Run, Jonah, Run

by Jonah Black

  “Jonah, tell me what you’re reading in English right now. You’re at a wonderful age, reading all the great works for the first time.”

  “I don’t know. To Kill a Mockingbird.” Actually, we’d read that in seventh grade, but I figured it would shut him up. Why I thought this I don’t know, because it didn’t.

  “Harper Lee!” he shouted. “’You never really know a man until you’ve walked around in his shoes.’ Do you think that’s true, Jonah?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “I think you know it’s true,” said Professor Bywater. “I think you’ve spent a lot of time walking in other people’s shoes.” He took off his Wallabees and shoved them toward me. “Go on. Take a walk.”

  “I’m not kidding,” I said. “I really do have to go.”

  “Let me tell you something,” Professor Bywater said. He put one of his hands on my shoulder. He was looking at me over the top of his half-frame glasses. “And I’m only telling you this because we’re kindred spirits, you and I, aren’t we? Two peas in a pod.”

  “I’m okay, really,” I said.

  “It’s the secret of life. You ready?” he asked me.

  “I said I’m okay,” I repeated. I was now officially freaked out by this guy.

  “Find a girl, Jonah,” he whispered. “A girl.”

  “Okay. Fine,” I said.

  “You find a girl, Jonah, and worship her.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks for the tip.”

  “You play sports?” he said. “You do. I can tell.”

  “I’m on the diving team.”

  “I used to be a diver,” he whispered, and his bad breath blasted me in the face. It smelled like coleslaw gone sour. “I was a very good diver.”

  Enough already with this guy. “That’s great,” I said, and walked away.

  I could still smell his breath on my face and I felt sort of shaky. Professor Bywater was seriously scary. From across the room, I turned around and I could see him talking to someone else, a young college girl. I could tell from the look on her face she thought he was nuts, too. Man, I thought. What a pathetic jerk. Hanging around the frat house at age forty trying to pick up girls.

  And then I had this horrible thought. You see that guy? I thought. That could be you in twenty years.

  I kind of stunned myself with this thought, and then I was like, what kind of stupid thing is that to tell yourself? I’m not Professor Bywater. I’m not even a potential Professor Bywater. Except for the diving thing, we have nothing in common. Maybe Professor Bywater isn’t a professor at all. He’s just some lunatic who calls himself a professor and everyone tolerates him because in general, people are pretty nice. I don’t know. I hope I never see him again is all I can say.

  The good part of this story is that a moment later the girl he’d been talking to came over to me and smiled, and there was something natural and real and unforced about it. She had straight brown hair and very pale skin and a small mole just above her mouth.

  “Do you think he’s okay?” I said.

  “You know what? I don’t care,” she said. “I’m rather hoping he isn’t okay. He’s a creep.” She smiled that smile again. “My name’s Molly Beale,” she said. “Who are you?”

  “Jonah Black.”

  “You know what I was wondering, Jonah Black, when that loser unleashed himself on me? I was just wondering if this college party scene is all bullshit or what. What’s your theory on that question?”

  She said this in a completely honest way. It sounded like that’s really what she was doing at that second, going over in her mind whether or not this whole party was bullshit.

  “I don’t know, I’m new here,” I said.

  “I’m new here, too. I don’t go to college. I’m in high school. I’m just looking at all these college kids wondering what’s the deal with them.” She looked around curiously. “I mean is it just me, or is everyone here basically kind of drunk and stupid?”

  I laughed. “You know, now that you mention it, everyone here is kind of drunk and stupid,” I said.

  “Except us, of course,” said Molly.

  “Of course.” I shrugged. “I don’t go here, either. I’m in eleventh grade at Don Shula High, down in Pompano Beach.”

  “No way,” Molly said. “I’m from Lauderdale-by-the-Sea. I’m a junior at St. Winnifred’s.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Out of the blue I suddenly find this cute girl who actually seems normal. “I know somebody who goes to school there,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “Elanor Brubaker?”

