The Last Girlfriend on Earth: And Other Love Stories

by Simon Rich

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  For Kathleen

  BOY MEETS GIRL

  Unprotected

  I.

  I born in factory. They put me in wrapper. They seal me in box. Three of us in box.

  In early days, they move us around. From factory to warehouse. From warehouse to truck. From truck to store.

  One day in store, boy human sees us on shelf. He grabs us, hides us under shirt. He rushes outside.

  He goes to house, runs into bedroom, locks door. He tears open box and takes me out. He puts me in wallet.

  I stay in wallet long, long time.

  This is story of my life inside wallet.

  II.

  The first friend I meet in wallet is Student ID Jordi Hirschfeld. He is card. He has been around longest, he says. He introduces me to other cards. I meet Learner Permit Jordi Hirschfeld, Blockbuster Video Jordi Hirschfeld, Jamba Juice Value Card, GameStop PowerUp Card Jordi Hirschfeld, business card Albert Hirschfeld DDS, Scarsdale Comic Book Explosion Discount Card.

  In middle of wallet, there live dollars. I am less close to them, because they are always coming and going. But they are mostly nice. I meet many Ones and Fives, some Tens, a few Twenties. One time, I meet Hundred. He stay for long time. Came from birthday card, he said. Birthday card from an old person.

  I also meet photograph of girl human. Very beautiful. Eyes like Blockbuster Video. Blue, blue, blue.

  When I first get to wallet, I am “new guy.” But time passes. I stay for so long, I soon become veteran. When I first meet Jamba Juice, he has just two stamps. Next thing I know, he has five stamps—then six, then seven. When he gets ten stamps he is gone. One day, Learner Permit disappears. In his place, there is new guy, Driver License. I become worried. Things are changing very fast.

  Soon after, I am taken out of wallet. It is night. I am scared. I do not know what is happening. Then I see girl human. She is one from photograph. She looks same in real life, except now she wears no shirt. She is smiling, but when she sees me, she becomes angry. There is arguing. I go back inside wallet.

  A few days later, picture of girl human is gone.

  III.

  That summer, I meet two new friends. The first is Student ID New York University Jordi Hirschfeld. The second is MetroCard.

  MetroCard is from New York City and he never lets you forget it. He has real “attitude.” He is yellow and black with Cirque du Soleil advertisement on back.

  When MetroCard meets GameStop PowerUp Card Jordi Hirschfeld, he looks at me and says, No wonder Jordi Hirschfeld not yet use you. I become confused. Use me for what?

  That night, MetroCard tells me many strange things about myself. At first I do not believe what he says. But he insists all is true. When I start to panic, he laughs. He says, What did you think you were for? I am too embarrassed to admit truth, which is that I thought I was balloon.

  It is around this time that we move. For more than two years, we had lived inside Velcro Batman. It is nice, comfy. One day, though, without warning, we are inside stiff brown leather. I am very upset—especially when I see that so many friends are gone.

  No more GameStop PowerUp Card Jordi Hirschfeld. No more Blockbuster Video Jordi Hirschfeld. No more Scarsdale Comic Book Explosion Discount Card.

  Only survivors are MetroCard, Driver License, Student ID, myself, and a creepy new lady named Visa.

  I am angry. What was wrong with Velcro Batman? It had many pockets and was warm. I miss my friends and I am lonely.

  A few days later, I meet Film Forum Membership Jordan Hirschfeld.

  At this point, I am in “panic mode.” What is “Film Forum”? Who is “Jordan Hirschfeld”?

  Jordan Hirschfeld is same guy as Jordi Hirschfeld, Metro-Card explains. He is just trying to “change his image.” I am confused. What is wrong with old image? That night, I poke my head out of wallet and look around pocket. It is dark, but I can see we have new neighbor. He says his name is Cigarettes Gauloises. He is very polite, but I get “weird vibe” from him.

