My head started doing a tiny shake back and forth. I had no idea what he was going to tell me but I could tell, just by his tone, by the pace of his words, that what he was going to say would change me.…
“When you were young, very young, I think just over a year old, your parents had moved to Brooklyn for the summer. Your dad, as you may know, had always wanted to move back there and your mom had agreed to spend the summer there to see if she liked it. I believe he was the chef at an Italian restaurant near the courthouse and your parents had rented a little apartment close by. In the evening, your mom would have an early dinner with you at the restaurant and then walk you home to put you to bed.…”
My heart started beating faster. Like every second it was doubling in speed. I didn’t know why … what could have happened?
“Your father worked late and then he would go out drinking with the waitstaff.”
“My dad almost never drinks.”
“Not since then, no. On this night, your mom was carrying you in through the apartment door and a man came up behind her. He had a knife. He reached around with it, and pressed it…” Father Jeremy reached his hand out, just far enough so that I knew where he was pointing.
To my face.
To my scar.
He went on, “The man told your mom that if she screamed, he would kill you both. You were already bleeding. This man then pushed you both into your apartment, allowing your mother to put you in your crib before he forced her to the floor and raped her.”
My eyes bloomed fast with tears, and my heart stopped racing and maybe stopped altogether, and I thought I was going to have a panic attack, but, no, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I was okay. I broke, but I put myself together before I became permanently broken.
“Your father didn’t come home until morning, when he found your mother still in shock on the floor and you in a blood-soaked crib. If he had come earlier, they might have gotten you stitches sooner.…”
“And it wouldn’t be such a big scar.” I touched it. It’s okay. All I have is this scar on my face. Not like the scar my mom has.…
“I told you this because I thought you should know. I came to the conclusion that your mother would never tell you. She hasn’t brought it up to me in almost a decade. It’s buried very deep now, all that pain. I didn’t tell you it to excuse your parents’ actions…”
The yelling. The blaming. The hatred of Brooklyn. The hatred of sex. The paranoia. The fighting.
“… but I do think it might help you understand them.”
Yeah.
“Their shame about what happened is so profound that they don’t know how to express it except with blame. Sometimes violent blame. Mostly toward each other but also, most tragically, toward you.”
Yeah. And. So. What do I do now?
61
BENED …
I drove to Roth’s Diner, asked the host for a table for two, and then sat in a booth facing the entrance. I took out my phone, opened Facebook, and messaged … Gator Green:
Thanks for saying happy birthday.
After I sent it, I realized this was a not very effective way to make a new friend. So I decided to send a second message:
I celebrated by spending the day in the library bathroom.
I hope you don’t mind.
This was, obviously, a lie. But I think it might be funny. It would be even funnier if Gator knew I spent the day having sex for the first time in a warming hut with Penelope Lupo and then being caught naked by our parents and called a retard by her parents and then discovering Penelope had gotten back together with her ex-boyfriend who beat me up last week. Perhaps it wouldn’t be funnier. In fact, it sounded very depressing.
Gator did respond a moment later by saying:
So you’re saying you had the best birthday ever then;)
That was a nice thing to say. So I wrote: You have no idea. Of course, this was true. He literally had no idea that it was the best birthday ever. Well, and the worst birthday ever. But I was just exchanging light banter in hopes of solidifying a platonic bond with a male classmate. When I state it like that, it makes me feel like I still have social problems.
If only Penelope were here at the diner, she would tell me she loves how I state things. I was about to get depressed again when Gator wrote:
Want to see a movie over break? Or just get together and talk about how awesome the library bathroom is?
It appears I was being successful at making a new friend. I told Gator yes. Then I heard someone say, “Hi, Benedict!”
Allison Wray had entered the diner and walked to my table while I was staring at my phone. I got to my feet and reached out my hand to greet Allison, but she said, “Can I just give you a hug? That’s what we do in South Carolina.” And then she opened her arms, so I did too and we hugged. She smelled like I always expected a girl to smell. Which was fine. It wasn’t the smell of fresh laundry, flowers, and mystery. But it was a scent that was very commonly admired.
After our hug, we both sat down and faced each other. I had not prepared any topics of conversation and was now sure I would be very socially awkward with Allison Wray without being able to state that I knew I was being socially awkward like I could with Penelope. But then the words just formed in my head: “How was your day?” This was an incredibly boring question to ask. Though I now knew it was better to do that than to just sit in silence trying to find the perfect question to ask.
Allison then told me about her day, which I didn’t find particularly interesting. But she was very pleasant to look at. Her overtly friendly tone was also very inviting. If she were my girlfriend, I’m sure many of my classmates would be envious. They would think as we walked through the halls together, “There goes Benedict, who is not only one of the best students in school but also has a very pretty and nice girlfriend.” Perhaps I would be popular soon after. Perhaps after I became popular, my father would again love me.
Yes, I would have a girlfriend, the envy of my peers, and the respect of my father. Inside my own mind I would know that I was merely a puppet listening to Evil Benny’s every thought. But on the outside, my life would seem very successful.
