In Real Life

by Lawrence Tabak

  I collapse into my desk chair. Heart racing like I’ve been biking up a steep, endless hill. I’ve got to get online and tell DTerra and my other friends. They’re going to absolutely lose it when they hear.

  And then I think about telling Hannah. And the excitement immediately turns cold as I realize what I’m telling her. That the most exciting news in my life, that the best news I’ve ever heard, is that I’m leaving. Someday, maybe someday soon if I’m lucky, leaving for another life halfway around the world.

  49.

  So I’m a wreck all day Friday, trying to figure out how to tell her, or if to tell her. Here I am, the only person in our entire high school that she really knows, and I’m trying to figure out how to take off. I know if I were in her shoes I’d dump me.

  I text her at around five and ask if eight o’clock is OK.

  She says sure. Movie?

  I really need to be able to talk about this, so I write that when I was on campus I saw a bunch of posters. For a free concert at the student center. In this place they call The Cellar. Some folk rocker called Jesse Owen Olds. Heard of her?

  Neither of us have, but she’s starting at nine, so I say we can drive down, get there a bit early and get a good seat.

  By the time I get to Hannah’s the sun is setting, putting a yellow glow to her house as I head down the street. Hannah is out the porch door as I pull into the driveway.

  “Thank God,” she says. “I swear they get together every morning and have a conference on how to drive me crazy.”

  I glance over as she gets buckled in. Hair tied back, the earrings shining in the low sunlight. She glances over at me with a look that goes right to the heart. I feel like a hero, rescuing the princess from imprisonment in the evil lord’s castle.

  “You look great,” I say.

  “Oh, I’m a mess as usual. Zeb, like, locks himself in our bathroom a half hour before I’m supposed to leave. I know he does it on purpose, just to annoy me.”

  We hop on the freeway and head downtown. I’m getting really good at driving to campus. So at least I don’t worry like I used to about what exit to take and all that.

  Hannah has to give me all the details on the stuff her parents and little brother have been doing and I just sort of grunt and nod.

  “So I Googled this singer,” she says, as we get close to campus. “She sounds pretty interesting. She’s opened for a lot of good acts. Toad the Wet Sprocket. Aimee Mann. Regina Specktor.”

  “Great,” I say, even though I don’t know any of them. I’m pretty lost when it comes to music.

  When we get on campus we have to ask someone for directions to The Cellar. Turns out it’s not really a cellar, but this dark room on the bottom level of the student center, an old building that looks like a church. It’s just a big room with lots of pillars and little chandeliers covered with red shades. At one end of the room is a raised platform with a microphone and a couple of suitcase- sized amps. The platform is a mess of red and black wires, steel cases for electronic equipment, a velvet lined open guitar case.

  The room is about half full. They serve beer and most of the people have little plastic pitchers on their wooden tables. Hannah and I pick a table near the middle of the room and I get her a latte and I get a Coke.

  “So,” says Hannah. “Recognize anyone from your class?”

  I look around us.

  “This crowd looks more like their parents,” I say.

  Hannah scans the crowd. “You think so?”

  “Yeah,” I say, lowering my voice. “Not that many bald sophomores with gray beards.”

  I keep meaning to change the subject, to tell her about the call from Korea. But I just put it off as the room fills and finally breaks into applause as the singer takes the stage and plugs in her guitar. She looks more like a college student than most of the audience. Dark glasses, brown hair to her shoulders, brown T-shirt and tight jeans. She’s nice-looking, but not fancy, none of that glittered hair and raccoon eyes that you see in all the music videos.

  As she hits the first chords the room positively rings with the sound and I realize that I won’t be explaining things to Hannah. Not during the songs, at least. I notice two more sets of amps on the side of the stage, taller than me. The room echoes with each strum. Then she starts singing.

  “I didn’t mum yum wha diz me,

  “I didn’t sum hum wuzza a knee”

  I look at Hannah, who seems to be really into it. I wonder if I’m supposed to be understanding the words.

  “This wiz a wunna tum a bird,

  “Wha izza tunna willa third.”

  When she gets done with the song, polite applause.

  “Wow,” Hannah says as she claps. “That was really great.”

  “It was?” I say. “I mean, it was!”

  We listen to about five songs and then the singer stops and talks for a minute. She asks something about living in a dorm, which I can barely understand. Then she says that she has CDs for sale in the back, which is the first thing that I’ve heard through the mic that I completely understand.

  Before she starts the next song I tell Hannah I have to hit the bathroom. When I get back the singer is off the stage and they’re playing recorded music.

  “Hey,” I say as I sit down.

  “Hey,” Hannah says. “You like that set?”

  “Sure.” Play with the beads of water on my bottle. “Hannah,” I finally say. “I got that call I was expecting. Yesterday. You know. From those Koreans.” Now she perks up, and leans towards me across the table.

  “You got it, didn’t you!”

  I nod.

  “Omigod, you got it. That is so, so, terrific!”

  I was thinking she was going to hate me for it.

  “It’s not a done thing,” I add quickly. “Contracts, parents. Plus I have to get a diploma.”