  “Oh, her,” she said, and it was clear just how little time Molly had for Elanor Brubaker in her life.

  “I know somebody she used to go out with,” I clarified.

  “Who, Loverboy over there?” She nodded at Thorne, who was drinking beer through a funnel. Bruce and Thaddeus and their buddies were cheering him on. Thorne finished the funnel, smacked his lips, grabbed the nearest girl and kissed her on the lips. Everyone cheered even louder and Thorne kept on kissing her. The girl wasn’t even blushing.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Well, Elanor is so full of crap it’s not funny,” Molly said. She pushed her brown hair behind her ears with her ring fingers. It was this incredibly cool, delicate gesture. “But that guy Thorne is even worse. He’s like a walking baloney sandwich.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. I guess that’s what people find so endearing about him.”

  “Is that right?” she said. Her hair fell back down again. “Which people are these?”

  I laughed. “I don’t know.”

  She said something I couldn’t hear, but I nodded anyway. It was actually a little hard to hear her over the music.

  “So why are you here?” I said. “If you don’t go to school here?”

  She smiled at me. “Why are you?”

  “It’s kind of a long story,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, the St. Winnifred’s choir is singing Handel’s Messiah here. That’s my story. Nice and short.”

  “You’re in the choir?”

  She started singing. “And His name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.” She had a terrible voice. I figured her school choir must be the kind you don’t have to audition for to get in.

  “So let’s get back to guys,” she said. “And how full of crap they are.”

  “Okay. Whatever,” I said.

  “Why is that?” she said. “I mean is it on purpose, do you think? Or is it just an accident?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I think maybe it’s because they’re afraid.”

  She looked at me hard. “That’s an interesting answer, Jonah Black,” she said. “You’re saying guys lie to girls because they’re afraid. What are they afraid of?”

  I thought about it. I wasn’t sure I knew the answer. Molly was kind of intense. “I’m not sure. Maybe they’re afraid of being rejected.”

  “Rejected? Why would they be rejected?”

  “Because we aren’t cool enough. Or something.”

  “Not cool enough,” Molly said. She put her hair behind her ear again. “That’s interesting. But what if coolness isn’t what girls want from guys?”

  “That would be news to me,” I said.

  “Nevertheless,” Molly said. “Maybe what girls want is the truth.”

  “Which is what exactly?” I was beginning to think this conversation was way too smart for me. I wondered if this was the way all the girls talked at St. Winnifred’s.

  “The truth?” Molly said. “You’re asking me what the truth is? Like you don’t know?”

  “I’m saying I think it’s hard sometimes to tell people who you really are,” I said. I wasn’t even sure if that was what I meant to say.

  “And why is that?” she said.

  “Because sometimes you don’t know who you really are?” I answered.

  “Ah,” said Molly. “You’re interesting, Jonah Bl
ack. You haven’t looked at my boobs yet, either.”

  I really wanted to look at them then, but I couldn’t.

  “I didn’t think it would be polite,” I said. I finished the beer I was drinking in one gulp.

  “You know, I’m thinking maybe you and I should sit down someplace and have a conversation where we don’t have to shout over this imbecilic music. You agree with me, right, that this music would only appeal to morons?” Molly said.

  “It sucks,” I said. “It definitely sucks.”

  “In fact, I’m noticing there is a couch over there with imitation zebra-skin upholstery which is currently unoccupied. What would happen if the two of us were to sit down on that couch and converse?”

  I was going to need another beer if I was going to keep talking to this Molly girl.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged.

  “Tell you what, I’m going to go and visit what my mother would refer to as the Little Girls’ Room, and then let’s the two of us recline on that zebra-skin davenport over there and continue our analysis. Does that sound like a good way to proceed?”

  “You’re a nut, aren’t you?” I said to her.

  She shrugged. “We shall see, won’t we?” Molly turned her back on me and walked through the party. I felt a drop of sweat trickle down my temple. There was something completely direct about her. She had a nice butt, too, I noticed as she walked away. And she was pretty tall. I think I like Molly Beale.

