by Joe Meno
“I think the greatest asset of postmodernism is its irony and general disdain for the simpler, more … how should I say it? … maudlin emotions. We need great artists who will posit the big questions without resorting to whimsy. That’s precisely what I love about Mika’s work here.”
Jack smiles and then walks back over to where Odile is standing. “He sounds like a douchebag.”
“He is. You should have heard what he had to say about my stuff. He pretty much represents everything I hate about art.”
“We should follow him,” Jack suggests.
“What? Why?”
“I dunno. We should. We should do something to him. Scare him or something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” Jack says, glancing over at the professor’s thin frame. “Something.”
And then, without noticing them, the tall professor walks past the two of them, stopping before an oil canvas of Big Bird holding a machine gun, the professor keeping his hand to his bearded chin long enough to declare, “This is what we need more of, art that challenges assumptions,” before turning to join a collection of other bespectacled art enthusiasts.
“Let’s go,” Odile says again, and Jack nods and they hurry back outside, laughing for no real reason, and head over to unlock their bicycles from the parking meters. It is then that Professor Wills steps out, pulling his overcoat across his narrow shoulders, lowering his bearded chin into the recesses of the folds of his turtleneck. Odile and Jack watch him go, watch him cross the street to a boxy-looking teal Subaru; they see the flecked green-blue color, see the dent on the driver’s side, see the model and license plate, and then watch the art professor pull away, suddenly aware that certain machinations, certain elaborate revenge strategies, are already falling into place.
Jack looks at Odile and smiles googly-eyed, and asks, “Was that him?” and she nods, and he says, “We should do something to him. Or to his car. Or his house. Something. Do you know where he lives?” and Odile shrugs again, the plot starting to take shape, before she pulls her pink mitten back on and says, “It wouldn’t be too hard to find out,” and then they ride back down Milwaukee Avenue in near silence.
At the corner of Augusta Avenue, they part ways quietly, neither putting a word to the distracted notions, the complicated thoughts, the sense that the brilliant, refracted lights of the city are all the feelings they are now feeling.
A MANIFESTO.
Then on Sunday morning who should telephone but Odile? And he climbs out of bed and answers the phone and is surprised by how her voice sounds on the line, much huskier and somehow older, and she says she’s planning a new project and does he want to come help? And he says okay, and wonders what would happen if he ever said no, which he knows by now he won’t. And they meet by the corner, and ride their bicycles to the corporate copy shop where Odile’s roommate Isobel works, and Isobel has blond hair and is pretty good-looking but more in a self-involved kind of way, and Isobel gives them the code to the self-service machines, and together Odile and Jack make one hundred pink posters announcing:
Together, once again on their bicycles, they put on their ski masks, Odile in the black one, Jack in the red, and they post these pink sheets of cardstock everywhere, gluing them to walls, to signposts, to metal trash cans, with a mixture of wheatpaste and rubber cement. They put these posters up on the sides of buildings and over other posters announcing upcoming rock shows, and once they have glued all them up, Odile takes off her black mask and places her white winter hat back onto her head. Jack does the same and then looks up and sees her staring at him for a moment, until she asks, “Do you want to see my favorite place in the city? It’s only a few blocks from here,” and Jack says, “Okay. Why not?” and Odile laughs viciously and pedals off as quick as she can. And there is something in that laugh, some intimation, some kind of question, and Jack, riding his bicycle, sliding in the wet snow, follows it, and silently tries to answer it, and two blocks away both of their faces are already bright red.
BUT IT’S MORE LIKE FIFTEEN BLOCKS.
Jack follows her green bicycle on his blue ten-speed and they end up at the Blommer chocolate factory farther south on Milwaukee Avenue. It’s a triangular-shaped building with faded red and gray bricks and, other than its intoxicating, rich smell, looks rather unassuming.
“What is this place?”
“Can you smell it?” she asks, and he nods and it smells exactly like the entire city block, the whole metropolis, is made of milk chocolate.
