by Scott Craven
And that would pretty much be it. I thought even making eye contact with her kinda put things at risk. I wanted to let sleeping dates lie. So maybe I was the weird one.
When some people had noticed Anna and me talking a little more at lunch, I started getting funny looks in the hallways. Funnier than usual. I worried about her reputation, what people would think of someone who might have a thing for an undead guy.
Turns out there was more to it than that.
One morning, Ray Knowles came up to me before school. I was sitting on one of the few seventh-grade-friendly benches and going through my backpack, hoping my math homework wasn’t really on my bureau at home, which was the last place I’d seen it.
“Hey, DJ—I mean Jed.”
“Uh, hey, G-Ray—I mean Ray.” Robbie had bestowed that name on Ray many weeks ago when the morning announcements included one about Ray winning the Chess Club’s first tournament, muttering so only about half the class could hear: “That is so gay, Ray. Ah, Gay Ray. The G-Ray.” What Robbie lacked in wit he made up for with a misguided belief in his cleverness.
Ray and I looked at one another, and I was glad to see he at least wasn’t wearing a Disney T-shirt anymore (which, sorry, was somewhat gay). OK, so the replacement was a Tony Hawk shirt about seven years after Tony Hawk was cool, but it was better than a surfing Goofy shouting “Cowabunga dude.”
I looked down and returned to my search, pulling out another sheaf of papers and hoping the worksheet would be among them.
“Is it true?” he said.
“Is what true?”
“That you and that Anna chick are going to the dance?” Hearing chick come out of Ray’s mouth was like hearing Luke say a word like modicum. It was an awkward fit.
“Yeah, I guess. Why?”
“Because, I don’t know, but I’ve heard that Anna is kind of different.”
“How so?”
“Just, I guess, dark. Have you seen her profile on Facebook, and listened to any of those songs she links to?”
“Not really.” What I really wanted to say was, “How the hell are you her Facebook friend?” but then that would bring a question right back to me—“Why aren’t you?” So I let it go.
“OK, I was just curious … Look, not that we’re major friends or anything, but have you thought that maybe she doesn’t like who you are as much as what you are?”
I did not like where this was going. “You mean that I am oxygen-deficient?”
“If you mean that you are dead, then yeah,” Ray said.
“Really, you air-sucker? And who are you to tell me this? Do you know Anna, have you ever spoken to her? Because I seriously doubt she would give the time of day to a chess-playing nerd whose only distinction is being the last kid on campus whose mom still dresses him.”
“Fine, whatever, DJ, man, I was just trying to help.”
“Really?” I said, dropping my papers on the bench and standing. “By sharing an opinion no one cares about? And where do you get off calling me DJ, Gay Ray?”
This was where things really could only end one way. In many cases, confrontations involved kids from different social strata: a jock vs. a goth, or a smoker vs. a nerd. Heated words would be exchanged, and the member of the lower class would get the heck out of there, thus meeting expectations, with no one losing face.
But Ray and I were close enough on the social ladder that neither of us could back out without looking like a coward.
“What did you call me?”
“Totally … Gay … Ray.” Only I never got to the Ray part, because by “Gay,” my fist was on its way to Ray’s chin. Where it landed. Solidly. As did Ray, onto the concrete.
I had just beaten up a four-foot seven, eighty-five-pound chess player. Ray had taken the brunt of a few months’ worth of me playing the victim. I was going to have to live with that.
Well, be dead with it.
Ray, who’d probably seen it coming, just not so quickly, rubbed his chin. Tears had formed in eyes—eyes that never left me as he got to his feet. Without a word, he turned and walked away.
“Maybe we should call you Dead-Eye Jed, the One-Punch Wonder.”
Robbie’s voice. Great.
“Way to clock a kid who has the strength of a bendy straw,” he said. “For a cheap shot, it was pretty impressive.”
I picked up the papers from the bench, stuffed them into my backpack, and zipped it closed. Slinging it over my back and walking toward class, I heard Robbie call after me, “Felt good, didn’t it?”
I knew the answer. And didn’t feel good about that.
Chapter Twenty
“Dad, not the ManVan. Please.”
“Sorry, sport. I promised to give you a ride, not what that ride would be in. Besides, your mom needs the other car for her art class tonight.”
