Like Normal People

by Karen Bender

  The electric doors zapped open at Panorama Village, and they all went inside and carried the brown bags of clothes down the hall to Lena and Bob’s room, on the first floor.

  Ella had expected some fear and struggle, but Lena and Bob walked ahead, as though on a conveyor belt. Lena read aloud the residents’ names on the doors: “Helen Horwitz. Abe Hirsch. Betty Winters.” Lena paused as she said each name, listening intently to the sound it made.

  Ella immediately set the roses in a vase to add a festive touch. “Where would you like me to put it?” she asked Lena.

  Lena surveyed the empty room. She ran her hand across the dresser. “Here,” she said.

  Ella let Lena boss her around. Lena designated the drawers for socks and underwear and shirts, and she was very strict. “That’s wrong!” she screeched when Ella put something in a place Lena hadn’t designated.

  Bob circled the bedroom and darted in and out of the bathroom on a private but significant mission. Finally, he stopped and sat beside Lena on the bed.

  “Do you remember where the cafeteria is?” asked Ella.

  “Yes,” Lena answered. She bent down and tied Bob’s shoelace.

  Lou was edging toward the doorway. Ella watched Lena hunched over Bob’s sneaker and knew that this was where they would live for the rest of their lives.

  “We’ll call you when we get home.”

  “I’m going to water our flower,” Lena announced, pointing to a bird of paradise growing just outside the window. She filled a drinking glass in the bathroom and dumped the water out the window on the plant. Then she looked back at her mother.

  “Bye,” she said.

  As Ella walked through the hall to the entrance, her heart was beating so hard that she thought she could feel its shape. The electric doors parted; the passing cars seemed remote, unreal. In the parking lot, Lou unlocked the car door and held it open for her, a quaint, gentlemanly gesture.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  She sat down beside him because she did not know what else to do. Her husband started the car. They traveled over the dark asphalt street, which crackled like paper, through the Valley’s hazy light. It only took twenty minutes, and then they were home.

  Fifteen

  SHELLEY STARED at the matted bottom of the pier, trying to see through the cracks to the rest of the day. The late afternoon sun came through the pier, clear and amber. Hundreds of footbeats thundered through the wood as beachgoers made their way to their destinations; she wanted to call out and see who would answer her.

  She had stopped moving from boulder to boulder, for one did not feel better than the other. None took her from this terrible, private thought: that she was the only grownup here. To convince herself of this, she tried to think thoughts that a grown person might have. Two kept coming to mind: What’s going on? and The rest of the day, I’m a human being. These were statements the man who had spoken to her had made. Now Shelley wanted to find him. He had understood something valuable about her. She wanted to find him because he had known without even hearing a word from her.

  Lena was sitting quietly, clutching her ankles. They had not spoken for some time. A few times, Shelley exclaimed, “It’s hot!” just to remember her own voice; Lena nodded. The silence between them made the air seem stale. But she had been afraid to ask Lena any more questions after Lena said Bob would come to visit them.

  Their plans for the day had scattered into pieces, and they were dozens of miles from anyone they knew. This made it difficult for her to think clearly. Tracing three squares in the sand over and over, she wondered what would happen to them when the sun went down. The phrase “lost at sea” went through her mind over and over. Every few minutes, she took a sharp, deep breath to try to keep calm. She hated the sound of that sigh. They had only a couple dollars between them, and the taste of her cherry Lifesavers had faded in her mouth.

  She stood up. “I have to go out for a second,” she said.

  Lena’s eyes widened. “Where?”

  Shelley paused. “I have to do an errand,” she said. It was another statement she believed an adult might make.

  “I have to do an errand, too.”

  “I have to go by myself,” the girl said.

  Her aunt scrambled to her feet. “You have to buy strawberries,” she burst out. “Napkins. Hors d’oeuvres. We need food for the party.” Lena stood tall. “Remember, Sequin. For our guests.”