  At that moment, these two girls sat down on the zebra-skin couch. I wanted to rush right over and tell them, excuse me, this seat is reserved, but I didn’t.

  Because one of them was POSIE.

  My heart started pounding in my chest. I couldn’t believe she was there. I looked around to see if her new mystery boyfriend was with her, but I didn’t see anybody. I didn’t recognize the girl she was talking to, either. What was Posie doing at a UCF frat party, anyway?

  Then I remembered her mother saying Posie was going college visiting. But Jesus, did the college have to be UCF?

  I thought about the last time we’d been together, how I’d called her Sophie by accident. I thought about the telescope she’d given me.

  Then I turned and ducked out the kitchen door and stood outside in the yard for a second. The grass was littered with plastic cups. A big yellow dog was sleeping under a tree. It raised its head and looked at me. I wondered if I was going to be sick. I can’t believe my own life, sometimes.

  It’s like I’m a cartoon character who’s just been hit on the head with a frying pan, and a big bump comes out of the middle of his head and all these stars and moons are circling in the air above him. Except instead of stars and moons, maybe I’ve got girls.

  Suddenly, there was someone behind me, and I thought, Please, let it be Posie. Please. Then I thought, Please let it not be Posie. Then I thought, Please let it be Molly. Then I thought, Please let it not be Molly. Then I thought . . .

  “Come on, Jonahboy,” said Thorne. “Why don’t I take you back to the hotel?”

  “No, it’s okay, I’m just—” I looked up at him. I guess I looked pretty bad.

  “Hey. It’s all right. I get it. I’ll just drop you off there and then I’ll come back,” Thorne said. His voice sounded almost gentle, for him.

  “You’re sure?”

  Thorne nodded. He was strangely serious. We walked to his car and headed back to the Porpoise.

  “You didn’t tell me Posie was going to be here,” I said.

  “I didn’t know,” Thorne said.

  “Did she see me? Does she know what I’m doing here?”

  “I don’t think so,” Thorne said. “If she asks me, I’ll come up with something.”

  “It kind of freaked me out, seeing her,” I told him.

  “Yeah,” Thorne said. “I noticed.”

  We drove for a while in silence. I was grateful Thorne wasn’t making me talk. And that he’d left the party to drive me back to the hotel. He’s a good guy.

  “So who was that chick you were talking to?” he said, when we were close to the hotel.

  “Her name’s Molly Beale,” I said.

  “Molly Beale,” Thorne said, letting the name roll off his tongue. “Very interesting.”

  We got back to the hotel, and I got out. “I’m gonna give you one last tip,” he said. “If you got a message from Sophie? Don’t call her back right away.”

  “Don’t?” I said.

  “Nope,” he said. “Remember. Make ‘em wait.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll make her wait.”

  “You aren’t listening to me, are you, Jonahboy?” he said.

  “Nope.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. “Have a good night. Later.”

  Thorne took off in his Beetle, leaving me alone in front of the Porpoise. Flags were flying from poles by the swimming pools. It was dark and there were stars out.

  I was glad I had a friend like Thorne.

  I walked up to my room. There, by the bed, was the phone. And the message light on it was blinking on and off.

  I ran across the room, picked up the phone and hit the button. I hadn’t even closed the door. The automated voice said, “One message, delivered ten-fifteen P.M.” That was less than ten minutes ago. I waited for the message, and as I waited I thought about what Thorne had said. Make ‘em wait.

  The message started. There was the sound of a room, a television playing in the background somewhere. I could hear someone breathing. She inhaled, then exhaled. Someone in the background said something, but I couldn’t figure out what. Then the line went dead.

  What if that was Sophie? Is that the last I’ll ever hear from her? Or is this just the beginning?

  I think I’m in trouble.

  (Still Dec. 27, 11:30 P.M.)

  Okay, so I just called home to see if there were any messages, and fortunately—or unfortunately—Honey answered the phone. She said Mom was with Mr. Bond and she was “indisposed.”

  “Listen,” I said. “Have there been any messages for me?”