Mom had gotten into still lifes, and I tried not to take her penchant for grays and blacks personally. Glad she’d found an outlet, but that meant a ride in the ManVan. On my first date. Ever.
I spent about two hours getting ready. About thirty minutes of that was deciding on makeup. Not whether to wear it, but what to wear. For once, I wanted to look alive. So Mom helped me with all sorts of blushes and rouges, and when it was done I looked … like a dead guy with a bunch of blushes and rouges.
“He’s got a nice John Wayne Gacy thing going for him, I’ll say that,” Dad said when I came downstairs in my blue jeans, black skate shoes, purple Diamond shirt, and layers of makeup. I was kinda pissed off when I Googled John Wayne Gacy later, but at least I lost the look after I spent ten minutes at the bathroom sink washing everything off my face.
Anna had said yes to a dead guy, so she was going to dance with a dead guy.
Only now it was a dead guy in a ManVan.
“Jed, relax, it’s going to go well,” Dad said as he punched Anna’s address into the GPS. “Asking her was the hard part. This is the easy part.”
“But I was hoping Anna would still think I’m cool,” I said. “This ride destroys that possibility.”
“What, Anna thinks you’re cool? How long have you been, you know, an item?”
Oh my God, if Dad said that in front of Anna, I’d be sunk.
“Dad, we’re not an item. Just friends. Please don’t even talk to her, OK?”
“Jed, I may be driving you, but I am not your chauffeur. I’m not going to sit up here and be quiet. I am your father and you will respect that.”
“Sorry. It’s just … I’ve been talking to her for a while, so why am I so nervous now?”
“Welcome to Dating Land, son. It only gets more awkward from here.”
Great.
“I will do my best not to interfere,” Dad said. “But three words of advice: Just be yourself.”
“Geez, Dad, I’ve been hearing that ever since Sesame Street.”
“And if it wasn’t such good advice, you wouldn’t keep hearing it,” he said. “Be nice, be courteous, but if you try to do things that aren’t you, she’s going to see right through it.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence, broken only by the pleasant voice from the GPS.
We pulled up to a house that looked like every other house on the street. A light was on near the door, and I could see shadows moving in the front window.
“Honk the horn to let them know we’re here.”
Dad adjusted the rearview mirror until he could meet my eyes in it. “A gentleman does not honk the horn. He goes to the lady’s door.”
“Fine, but that is so old-fogey.”
“Go on.”
I walked up to the front door and wondered if a gentleman would ring the doorbell. I knocked. When a woman in a red shirt and white capris answered, I wondered if I was at the right house.
“Is Anna home?” I said.
“You must be Jed. I’m Anna’s mom, Dawn. Come on in, she’ll be ready in just a few minutes.”
“Thank you.”
I stepped into the very brightly lit living room dominated by
one of the biggest HDTVs I’d ever seen. It took me two seconds to see the Warriors were ahead of the Celts 79-72 in the third quarter.
“Hey there, Jed, I’m Anna’s dad, pleased to meet you.”
I turned around and was facing a blue-jeaned crotch, which belonged to a guy who had to have played basketball in high school or college. After taking a (really quick) step back, I looked up and figured that after he played basketball, he went into the military, where he decided he really liked the look. His close-cropped hair was gray near the ears, and he had the sharp nose and jaw of a drill sergeant.
Only then did I notice his hand, which swallowed mine as we shook.
“I’d like to say Anna has told us so much about you, but she really hasn’t,” Mr. Anna said. “All I know about you came from that bulletin we got in the summer. You’re, well, I’m not sure how you refer to yourself, and I don’t want to be impolite.”
Conscious now of my pallor, I wished I’d kept on the rouge.
“I’ve been going by Cardiovascularly Challenged,” I said. “But I think you would use the term ‘zombie.’”
Mr. Anna furrowed his brow. I knew what was going through his mind.
“I’m not a ‘zombie’ zombie, like the ones in the movies,” I said. “Seriously, if I arrived at school lurching around and eating people, I’d pretty much be expelled.”
Mr. Anna smiled at that one, so OK. Just being myself was going just fine.
“So you have a sense of humor about it—that’s good,” he said. “But I’m going to tell you the truth, I’m a little worried about, you know … it’s just that I’m pretty protective.”