  Shelley wanted to grip Lena’s hand and talk on and on about the party. But now she knew there would be no party. She imagined ghostly guests with their sweet cake-breath and their party hats and rubber bands under their chins, but now she could not hear their secrets, because they were voiceless and unreal.

  She took a deep, swooping breath and said, “Just wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  Lena rubbed her palms across her stomach and settled down on a boulder. “Go. I dare you,” she said.

  Shelley scrambled out from under the pier. The afternoon light had deepened, and everything looked as though it were reflected in a golden bowl. The seagulls made great, crying circles of sound above the blue water. She waited for a second to see whether Lena would follow her. When she peeked back in, she saw Lena sitting cross-legged on the rock, grimly patting the sand into the shape of a cake.

  Shelley began to head across the beach. She believed she had forgotten how to walk or speak, for her arms and legs were as disjointed as a puppet’s. She had to slow herself down, as she was walking faster than she intended, and this made her out of breath. The two of them had run away together, but now, for the first time that day, she existed on the beach alone.

  She was sensitive to all the sounds of the world. Her arms trembled; the gulls’ cries scraped against her skin. The sand made sugary sounds under her feet. She stopped and surveyed the beach. The world seemed loosened from its rules. She imagined the beach buckling, palm trees jutting up like flowers into the air; she saw the ocean twist into the sky like a glittering blue scarf.

  She thought of the different ways she had been alone. She had waited on the front lawn on Saturdays while her former friends had fun without her; she had remained in bed that morning while her family talked in the other room. This was a different kind of alone; it was alone with a purpose.

  She didn’t know how to go about looking for that man. She wandered past the fortune tellers, the psychics, the guitar players sitting in the hot sun. The sunbathers were a wavy mirage. They looked not like people, but like beautiful, alien beings. She made a large circle around them slowly, so that her footsteps made no sound. She would find the man so that he could again see this knowledge in her, and she wanted to tell him her name.

  The beach was bordered by a dry park, and she headed there to get a wider view. The blue shade of the palm trees was cool on her hair. She waited beside a concrete wall, quietly clicking threes behind her teeth.

  It felt as if she’d been there a long time, but it was only a few minutes before she saw him. He was beside a boom box, about a hundred feet away. He kept walking forward and back and opening his arms, as though introducing himself to the air. She watched for a while; then her curiosity moved her closer. He was listening intently to the disco coming softly from his boom box; he took a couple of steps, raised his weighty arms, snapped his fingers.

  “Who’s feeling fat today?” he asked the air with great feeling. He snapped off the tape recorder, rewound it, played it again. She seated herself near the concrete wall, her hands on her knees.

  “Hey, there,” he said to her. His voice sounded unused. “Are you feeling fat today?”

  Her heart jumped sideways when he spoke to her. His question was somewhat odd, but she felt herself answer, “Not really.”

  “Not really,” he said. He picked up his boom box and walked toward her. He walked with the slight bounce of a carefree person, but she could see that the bounce was a little off. “Hey,” he said. “I saw you before. What’s happening?”

  “Nothing,” she said
.

  “Nothing?” he said. “On this beautiful day? Nothing?” He shifted back and forth on his sneakers. “What do you think of my opening line?”

  “For what?” she asked.

  “For Ambrosio’s Aerobics,” he said. “So anyone can look like a star.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Look,” he said, putting down the boom box. “I’m practicing for an audition later this afternoon. The Seaside Studios, in San Pedro. Tell me what you think. Imagine the audience here.” He drew an invisible line in front of him. “The camera is there.” He pointed to the sky. He took a few steps back, closed his eyes, then marched forward, passionately threw out his arms to the invisible audience, and exclaimed, “Who’s feeling fat today!”

  His huge arms remained open, outstretched, as though he were trying to hold the earth; Shelley found the gesture beautiful.

  “Most people think they’re fat,” she said.