  It is about this time that I meet strip of notebook paper. On him is written rachelfeingold@nyu.edu.

  Now we’re getting somewhere, MetroCard says.

  I have never been more frightened in my life.

  IV.

  That Saturday, five crisp Twenties show up. I assume they will stay long time, like most Twenties. But two hours later, they are gone, replaced by receipt La Cucina.

  MetroCard looks at receipt La Cucina and laughs. She better put out after that, he says. I am confused and worried.

  Later on, I am minding my own business, when Jordi (sorry, “Jordan”) shoves his finger into me. I am terrified. What was that, I ask. MetroCard grins. He is checking to make sure you’re there, he says. For later.

  My friends try to calm me down. One of the dollars, a One, tells me about the time he met Vending Machine Pepsi. He was stuffed in and out, in and out, so many times. He almost died. I know he is trying to make me feel better, but I am like, please stop talking about that.

  Eventually, the moment comes. It is like other time. I am taken out of wallet and tossed on bed. It is very dark. I can make out shape of girl.

  She picks me up and squints at me for a while. Then she turns on lamp.

  I am confused. So is Jordan Hirschfeld.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  His face is like Jamba Juice Value Card. Red, red, red.

  “I think,” she says, “that this might actually be expired.”

  There is long silence.

  And then, all of a sudden, the humans are laughing! And then the girl is hitting Jordan with pillow! And he is hitting her back with pillow! And they are laughing, laughing, laughing.

  The girl reaches into her bag.

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ve got one.”

  Part of me kind of wants to watch what happens next. But I am quickly covered in pile of clothes.

  V.

  When I wake up next day, Jordan is dangling me over trash can. I look down into pit. Inside are Cigarettes Gauloises and Film Forum Schedule. They are talking “philosophy.” I sigh. I do not really want to move in with them, but what can I do? I figure this is “end of the line” for me.

  Suddenly, though, Jordan carries me away—to other side of room. I am placed inside shoe box under his bed.

  At first, I am afraid, because it is dark, but as vision adjusts I see I am not alone. There is strip of notebook paper rachelfeingold@nyu.edu. There is receipt La Cucina, on which is now written, “first date.”

  I spend long, long time in shoe box.

  When I arrive, I am “new guy.” But as time passes, I become veteran. I welcome many new friends: Birthday card Rachel. Happy Valentine’s Day Rachel. And many, many Post-it Notes Rachel. I love you, Jordi. Rachel. Good morning, Jordi! Rachel. Everything in here is Rachel.

  I do not know how things are in wallet these days. But I am glad to be in shoe box. I feel as if I have “made it.” I am happy. I am warm. I am safe.

  Magical Mr. Goat

  OLIVIA FROWNED AT HER Marmite sandwich. She knew she must c
onsume it or face the wrath of her governess. But the smell was so revolting she could not bring herself to take a single bite.

  She opened the curtains and sighed. It was only teatime, but it might as well have been night. The fog obscured all traces of the sun. It had been raining for days and the entire estate had turned a greyish brown. Even the flower garden had lost its colour. It looked to Olivia like a giant heap of Marmite, mucky and ugly and foul.

  “Oh, what a dreadful summer!” she cried.

  And indeed it was. Her parents had gone on a three-month pleasure cruise and left her under the care of Ms. Higginberry, a horrid old woman who was constantly forcing her to practice sums. As far as Olivia knew, she was the only child in all of Hamptonshire. There was no one to play with and absolutely nothing to do.

  “If only something exciting would happen,” she thought miserably. “Anything at all.”

  She was about to try the loathsome Marmite sandwich when something peculiar caught her eye.

  “Good heavens!” she whispered. “Have I gone mad?”

  She knew it was impossible, but there appeared to be someone standing in her looking glass.

  Olivia was frightened, but she had always been a curious and intrepid child. She stood up slowly and turned to face the mirror.