62
Penelope
Father Jeremy paid for our breakfast-dinner and then we walked to his car. I hugged him good-bye. Told him thank you a hundred times.
You know, I still think religion is kinda stupid and not really for me. I sure as hell don’t think religion makes people good people. But, you know, I do think good people can make religion not all bad.
* * *
Then I got in my car, which was facing the restaurant. Like straight on. Like directly into the windows of the late-night section, where everybody (except me and Father Jeremy) sat.
Like … it faced, lined up perfectly with, one booth in particular. And in that booth was a very pretty blond girl. If I was a boy, she’d be the exact type I’d like. And this very pretty blond girl was with a boy.
My boy.
Well, he was mine for a day. Maybe just a few hours.
And now, I guess, he was somebody else’s.
* * *
I almost cried. Really almost cried a lot. But no, no, no, no … I’m going to just drive away. I love him. I love Benedict Pendleton. I love him so much … that I’m going to let him go.
63
BENEDIC …
When Allison Wray was done telling me about her day, she asked about my day. This is what normal people do. Ask generic questions so that each person can exchange generic information that allows each person to think they aren’t different or weird or a freak or a dork.
I, obviously, would not be able to tell Allison how eight hours ago I got to lick my first vagina or that I fell in love or that I have a voice in my head I’ve named Penis Benedict. This would be unique information that would make her feel that I was not normal and the only way she could feel normal is if she bonded with another normal person.
* * *
Stop overthinking this,
moron, Evil Benny said.
I suppose you are right.
Allison Wray is your dream girl!
I suppose you are right.
Just lie to her. Tell her you had a great day with your family celebrating your birthday and the day was ending even better now that you two were here together. Trust me, she’ll love it.
I suppose you are right.
* * *
So I said, “Allison, my day…” Talk really fast! “Actually, I’ve been curious about something first. If you don’t mind…” (Evil Benny tried to object, but I really was talking faster than he could think.) “Why would you be interested in me? You’re a very attractive girl with a very nice personality, but I’m not sure how I would be appealing to you.”
Her face turned a bit red, which was cute, I guess. Then she stumbled through her words as she said, “Well, I thought you were very handsome when I first saw you…”
I like being thought of as handsome.
“… then you said that odd thing after I sat down and I thought, okay, maybe he’s not a good match for me…”
Ah, yes, my social awkwardness.
“… but then I talked to your friend Robert, who told me how smart you are. Which is very important to me.”
I like my intelligence being appreciated.
“… and then I found out your dad wrote Being a Perfect Person, which is my mom’s favorite book and she told me, ‘Allison, I bet Benedict will be just as brilliant and successful as his father.’ And so I thought I’d write you to see if we were a match after all. And I’m so glad I did because I think it’s going very well so far, don’t you?”
* * *
Yes, I do, Evil Benny said.
Huh?
This is where you say, “Yes, I do,” Evil Benny said.
I believe she just informed me her interest in me is largely based on my father’s book being one of her mother’s favorites.
So?
I, just …
Evil Benny didn’t like me hesitating. So he yelled, YOU WON’T EVER GET A NORMAL, RESPECTABLE GIRL TO LIKE YOU UNLESS SHE LIKES YOU BECAUSE OF YOUR DAD! SO JUST TELL HER YOU THINK IT’S GOING WELL AND THEN LIE ABOUT YOUR DAY AND STOP BEING A RETARD!
* * *
“Benedict,” Allison Wray said, “I didn’t mean to say I was only interested in you because of your dad. I just think the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. So your father is like a glimpse of you in the future.”
“Yes, I get it.… You’re very right.…”
* * *
I’ll go to Northwestern like him. Then I will become a very successful psychiatrist like him. Then I will have two children like him. Then I will become a bestselling author. Then I will tell my son he can’t date girls who have nose rings and wear short skirts. If he does, I will tell him his girlfriend is a whore and then I will fire him as my son.
Evil Benny added, SOUNDS LIKE A PERFECT LIFE TO ME!
* * *
“Yes,” I said. “Yes … Allison?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, no, I’m fine. Do you want to be normal?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re right. I wasn’t clear. I’ll rephrase. Do you want other people to think you’re normal?”
She wasn’t that excited about answering, but she tried: “I guess I don’t want people to think I’m not normal. Like a freak or a dork or anything.”
“Being considered a freak or dork would be the worst.” I was attempting sarcasm for one of the first times. Allison didn’t notice.
“But I don’t want to be boring either. I want people to look up to me. So I guess, yes, I want them to think I’m normal but the best version of normal.”
“The best version of normal. I’ve never heard that before. That’s a good description. That’s exactly what I wished for too.”
“Thank you,” Allison said, and smiled. But then her smile died because she registered exactly what I said.