“It’s pretty incredible,” he says.
“It’s just like what we were talking about. Because it’s like only a smell. It’s like probably something most people don’t even notice. But it’s one of my favorite things. Because it’s a secret. I mean, you have to kind of know about it to come over here.”
“I get it.”
Odile nods, tilting her nose up to breathe in the chocolate scent. “I really love it. If I ever move to New York, this’ll be the only thing I miss.”
“Really?”
“I mean, I’m sure I’d miss more than that. But not much.”
Jack pulls down his winter cap over his ears, wanting to say something to rebut her, but does not think of anything.
“So do you want to see something else?” she asks. “It’s pretty cool. I found it a few weeks ago when I was riding by myself.”
“Okay.”
“Are you afraid of heights at all?”
“Not really. A little.”
“Okay. Let’s go,” she says, and begins pedaling off again. And once more, Jack rides behind her, the pitch of her shoulders, the wuthering hair dancing backward in a brown flutter, meeting his gaze. And now it’s starting to get dark, and the lonesome stillness of the end of the weekend, of the final hours of the evening, sets in. And all this time, Jack’s thinking this: What would it take for us to kiss? But again, he watches her go.
OFF THEY GO TO AN ABANDONED BUILDING.
“Hello!” Odile shouts, and the echo sounds like some future song, her voice ricocheting softly off the empty walls, and Jack is looking up at the abandoned building, and Odile is smiling wide, and he asks, “What is it?” and she says, “It’s a secret,” and Jack looks at her with an expression that he imagines must reveal his doubt, and she is tugging his sleeve again, and they are ducking past a fence and sign that says, No Trespassing, and he leaves his bicycle against an unadorned beam and there is the sound of dripping water everywhere and he follows her through a square hole in the building and Jack can see her shadow and the back of her head and her hair beneath her hat and she is turning to smile at him and he can see those crazy bangs again and then they are climbing a flight of stairs, and then another, and then some more, and they are eight stories up and now there is the city, and it is submerged in snow, though it’s still so big, rising before him everywhere, because the windows in the building, the sashes themselves, have already been taken out, and the wind is pretty strong and Odile is standing near one of the open spots, pointing, and he looks down and he sees how far the drop is and feels his knees go limp and she is laughing, standing beside him, and it’s not the city as he always imagines it, it’s something altogether different because of the sound of the girl’s laughter and the fact that it’s so big, so vast and unconquerable, and now it’s buried in snow, a ghost city, a blank city, the idea of a city, a city of every conceivable possibility, and then she is saying something he can’t hear because of the wind, and he says, “What?” pointing to his ear, and she says it again: “It’s getting torn down next week. I rode by this place and there was this demolition crew and they were taking measurements and everything. I talked to them and they said sometime next week. Isn’t that weird to think about?”
Jack backs away from the window. “Yeah, that’s kind of weird.”
“Are you scared?” she asks, laughing.
“No. A little.” And then, “I guess.”
“I used to be really scared of heights. When I was
kid,” Odile admits.
“You were?”
“Just a little. Now it really doesn’t bother me.”
Jack looks down and feels his legs are still wobbly. “I never liked heights.”
“What else are you afraid of?” she asks.
“Just heights, I guess.”
“When I was a kid, I used to be afraid of everything. Now the only thing I’m scared of is if people like me or not.”
“Yeah,” he says.
“It’s weird. Sometimes I think there’s something seriously wrong with my brain. I want everyone to like me, even if I don’t like them. Like my roommate and people at school. Even my family. I have this weird thing about being liked by everyone. I don’t want anyone to think I’m a bad person, or mean. So I do things I end up regretting. Like I loaned this money to my roommate and I know she’s never going to pay me back. I don’t even care about the money. It’s the fact that I gave it to her, you know? And I don’t know why I did it. I just wish I didn’t care if people liked me or not.”