  There—framed in the looking glass—was a large brown goat. He looked like the ones she’d spied on the servants’ farm. Two brown horns protruded from his knobby head, and a shaggy beard hung fuzzily from his chin. But unlike most goats, he was standing on his hind legs—and wearing a three-piece suit.

  “My goodness!” Olivia gasped. “A goat in a waistcoat!”

  “I got it on Jermyn Street,” the creature replied. “Isn’t it stupendous?”

  Olivia began to feel faint.

  “You can talk?”

  “Yes,” the creature confirmed. “But I’m afraid we don’t have time for conversation. You see, I’ve come to take you on an adventure—a stupendous, tremendous one!”

  Olivia flushed.

  “But my governess—she said I was supposed to sit right here until I finish all my Marmite!”

  “Your governess is a Willy Wally! If she fancies Marmite so much, she can eat it herself!”

  Olivia laughed for the first time in weeks.

  “Why, you’re delightful!” she said.

  The goat bowed modestly.

  “You’re too kind.”

  He stuck his paw through the looking glass, grabbed the Marmite sandwich off her plate, and gobbled it up in a single bite.

  “Zerkity zerks!” he said, grimacing. “That was awful! But at least it’s gone now—and we can be on our way.”

  “But where are we going?” Olivia asked her new friend.

  The magical creature laughed heartily.

  “Where aren’t we going?”

  The next few days were a flurry of excitement. Yes, there were still sums to solve and Marmite sandwiches to eat. But with Mr. Goat by her side, Olivia was happy for the first time all summer. Every afternoon, when Ms. Higginberry took her nap, the wonderful creature leapt through the looking glass and took Olivia on a rollicking adventure. One day, they crept into the pantry and stole sugar cubes from a cupboard. On another outing, they found wagon grease in the basement and oiled up the banister, transforming it into a pleasure slide.

  “Stupendous!” Mr. Goat howled as he rocketed down the staircase.

  “Tremendous!” Olivia cried, following close behind.

  On Saturday, the sun came out, bathing Olivia’s bedroom with golden light.

  “Zerkity zerks!” Mr. Goat cried. “What a wonderful, sun-derful day!”

  He got on all fours and Olivia hopped on his back.

  “Giddyup!” she cried.

  “At your service, milady!”

  She laughed as he barreled down the staircase and out the door, galloping willy-nilly across the grass. After a time, they collapsed in a meadow at the edge of the estate. They lay on the soft earth, laughing uproariously amid the wildflowers.

  “Oh, Mr. Goat!” Olivia cried. “The last few days have been ever so much fun!”

  “They’ve been wondrous!” her friend agreed. “Wondrous, fundrous, scrumdrous!”

  “I’m so happy you’re by my side!”

  Mr. Goat leaned in and kissed her.

  “Whoa,” Olivia said. “Whoa…. What was that?”

  Mr. Goat flushed with embarrassment.

  “I—I’m sorry…,” he stammered. “I thought… you know… I thought that’s where this was going.”

  “Well, you thought wrong,” Olivia said. “We’re just friends. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Mr. Goat mumbled.

  There was a long, awkward pause.

  “We should go back,” Olivia said, avoiding eye contact.

  “Okay,” Mr. Goat said.

  They walked back to the house in silence.

  Olivia was hoping that Mr. Goat would stay away for a few days, so that things could cool down. But the very next day, in the middle of Ms. Higginberry’s nap, he popped out of her looking glass.

  “Hello, Mr. Goat!” Olivia said cheerfully. She had decided that the best course of action was to pretend nothing strange had happened.

  “I fancy an adventure,” she said. “How about you?”

  “Yeah,” Mr. Goat said, clearly distracted. “Yeah.”

  He coughed nervously. His breath, Olivia noticed, smelled of sherry.

  “Listen,” he said. “About yesterday…”

  “We don’t need to talk about that.”

  “I’ve been on medication for an ear infection… and the dose was really strong—”

  She waved her hand, mercifully cutting him off.