  “Exactly!” he said, clapping his hands. “That’s part of my theory. That’ll hook them. Then I’ll show them the way.”

  She was aware, suddenly, that he was a stranger, but she could not stop staring at him. She believed that a picture of him in a magazine would show him to be a handsome man. And he was asking for her opinion. She waited to be smarter than she felt.

  “What’s your name again?” he asked.

  “It’s Sequina,” she said, twisting the bottom of her shirt.

  The name lilted naked in the air. He smiled a large, sparkling smile. “Sequina!” he said. “Glad to meet you. I’m Ambrosio.” He thrust out his hand. After a moment, she understood she was supposed to shake it; his palm was large and rough. His eyes were bright and small and rarely blinked. “Hey, you busy right now?”

  She tried not to think about Lena sitting beneath the pier, waiting.

  “Why?”

  “You want to give me a hand?”

  She did not know how to respond, so she followed him.

  They were a kind of pair, walking in the same direction across the parking lot. She felt a bit superior to everyone else around them, for her world was different now, bent; it seemed that the light had been folded so that the cars and palm trees were magnified, bigger. He walked so fast that she wondered if he had forgotten she was with him; she hurried to keep up with him.

  His car was a battered Volkswagen parked at the far end of the lot. Ambrosio opened the door, took a comb off the dashboard, sat down on the edge of the beige seat and began to comb his hair. Shelley could see an old hair dryer, plastic combs, some free weights, neon Lycra unitards, socks. In the back seat was a rumpled yellow pillow without a pillowcase, a blue sheet, a towel that said Enjoy Coca-Cola. Wrinkled copies of Muscle and Fitness magazine and a yellow legal pad filled with scrawls, a box of Frosted Flakes, a bag of Doritos, a deodorant stick, and a toothbrush and toothpaste tube were scattered throughout the car. She wanted to see everything inside. The car smelled of wet sand and of male body odor. He seemed to want her both to see everything and to look away.

  “Care for a Dorito?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  He held out the bag, and she grabbed a huge handful of chips and ate them quickly. She was grateful in a way she hadn’t expected to be. “Have more,” he said, apparently pleased to help her. She ate the next handful more slowly, relishing the spicy taste. He tapped the comb against his palm. “Help me out,” he said. “Center or side part?”

  “How do you want to look?” she asked, wiping her palms on her shorts. She was proud to be asked.

  “Stylish,” he said, “but not prissy.”

  “I think side,” she said.

  She watched him comb his hair forward and back. His hair was slightly oily, and he seemed embarrassed by that as he tried to smooth it into shape. He picked up a small container of baby shampoo from the floor. “I used this,” he said. “I thought it was supposed to be good shampoo—”

  “You don’t have anything at home?” she asked.

  He paused. “This is my home,” he said.

  “You live here?” she asked.

  “It’s not a bad place to live,” he said, a higher pitch to his voice. “I can shower in the beach bathrooms. Nobody bothers me when they see my arms.” He looked at his arms as though he could not quite believe they were his. “I don’t have to do any of that life-draining shit like wash dishes or empty trash cans or anything like that. I have no goddamn distractions bringing me down.” His expression was fierce. “I have two hundred dollars. Here, I can live on five bucks a day. Less, if I have to.” She heard the desperation in his voice, his wish to convince her. He waved at the red-roofed condominiums across the highway. “Those idiots; they pay a fortune for their views. I get it for free.”

  She noticed the harsh, lacy red pattern of sunburn on his neck, the black curves of dirt under his fingernails. “Don’t you get scared?” she asked.

  “I’m making sacrifices,” he said. “I came here all the way from Wichita. I parked here”—he looked at his legal pad—“sixty-seven days ago. This seemed like a good enough spot. It’s quiet at night. I can listen to the ocean. I can plan.” He gestured to his paper. “I will first present my class at talent auditions. Spread word of mouth about my unique approach. Then to the stars. I will shape them according to my philosophy.” He looked at her. Then, with an innocent expression, he reached forward and grabbed her wrist. Her heart jumped.