“But as much as I wished for this, it was impossible. I’m chemically unable to feign normalcy. I have a voice in my head that I call Evil Benny that has been yelling at me for the past few hours and by telling you about this voice I’m giving you evidence that I can’t be normal. But if I didn’t tell someone about this voice, I would become exactly like my father. Which would be outstanding in every respect except that I would hate myself.”
* * *
It took Allison thirty seconds to register everything I said and then come to the conclusion that I was, in fact, insane. She then, with a great deal of normalcy, said, “I’m just so tired suddenly. Thank you so much for meeting me, Benedict! I’ll see you in school in a few weeks!” Then she stood and left.
* * *
Evil Benny said, You fucking blew that, reta—
Shut up, Benny, you’re boring me.
He waited a beat, but then said:
Yes, okay.
64
Penelope
I let him go. I let him go. I let Benedict go.
I really did.
I swear.
I just didn’t actually go.
* * *
See, I kept telling myself I just wanted to watch.
Watch Benedict being happy, being normal.
But man, even through the car’s window and the restaurant’s window, I could see his brain work. Spin … “spin” is not the right word. His brain was a fucking tornado.
Yeah, so I just watched his tornado brain—AND YES, I WAS GETTING TURNED ON BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT—and then he unleashed it. Not all of it. Not like in the warming hut. That probably would have torn the whole diner down. But he unleashed a few gusts of that brain and this pretty blond girl went from thinking Oh, this is nice, having a coffee with a cute boy to I must run for my life! And puff, puff, puff, those gusts blew that girl right out of the diner.
And then Benedict was alone.
And I was happy he was alone.
Until I was sad he was.
If only I wasn’t sure he was done with me. If only I wasn’t sure that we had no hope of repairing the damage done today. If only the universe could offer me a sign, any sign, no matter how small, that Benedict the dork and Penelope the freak still had a chance.…
65
BENEDICT
I’m not sure what happens next. I believe I achieved two moments of clarity at almost the exact same time. One, I no longer wished to be like my father. Two, I had slain Evil Benny. Not literally. He’s just a voice in my head. If I had slain him literally, I probably would be dead. But I am the opposite of dead. I feel as alive as I have ever felt. It would be nice not to be alone. It would be nice to feel so alive with someone. But I think it’s better to be alive alone than dead together. Never mind. I’m talking nonsense. I guess what I’m really saying is I wish Penelope hadn’t gone back to her ex-boyfriend. I wish I were waiting in this diner for her. I wish she were in the parking lot right now—
66
Penelope
He turned toward me. Oh-my-god. I know this sounds crazy, but it’s like he was turning to look for me.
It was too dark, I was sure he wouldn’t be able to see me. But maybe this was the small sign I was looking for. Maybe—
He saw me.
And he jumped up onto the booth seat. Nope, not gonna stop there. Onto the table. Benedict was now on the table. Benedict was not only on the table; he was pounding on the window. Benedict did not believe in sending small signs.
“PENELOPE! PENELOPE!” he was yelling. “PENELOPE! IT’S ME—BENEDICT! I’M INSIDE! DON’T LEAVE! I’M INSIDE! CAN YOU SEE ME?”
I nodded. Oh, oh, oh, oh …
67
BENEDICT
She saw me. People were laughing. The host was yelling at me. They concerned me not at all. I screamed one more thing: “I’M COMING FOR YOU!”
I leaped down from the table and sprinted toward the front door just as—
68
PENELOPE
I said I�
�m coming for you in my mind, and I threw open the car door and ran toward the diner entrance. The moment I stepped inside, he stepped into me. He lifted me up in the air, our lips found each other in a breath, and if we weren’t us … if we were normal, let’s say … we probably would have twirled once in a circle, then he would have put me down and, blah, blah, blah …
Well, we twirled, except we twirled right into the host stand and that made us lose our balance so we fell onto the floor but we kept kissing and kept holding each other. Someone was yelling, “You two can’t do that!” and someone else was yelling for us to get up except Benedict wasn’t letting go, so I sure as hell wasn’t going to let go either.
A VERY LONG
EP
il
OG
ue
BENEDICT
After Penelope and I performed our dramatic public display of affection on the floor of Roth’s Diner, I explained the Allison Wray situation. Penelope then explained the Paul situation, which was, obviously, a lot more serious than the Allison Wray situation. I got angry at Paul, but Penelope said I was getting mad at Paul because I felt responsible but I wasn’t responsible and she had taken care of it and the best way I could support her now was to be proud of her, not angry at Paul. She’s basically the smartest person alive. Perhaps tied with me. Well, since I’ve been valuing other types of intelligences besides those I understand, perhaps we are all tied. Though that’s less interesting to say.
* * *
Then we told each other about our parents. I didn’t have much to tell besides how my mother took my sister and me home and that I did not know what was going to happen with my father. I did tell her about Evil Benny and, for one second, I worried she would think I was insane like Allison thought I was insane, but then she said, “You tell me if Evil Benny ever starts talking a lot again and I’ll tell him to go fuck himself.”
The Nerdy and the Dirty Page 19