  “You have to graduate first?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, Jeez, it’s not like you’re not smart enough to get it. You’re already taking college courses.”

  “I bet it’s more complicated than that. I’m going to make an appointment with my counselor at school.”

  Hannah has about twenty more questions, which I can’t answer. Then the singer comes back on stage and tunes her guitar and then hits a really loud chord and shouts something. A bunch of the people in the audience start whooping. When the song begins it’s too loud to talk and I can’t say I’m sorry.

  When the song is finally over I say, “You know, I thought you might be, you know, upset over this Korean thing.”

  I glance over and Hannah reaches out and touches my arm.

  “Seth, look, you’re the thing I like best about Kansas…maybe the only thing I really like about Kansas. I get your texts and, sure, I think it would really be fun to drop everything and get together. But then I think about how it will end, maybe in just a couple of months and I, I don’t know, I just sort of…”

  The singer steps off the stage, unslings her guitar and grabs a water bottle. I wish I could have more time to think about what I want to say. Because I want to tell her I don’t care about what might happen in a couple months. I care about now.

  The singer slings her electric guitar over her shoulder and is preparing for another assault.

  Hannah is working a strand of hair with her hand. She sighs. Takes my hand. “Look, Seth. I don’t think I’m explaining things very well. But this Korea thing, if you can work out the details, and I bet you will…it’s a great opportunity. I’m not saying, like, don’t go because it’s a huge risk or you might not like it or might not do as well as you think. I’m not saying don’t go because of me, or us. In fact, I’m just trying to make sure that ‘us’ isn’t a factor. Of course you have to go. It’s what you’ve been dreaming about f
or years. But there are things that are in our control. Things we can do that will make it easier. For both of us.”

  Then the girl with the guitar bounces up on the stage and looks right at me and Hannah and smiles. Like she knows that the first chord will drown out the most important conversation I’ve ever had. And then she proceeds to do just that.

  On the way home I glance over at Hannah, who’s just staring straight ahead through the windshield. The passing headlights flash across her face. I want every one to be a camera flash, so I can have that image forever. She’s thinking about who-knows-what. Probably about three steps ahead of me, like a Korean pro toying with me in Starfare. Maybe she’s already thinking of life post-Seth. Plotting who she’ll be driving around with on Friday nights, when I’m halfway around the world.

  50.

  I get a meeting with a counselor at North the day before school starts. Miss Gibbons at 8 a.m. She’s got this fake-looking blond hair and a big mug of coffee and is so perky I want to run out of the room. She has my file in front of her, and I can see she’s looking over my transcript as she pulls a calculator out of her desk drawer.

  “My, you have an awful lot of credits for your year,” she says.

  And it’s true. I’ve been taking high school courses since seventh grade.

  “But these grades,” she adds. “All over the map.”

  I’ve heard that tune before.

  “Well, that’s another story, I’m sure,” she says with what I take to be a fake smile. Looks at the calculator and shuts my folder. “Here it is in a nutshell. By the end of the semester you’re going to have plenty of credits to graduate. The only thing you’re missing is PE and one semester of English requirement. But they just changed the rules for PE—it’s only required for semesters in which you’re enrolled as a full-time student. So all you really have to do is pick up a semester of English.”

  I’m stunned. I figured this was going to be the biggest hassle ever.

  “So I just need one semester of English? And if I can’t take it here…”

  “No problem, really. That course is offered by the state’s virtual classroom. We have a lot of kids around the state taking it via the Internet. So you can do that wherever you might be. Didn’t you say China?”

  “Korea.”

  “Oh yes. It sounds like a wonderful opportunity,” and she pauses for a second as I see her eyes drop to the folder, “Seth.”

  “We can register you for the online class later this semester, and you’ll get your diploma when you finish senior English.”

  So I head back home. In a daze. It’s August. Thinking that I can call Coach Yeong up and say that I can start in December when the first semester is over. In four months. Wondering if I was sort of hoping the school would say no and I could just hang out for a year. Me and Hannah. Keep working on my game like I had been. Now I might have to be ready to go in just a few months. Knowing how far behind the Korean pros I am.

  I really don’t want to think about it. So I get home and go back to sleep for a few hours. Getting up. That’s by far the hardest part of going back to school.

  But when the day comes, I do it. Zombie my way around the first three periods, counting down the minutes to my long break for my UMKC class. Every year, school sort of sneaks up on you at the end of the summer and hits you over the head with the same old boring scene. Except this year, it’s different. Because I’m the guy who knows all the ropes and Hannah is the new kid.

  So I have this whole different thing going on. Instead of just laying low and being as invisible as possible, I have to pretend I know stuff. So that I can show Hannah around. Introduce her to people. Tell her which teachers are cool and which are jerks. And once school starts, it’s not like Hannah is right there. It’s a big school and the only class we have together is English, fifth period.

  Plus I’m out for a big chunk of the day to get to my calc class. And on off days, I’m using that time to get some quality gaming in. So I’m not really around during the key moments, say lunch, when I figure Hannah is really feeling alone.

  So second week, on Wednesday, when I don’t have calc, I text Hannah and say that I’d like to meet her for lunch in the school cafeteria. She gets right back, says sure.