  “Hey!” she said.

  He quickly released her. “Why don’t you sit with me?” he said. “Just for a sec.”

  She remembered standing with Lena and Bob during the dares when they looked through apartment windows into other peoples’ lives. It was sometimes unbearable, wondering how the person who sat in those living room chairs was different from her. She was wary of Ambrosio’s car, yet she wanted to sit in it.

  Gingerly, she lowered herself onto the driver’s seat and lightly touched the steering wheel. It was rubbery and cracked with dirt. The sun illuminated the car seat in hot strips.

  Ambrosio straightened up his car. He neatly set a small package of Sunmaid raisins, a can of Pepsi, and box of Frosted Flakes above the glove compartment. He tossed some gum wrappers out the window. He smelled sharply male; it was a thrilling smell, of underarm hair and Aqua Velva and sweat.

  He smiled, and his eyes crinkled; he looked old. “So,” he said. He looked at a watch stuck in the stick shift and rubbed his palms against his knees very fast. “You look good, sitting there. You like sitting there?”

  She held the dirty steering wheel as though she were driving the car. She thought she liked him; that was the thrumming, the feeling of a hundred butterflies in her throat. His forearm was brown and strong, and she had an overwhelming urge to kiss it. “Sure,” she said.

  “Tell me.” He turned and faced her. “Do you think I’m the kind of person who could make a success of myself?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Why?”

  She was stumped. She looked at the food arranged over the glove compartment. “Why not?” she tried.

  “She thought I was stupid,” he said. “Dot. My ex. She thought I should just be happy doing that insurance shit. Like I should be grateful. Here’s the life I far prefer.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “This used to be her car. Ha! She’s probably driving around Kansas now, looking for it. But she’d see this car, and all she’d see would be trash. She’d say, What a loser.” He rubbed his thighs. “She wouldn’t see”—he gestured to the copies of Muscle and Fitness—“my library of magazines. My notes.”

  She had no idea why he was telling her all this. She wondered whether this was what men and women talked about when they sat in each other’s car. He had an odd, new expression on his face. He patted back his wispy hair; his forehead looked large. “You’re a real special person,” he said in a soft voice. “I can tell.” He paused. “Could I ask you a favor?”

  “What?”

  “Could you give me a back rub? Loosen up the old arms
.”

  She was suddenly alert. “Why?” she asked.

  “Don’t be scared,” he said. “You’ll be good at it.” He turned around and she was looking at his peeling brown shoulders and the curling golden hairs on the back of his neck.

  She was sitting in a car with a man who wanted her to rub his shoulders. The world had become a crazy place. There was a black birthmark on his neck.

  “What are you scared of?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she said. She was just waiting. The world was brimming. It seemed that the trash cans might take off, like rockets, from the beach. She rose up on her knees and placed her hands on his shoulders. They felt like large avocados.

  “Good girl,” he said.

  She did not like the way he said that. She thought it might be a good idea to get out of the car.

  “The Golden Door,” he murmured. “That spa where stars go. They’re supposed to give great backrubs there.”

  The beach seemed remote and silent. It was as though she and the man were inside a great, dusty aquarium, separated from everyone else. She squeezed his shoulders once, lifted her hands, and examined them. She was positive there was dirt on them that she couldn’t see.

  “Keep going,” he said.

  There was something new in his voice, an urgency. She looked at the food over the glove compartment and wanted to rearrange it, to put the cereal in front of the raisins and then back again.

  “Talk to me,” he said, in a dreamy voice.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He was almost weeping. “Please,” he said.

  She raised her hands an inch off his shoulders. There was only one way to speak to him. “Ambrosio,” she said, “what are your secrets? Tell me your fear.”

  The car was silent. She sensed that this wasn’t what he’d expected her to say.