conversation, do you? I mean, you forgot that I wasn’t talking about sex. Or infatuation, or feelings. All I said was, what if you’re not sure about asking someone out? None of what you’ve been yakking about has anything to do with where we started.” At least now he knows what the “bull” in bull session refers to, and it isn’t the chromosome make-up of the people having it. “Would you ask her out if you didn’t think she was guaranteed to say yes? That’s all I was wondering.”
“Yes,” says Sal. “Absolutely. If you think there’s a chance.”
“But that’s just the point. You don’t know if there’s a chance. She could laugh in your face. Or tweet to all her friends and have half the school laughing at you in a matter of minutes. What then?”
Sal obviously hadn’t thought of any of that. He’s silent for a few seconds, imagining a moment decades from now when he steps up to collect his Best Director award and the presenter says, Aren’t you the Armando Salcedo who made a fool of himself in high school by asking out the wrong girl? “Oh, man, it’s tricky, isn’t it?” He shakes his head. “But I still think it’s better to say something, not take it to your grave with you.”
“I disagree,” says Carver. “No way. Unless you’re at least ninety-eight per cent sure she’d think it was a good idea. Or not the worst idea she’s ever heard in her life.”
So now we know why Carver has so many principles, thinks Josh. He’s afraid of being rejected, too.
Josh Manages to Go Almost the Entire Morning without Thinking of Jenevieve Capistrano
Josh’s other closest friend is Ramona Minamoto. Sal recently asked him if he was interested in Ramona, and it was such an unexpected question that Josh had to ask for clarification. “You mean as a girl?”
“No, as a chess partner.” Sal sighed dramatically. “Yes, as a girl. I don’t see why you’re acting so surprised. She is a girl. And you are pretty tight with her.” He fidgeted with the silver bracelet he always wears. “You spend a lot of time together.”
“Have you and I ever met?” asked Josh. “Christ, you know Mo and I are just friends. She’s like my sister.”
Sal said Josh wouldn’t say that if he actually had a sister. “Carver has it the worst,” judged Sal. “He has three of them. But, believe me, one’s plenty. She never lets up.” Always shouting, bickering, criticizing, nagging and blaming. She once even yelled at him because it was raining. “Tell you one thing, I wouldn’t want to be on trial and have her on the jury, because, guaranteed, she’d recommend hanging.”
But Josh has known Ramona almost as long as he’s known Carver. Their mothers are best friends, so they’ve pretty much grown up together. Family vacations. Shared babysitters and sleepovers when they were little. He’s almost as close to her as he is to Carver. It was Ramona who rescued him by shouting “Bruno! Stop!” when the Polos’ boxer chased him onto the roof of their SUV – and Bruno, who up until that second could easily have been mistaken for the Hound of the Baskervilles, stopped. Ramona had to help Josh down. Which was only slightly less embarrassing than the afternoon he sprained his ankle and she carried him home. She was also there the time he ill-advisedly tried to give Charley Patton a bath, and he was there the time she hennaed her hair and her head swelled up. She’s practically one of the guys – the breasts and the six earrings notwithstanding.
Today is Sunday. On Sunday mornings Josh and Ramona go to yoga together. Josh has been playing both chess and the guitar since he was five; his mother thought it was time he took up an activity where he moves more than his fingers. Carver climbs and kayaks (brawn as well as brains), and Sal runs and plays golf (because that’s what movie people do). Josh, however, isn’t interested in any activity where he might drown, be hit by a car, be bored to death, or break something, especially his hands. When he was younger he was clumsy and had so many broken bones and black eyes that his doctor asked him what extreme sport he did. Josh said, “Walking.” It was Ramona who suggested her yoga class. Core strength and spiritual depth – what could be wrong with that?
“Not only is it indoors and the chance of injury fairly minimal,” said Ramona, “but you’ll like it. Plus, super bonus, you’ll be the only male.” She gave him a wise-guy grin. “Give you a chance to see what it’s like to be really popular with women.” What a sense of humour.
Two of Ramona’s promises turned out to be untrue: in the summer they often hold the class in the garden (where he seems to be allergic to the grass); and he isn’t the only one who has hurt himself doing an asana (although he is the only one who lost his balance in kakasana and bit his own tongue).
And two have turned out to be true: he does like it; and he is the sole male. The token male. Ramona’s the only other person his age, but he still enjoys being surrounded by women who like him and aren’t his mother. It does make a nice change.
Today the added benefit of the class was that he was concentrating so hard on demonstrating partner poses with Ramona – an example of two sets of hands and feet not making things easier – that he didn’t think of Jenevieve Capistrano even once.
And he isn’t thinking of her now as he and Ramona leave the studio together. She lopes beside him, almost as tall as an NBA player, her long hair streaming behind her. Josh is nearly trotting to keep up.
“Oh God, that is so funny!” gasps Ramona. “Trust Burleigh to remember you were involved in the science explosion.”
He’s been catching her up on some of the major events of his week. Though not all of them.
“I can already tell it’s not going to be a good year,” says Josh. “He calls everybody else by their first names, but me he calls Mr Shine.”
She glances over at him. “Why? What else did you do?”
“Nothing much.” This is what he means about her being like a sister: she knows him really well. “We did kind of have some words.”
“Oh God, Josh. School’s just started.” This is another thing that makes her like a sister: she’s always quick to get on his case. “What kind of words?”
“You know…”
Ramona rolls her eyes. Oh, yes, she knows.
The first difference of opinion was when Josh wanted to read a novel not on the course list for the term (Mr Burleigh’s sardonic response caused general hilarity). The second was when Josh challenged one of Mr Burleigh’s handed-down-from-heaven-on-a-stone-tablet rules of grammar and proved him wrong (nobody laughed at that, least of all Jake Burleigh).
“It’s your own fault,” says Ramona as they cross the street for their after-class tea at the Laughing Moon Café. “What is it with you and authority? You never know when to keep your mouth shut.”
“Don’t start, Mo. You know if you’d been there you’d’ve been on my side.”
“But I like to save my ammunition for major battles. I wouldn’t’ve made a federal case out of something like that.”
“Okay, I admit I was pushing it wanting to pick my own book, even if it was thematically in line with what we’re doing.” The truth is that Mr Burleigh irritates Josh as much as Josh irritates him. He could only be more supercilious if he were twins. “But with the grammar thing, he was totally in the wrong.”
“Oh, please… Seriously, Josh? You corrected Mr Burleigh in front of the whole class? Your common sense must still be on vacation.”
“But he was mistaken, Mo. He’s supposed to be giving us an education, not dictation.”
“This is Burleigh we’re talking about, Josh, not Socrates.” The philosopher Socrates believed in asking questions of his students; the high-school teacher Jake Burleigh believes in providing the answers and having his students repeat them.
“I can’t help it. I have a highly developed sense of right and wrong.”
Ramona laughs. Possibly at him, not with him. “Yeah. Like at the sanctuary that time.” Their class had an outing to a bird refuge. The birds were all raptors – hawks and falcons, eagles and owls – and though most of them were in large cages, some were displayed on outdoor perches to which they were tethered, and made to do tricks. Josh thought this was cruel, and exploitative – as if they were toys. He made quite a scene.