  “You don’t need to explain,” she said. “It’s not a big deal. We were friends before yesterday and we’re still friends now.”

  “Well, that’s splendid!” Mr. Goat said. “As long as we preserve our friendship—that’s the important thing.”

  “Yes!” Olivia said. “Exactly!”

  There was a pause.

  “Can I kiss you?” Mr. Goat said.

  Olivia groaned.

  “I just want to be friends,” she said firmly. “That’s all.”

  “I know,” Mr. Goat said. “I know. I just—I think we should give this thing a try! I mean, there’s obviously something between us! You said it yourself, when we were frolicking—you said you wanted me by your side.”

  “Yeah, like in a ‘friend’ way.”

  Mr. Goat growled.

  “You led me on.”

  “What?” Olivia cried. “No, I didn’t!”

  “You totally led me on! You rode on my back! Do you realize what that was like for me? It was torture! I’m a full-grown goat. I have needs. Stupendous, tremendous needs.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  Mr. Goat sat down on the floor, massaging his temples with his paws.

  “Zerkity zerks,” he said. “Zerkity, zerkity zerks.”

  “Are you going to calm down?” Olivia said. “Because if you’re not, I think you should go back through the looking glass.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mr. Goat said. “I’ll calm down. I’m sorry.”

  He smoothed out his suit and took a deep breath.

  “So you’re not attracted to me at all.”

  “Mr. Goat—”

  “Just tell me. I need to hear you say it. It’s the only way I can move on.”

  Olivia threw up her hands in frustration.

  “Okay, fine,” she said. “I’m not attracted to you at all.”

  Mr. Goat burst into tears.

  “Oh my God!” he cried. “Oh my God!”

  Olivia sighed.

  “There, there,” she said, patting him halfheartedly on the horns. “You’ll find someone.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Sure it is.”

  “No, it’s not! You’re the only one who can even see me!”

  Olivia hesitated. He had a point th
ere.

  “Look,” she said. “We’re great as friends… but we’re just not physically compatible. I mean, for goodness’ sake, I’m only nine years old.”

  “So what? I’m only eight!”

  “Well, yeah, but what is that in goat years?”

  Mr. Goat looked down guiltily at his feet.

  “It’s like midfifties, isn’t it?” Olivia said.

  Mr. Goat clapped his hooves sarcastically.

  “Looks like someone’s been practicing her sums.”

  “You’re such a dick,” Olivia said. “Just because I’m not giving you what you want, that doesn’t give you the right to be a jerk.”

  “You’re right,” Mr. Goat mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

  “I think you’d better leave.”

  “Okay.”

  There was another pause—the longest one yet.

  “Can I just lick your face one time?” Mr. Goat asked. “Just one time and then I’ll go away forever.”

  “No,” Olivia said.

  “Please.”

  “No.”

  Mr. Goat hung his head and trudged wearily across the nursery. It seemed to Olivia that he was moving as slowly as possible. Eventually, after an interminable length of time, he stepped through the looking glass and vanished. Olivia sighed with relief and sat down by the window. The rain had started up again and the sky was thick with fog.

  “Oh,” she muttered. “What a dreadful summer.”

  Occupy Jen’s Street

  THE FAT CATS ARE GETTING richer and richer!” Otto screamed hoarsely into his megaphone. “While the genocide rages on! If that’s not an injustice, I don’t know what is!”

  There were only about a dozen protestors left, but they followed along passionately, waving their cardboard signs in the frigid November air. It was freezing out and I was amazed that anyone had come at all. It was a testament to Otto’s leadership skills. Every Saturday, regardless of the weather, he got us to follow him to Washington Square Park. We knew, analytically, that our protests were irrational. How could a pack of unwashed college students convince Congress to end the War on Terror, or abolish the American prison system, or legalize hallucinogens? Still, standing there in the cold, with Otto’s guttural screams pounding into our skulls, we felt strangely powerful. We felt like we could change whatever we wanted.