  “What’s wrong, Llama Nuts, you sound like you’re in trouble.”

  “I said, have there been any messages for me?” I repeated.

  “You’re calling from Orlando,” Honey said. “Where are you, a hotel?”

  “How do you know that?” I demanded.

  “Caller ID,” she said matter-of-factly. “So you did go to Orlando after all. Oh, for crying out loud, Jonah, you aren’t meeting her at Disney World, are you?”

  I just sat there for a second, amazed at Honey. Is there anything she can’t figure out? I guess I shouldn’t have been so shocked—I mean she does speak six languages and all. Still, I kind of hate the way I can’t keep anything a secret from her.

  “Yeah, I’m meeting her at a hotel, Honey,” I admitted. “And she isn’t here. The front desk says there isn’t even anybody by that name registered. I think I’m being stood up.”

  “Yeah,” Honey said. “Sounds like it.” It sounded like she thought this was funny. Like I was the most gullible sucker known to man.

  “Will you call me if she leaves a message at home?” I said.

  “You want me to call you?” she said. “Sure, I’ll call you. Give me the number.”

  “You want me to wait so you can get a pencil or something?”

  “I’ll remember it,” she said. Of course, Honey has a photographic memory. She can tell you the first names of the parents of the kids who were in her kindergarten class eleven years ago.

  I gave her the number and then she said, “Listen, Scrote, you don’t sound good. Is Thorne with you?”

  “No, he’s at a party at UCF,” I told her.

  “When’s he coming back?” Honey said.

  “I think tomorrow, but I don’t know. We left it kind of loose,” I said. Even I could hear the note of pathetic desperation in my voice. What a sad character I’m turning out to be.

  “Yeah, it sounds pretty loose all right,” Honey said. “You h
ave enough money to pay for that place? It’s got to be two-fifty a night.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I’ve got money.”

  “Huh,” she said, clearly not believing me. “Imagine that.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I guess I better go.”

  “Yeah, well. Have a good time, kid,” said Honey. “Enjoy your pizza.”

  She hung up.

  Sometimes I hate my sister.

  (Still Dec. 27, almost midnight)

  Still waiting for Sophie.

  I just did something kind of stupid. I decided to see what was on television and the first thing I got when I switched it on was this ad for Univision. It’s that hotel room pay-per-view thing, and most of the movies they have I’ve either seen, or don’t want to see. But then I noticed they had two porno films available, Busty Backdoor Nurses and Sorority Girls.

  I’d never seen an actual porno movie, so I thought, well, what the hell. I mean I want to see what it’s like and maybe it would get me out of this depressing mood I’m in. Help me forget about Sophie and that scary professor at the party and the cute girl I messed things up with before we even got to know each other—Molly Beale. I mean maybe it wouldn’t make me feel better, but I thought it might be kind of funny.

  So I pushed the buttons and went through the menu and soon Sorority Girls was starting. It was pretty much exactly what I expected. I guess nobody watches these things for the acting.

  The movie hadn’t been on for more than a minute when I started getting kind of nervous because I suddenly thought, hey, what happens if Sophie comes over right while I’m watching this? So I tried to put the TV on “off” for a second, just to prove that I could get out of Sorority Girls in a hurry if I had to, but the remote didn’t work. So then I got up and tried to turn off the TV manually, but none of the buttons seemed to work. It was like I was stuck watching Sorority Girls. Only two minutes into it everybody was naked and doing stuff that was really kind of gross. But it was kind of hard not to watch.

  Anyway, I figured, worst case scenario, I unplug the set.

  So I went back to the bed and kept on watching it. There was this one girl who had a huge birthmark shaped like a fan on her stomach. And all the guys were really geeky-looking, with Coke-bottle glasses and pocket protectors and khakis and loafers and plaid shirts. But when they took off their clothes they were actually these huge steroid-pumped guys with orange fake tans. They stood around acting all shy and uncomfortable and the girl with the birthmark was like, “Don’t be shy, come lie down.”