  So I get there a few minutes after second lunch and wander around the cafeteria. It all comes back to me from years past: the unappetizing smell of the hot lunch line which reeks like a big pot of chicken soup being spread around with a dirty mop, the buzz of hundreds of conversations, the clank of trays hitting tables, and occasionally, cutting above it all the squeal of some girl saying “ewww,” or “no way!”

  Finally I see Hannah at a table at the far end of the cafeteria and I head over. I don’t have any food, since I wasn’t sure if Hannah brought her lunch or went through the line. I figured I’d play it by ear.

  Halfway there I realize I’m going to pass a table with a bunch of kids from my class. Brit is in the middle of the table facing me. As I walk by she says cheerily, “Hi, Seth!” And I say hi back, but maybe not loud enough for her to hear. She’s probably just amused, thinking, there goes that guy who had that pathetic crush.

  Then I’m at Hannah’s table. She has a brown paper bag in front of her and is leaning forward, talking to a group of four girls who all seem entranced. While she’s talking she’s absentmindedly peeling an orange. I walk up and stand behind Hannah until one of the girls clears her throat and throws her eyes in my direction. Hannah turns.

  “Oh, Seth!” she says. “Here, we’ll make room!”

  She scoots to the left and I climb over the bench and sit down. Not much room, so I’m pressed up against her shoulder and the sensation sort of throws me off stride, so I’m glad when she starts talking.

  “I was just telling them how great you’ve been. You know everyone?” she says, her eyes indicating the four girls at the end of the table. Of course I don’t, so I shake my head. Although I recognize them.

  “Anyway,” she says. “This is Maddy,” and she points to a girl with large black glasses and red streaks in her hair. “Sunita,” an Indian girl with dark skin who smiles at me. “Iris,” a small Asian girl who says, “We had history together last year.” I nod and am about to stutter something when Hannah continues, “And Caroline.” Caroline is a tall girl with long, straight black hair who I remember from middle school, where she stood out in the hallways, towering above everyone.

  “We’re on yearbook together,” Hannah says. “And we have tons of work to do. The photo files are a mess.”

  I say hello to everyone.

  “You don’t have anything to eat!” Hannah says. “Aren’t you going to get something?”

  “Maybe,” I say. “Maybe later.”

  “So how’s your college class?” Then she looks at the other girls and explains that I’m taking a math course at UMKC. So naturally I blush bright red and look down at the table.

  Hannah sees that she’s embarrassed me and says, “Anyway, I was just telling them about this idea I had for a sort of a photo collage to open the yearbook. Taking shots of the school and kids here and interlacing them with pictures from the major news stories of the year. You know, to like, show how we’re connected to all of that, even though it sometimes feels like high school is a different world altogether.”

  This starts a buzz of conversation. I watch Hannah interacting with them and realize that in two weeks she’s made more friends in high school than I did in two years.

  I’m half listening to the buzz of their conversation, wondering if the line at the sub station will be short enough to give me time to grab one, when Hannah turns to me.

  “We must be boring you to death,” she says.

  “Not at all,” I say. “I love yearbooks. In fact, I have my own copy of National Lampoon’s Yearbook. Which was formally owned by Larry Kreiger, the guy fro
m Animal House.”

  Blank stares. Garrett gave it to me as a birthday present a few years ago. I’m guessing the typical high school girl is maybe a little behind on classic gross-out movies.

  I catch the Indian girl giving the tall girl a look that I translate as “What is this guy talking about?”

  Then I excuse myself, saying I needed to grab something to eat. When I get back everyone is packing up. I sit back down next to Hannah as they leave.

  “You’ve got about two minutes to eat that sandwich,” Hannah says. And in a softer voice, “And thanks for being nice to my yearbook friends. They’re a little old-fashioned.”

  “No problem.” I swallow a mouthful and add, “Have you submitted your angel picture yet?”

  Hannah waits until I take another huge bite before she hits my shoulder. I choke a bit. My eyes watering. I can see she’s not really upset.

  “No,” she says, “But look for a sailor boy on the cover.”

  51.

  When I get home from school on Monday there’s a good-sized FedEx box on the doorstep. I drop it in the entryway and get a knife from the kitchen. If Mom was around, she’d yell at me for using one of the good kitchen knives on a box. But of course, she isn’t around, and I’m pretty sure Dad won’t care one way or another. I go to work on the box right there, in front of the door.

  Inside is a folder filled with a bunch of papers. I set that aside and pull out a couple of smaller boxes. One has a Team Anaconda branded mouse and the other a Team Anaconda heavy-weight mouse pad. The mouse pad is made out of some sort of laminated plastic. Inside is a three-dimensional snake team logo. Very cool. And I also find a soft package that has one of those shiny green and red Team Anaconda shirts and two T-shirts. I unfold the team shirt. On the back it says “ActionSeth.” That really blows me away.

  I sort of just collapse there in the doorway for a few minutes, taking it all in. I mean, it’s one thing to imagine playing pro Starfare, it’s another to have all this stuff that you can see and touch and wear.