And Jack nods, smiling, the two of them still leaning against the open window.
“When I was eighteen or nineteen,” she continues, “I had this boyfriend in art school, and he was my first serious boyfriend ever. Brandon. He was so nice and I ended up cheating on him. It was weird. I didn’t want to, but I did. The first chance I got, I cheated on him. I don’t know why. I mean, it was like, I met somebody, this guy at this party, and he wasn’t anything special, but he seemed nice, and immediately I felt like I had to get him to like me. So I cheated on this really nice guy for no reason. I don’t know. I think it’s a pretty serious character flaw, you know? To do things like that. I think it’s one of the reasons I want to leave. Because I’m tired of trying to get people to like me.”
And Jack nods again.
“I feel like I’m at the point where I need to decide who I’m going to be,” Odile says. “I don’t feel good about anything I’ve done so far. I think that’s why I want to go to New York. Because it’s easier than having to figure all these things out here.”
And she looks at him and smiles and says, “Okay. Wow. I think I’m going to shut up now.”
And he nods and they are walking down the flights of stairs and she is a few steps below him and he can see over the top of her white hat and she is still moving and then she has stopped to stare at a pair of icicles that have formed and they are standing in the stairwell beside each other and then he just says it.
“I did something pretty dumb when I was eighteen.”
And she is turning, looking up at him, and she asks, “Yeah?” and he says: “Yeah. I was away at school, on the East Coast, in Massachusetts. It was only a few days since the semester had started but it was the first time in my life I was away from home, from my parents and my sister and people I knew, and all the trees looked different, you know, and I knew they were the same but they still looked different because I didn’t recognize anything, I kept getting lost everywhere. I mean, every time I left my room and went outside, I’d get lost, and everyone seemed so happy, they were all happy to be at college, because this was real life to them, and it was finally starting, you know, but it didn’t feel like it was starting for me, because even after a week I was having a hard time keeping up with the classes. My roommate, he was this guy, and he knew a lot of people, so there were always these people in my room, coming over to visit, people I had never met before, guys and girls, and I never had any time alone, I never had any time to be alone in the room, you know, and so it kind of got to me, and I’d just go out walking so I could be alone. Then I’d start to feel better and I’d think I was going to make it, and I’d try to go to my classes, but I didn’t know any of the people there or my teachers and I started going out less and less, and because I had the top bunk I would just lay there while people came and hung out in our room and partied and did coke, and then one night I was lying there and my roommate came in, and he had this girl with him, and he had done that before, have a girl with me there, and they were like going at it, and I was lying above them and I could hear them kissing and the girl even asked, What about your roommate? and my roommate said, He’s not here, he must be gone for the night, and then they went back to kissing, and I don’t think they even knew I was there, I think maybe they were drunk, but that’s what made me so mad, you know, they didn’t even know I was there, and so then I climbed down and the girl said something and I went to the bathroom, one of those big common ones, and someone had left their shaving kit there, and I found a plastic razor and tried to cut my wrist, but all I ended up doing was getting a razor burn because it was a safety razor and I couldn’t figure out how to get the blade out, and so then I decided I would try to freeze to death and I walked outside in my pajamas and it was November but it had snowed already and there was snow and leaves everywhere and I thought this is as good as it’s going to get for me and then I laid down in the snow and it was already five or six in the morning and then a security guard came and tried to get me to stand up and I told him I didn’t want to, that I was trying to kill myself, so he had to carry me into the back of his patrol car and bring me to the hospital and then the school called my parents and I’ve been dealing with it ever since. I mean, this was all … I dropped out of that school and then went to art school after that. Then things got better for me. But. What I mean is, I’m not a bad person. I just get depressed. We talked about it before but now I’m telling you. I do get depressed, and I don’t know why, but it’s only for a couple days at a time and then after that I’m usually pretty good, pretty great actually. It’s weird. I just can’t be around people all the time because it makes me sad to be around them sometimes. I think maybe that’s why my wife left. If that makes any sense. I can tell by the way you’re looking at me that it doesn’t. But it does. It’s an actual medical condition. I’m on medication for it. Are you looking at me funny or are you just looking at me?” he asks.
And there she reaches up and puts the rounded shape of her pink mitten to his lip. And then they almost kiss but then they don’t. They can’t. Too much has been said maybe. He doesn’t really know.
“Let’s go to my place,” she says, and he is blushing and nodding his head and his forehead has broken out with sweat and somehow they are once again riding down the street, the bicycle wheels spinning beneath them.
ANOTHER ACT OF ART TERRORISM.
Together they hurry up the front stairs of Odile’s apartment building, both of them dragging their bicycles up the steps, and they are almost silent, as if they know something interesting is about to happen, and the key is in the lock, and the door is opened, and the two of them step inside, and Isobel, Odile’s roommate, is sitting on the sofa watching TV, and she makes a brief declaration: “The president was acquitted,” and both Odile and Jack pause there, staring at the screen, and Odile asks, “What?” and Isobel says, “The president was acquitted for getting a blowjob and lying about it. He’s not impeached anymore,” and Odile asks, “When?” and Isobel says, “I think on Friday maybe,” and Odile says, “Really?” and Isobel says, “Yeah, I just watched an episode of 20/20,” and Odile says, “Wow. Well, it serves those assholes right. We should do something to commemorate the occasion,” and Isobel tilts her head in such a way that defines the narrowness of her face, something a model would know how to do, Jack thinks, and then she says, “Like what?” and Odile says, “I don’t know. Let’s just go do something,” and Isobel says, “Thanks but no thanks,” and Odile asks, “What about you?” and Jack shrugs, but Odile grabs his hand anyway and they rush back down the stairs, out into the street. And it is a quiet Sunday night and the city feels empty but this does not stop Odile.
Hand in hand, they run to the corner, and then another block, right out in the middle of Division Street, and Odile runs up to a car stopped at the stoplight and begins pounding on the window and Jack stands there wondering what he should do, and Odile is yelling happily at the people sitting in their cars, waiting
for the light to turn green, and then she is unbuttoning her coat, and shouting, “Whoo-hoo, woo-hoo, U.S.A., U.S.A.!” and she begins flashing the traffic as it blurs past, holding her shirt over her pink bra with both hands, and Jack cannot help but gawk, and cars start to honk their horns, and some of them even slow down, and Jack tries to get her to pull her shirt back down, but she isn’t interested. She only laughs and runs off, half a block down to another stoplight, and here, tapping on car windows, is where she actually unbuttons her jeans and puts her rear on someone’s window, and cars are beeping, some of them annoyed, some in applause, and Jack can see the daintily stitched hem of the girl’s pink panties riding up above the unbuttoned waist of her pants, and then he runs over and pulls her out of the street, and she laughs and pushes his arm away, and there is something like a small, wild animal in her, and she tries to untuck Jack’s shirt and get his pants down, and she says, “Don’t be such a tightass,” and he says, “I’m not a tightass, I just don’t know what you’re doing,” and she says, “We’re celebrating the right to be stupid, which is probably the most important right we have in this country. We’re staging an impromptu performance piece,” and she lifts up her shirt again, flashing her pink bra at a passing car, and Jack grabs her wrist and says, “Stop,” and she says, “No,” and he says, “Stop it,” and he has his hand on her jacket and someone is honking and she flashes them with a hostile, feral grin, and then runs over and pushes her bra against the passenger-side window of a dirty-looking Buick, and Jack grabs her by the shoulder and says, “Odile, just stop,” and the moment she turns is when he decides to finally kiss her, and it is soft and hard at exactly the same time, and she lets herself be kissed, but does not kiss back at first, not until she bites down on his lip a little, and then he has her hand in his hand and is marching her off somewhere and she says, “Where are we going?”