Just then Anna came in, wearing the same clothes I’d seen her in every day. But maybe wearing even more makeup.
“Jed, are you ready?”
Oh yeah, more than you know. I could have kissed her. And maybe I would.
Mrs. Anna came out of the kitchen with a plate full of cookies. “Jed, why don’t you eat something before going off, you know, take the edge off that hunger.”
I’d eaten not too long ago, and my stomach was in knots anyway. But I didn’t want to insult her.
“Sure,” I said, reaching toward the plate.
Only it wasn’t cookies. The plate was covered with discs of raw hamburger meat, as if sliced right from the tube.
“Go on,” Mrs. Anna said. “Fill up. So you won’t be hungry later. For a snack.” She looked at Anna.
I wanted to tell them about stereotypes and misconceptions, about how I eat nothing raw besides cookie dough and carrots.
But I just wanted to get out of there.
“You know, Mrs. Anna, I’m not really all that hungry after all,” I said. Then I looked at Anna. “Besides, if I do feel like a snack, I’ll just pick up some take-out.”
“Jed, we’re outta here,” Anna said, shooting her mom a look of disgust. She grabbed my hand, and we were out the door. “Jed, I am so sorry, my parents just have no idea about you.”
“No problem, not the first time,” I said. “Not many people get to meet a zombie.”
“Especially one as cool as you,” she said. “Oh my god, what a cool van. Are we going in that?”
Maybe, I thought, this was going to turn out well after all.
***
I climbed out of the ManVan—hoping no one would see it under the cover of darkness—and practically ran over to Anna’s side to let her out. As she ducked her head and put one skinny-jeaned leg forward (the Converse All-Star boots laced up her calf only slightly detracting from the alluring look), I took her right hand and helped her out.
“Wow, cold,” she said.
“Sorry, part of the condition,” I said. “I would rub my hands together, using friction to warm them up, only then I lose about seven layers of skin and … that’s just too much information. Sorry.”
“No, it’s really interesting,” she said, her hand still in mine. “That’s what I like. Everything about you is interesting.”
“And everything about you fascinates me, my dark, lovely, and mysterious mademoiselle,” I said, kissing her on both cheeks.
That did happen, but more in my imagination than in what others might call reality. What I really said was, “ … ”
Yup, that was it.
As we walked across the quad, approaching the cafetorium, I could make out the muffled tones of a hip-hop song. Ne-Yo? Jay Sean? Keep thinking, focus on the music, relax, it’s all going to work out just fine.
If I had a beating heart, it would be racing. It was bad enough that I could feel a bit of Ooze creeping from my forehead.
“Hey, hey, slow down just a bit, the dance isn’t going anywhere,” Anna said. I was damn near tugging her across the quad.
“Sorry,” I said. “A little too happy to be here, huh?”
As we made it to the door and I reached forward to open it, it came toward me as if kicked from the other side. The handle smashed into my fingers, and I wondered if anyone else heard the sharp crack of bones breaking.
Not the way I wanted to start things. I quickly straightened my fingers with my left hand, glancing down to make sure they were pointing in the same direction. And they were, for the most part.
“Anna, Jed, cool, you’re here.” Luke was in jeans, a white shirt, and a gray blazer, and I wondered why fashion sense hadn’t struck me that night. Maybe because I didn’t own a blazer.
“Hey Luke,” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the music. “How are things?”
“Good, good. A little stuffy in there, so I thought I’d get some air. Hey, we’re in the corner underneath the last basketball hoop on the left. Me, Chris, Jennie, a few others. Good spot, not far from the pizza.”
“Sounds good,” Anna said. “We’ll see you over there.”
“OK, later,” Luke said just before we blended with the crowd. I headed toward the back left hoop, but Anna jerked on my arm (a little bit harder, and she would have yanked it out of its socket, disappearing onto the dance floor with my right arm—that had to be on the first-date “Don’t” list).
“Let’s dance,” she said.
“Anna, I’m not all that good,” I said. “Kind of dead on my feet.”
She laughed, even snorted a bit. I was caught by surprise at that, since until then she’d been so … intense, I guess.
“I think that’s one of the few times I’ve seen you smile,” I said.
“I smile when there’s a reason to,” she said. “And that was pretty funny. Now let’s hit the dance floor.”
She led me into the center of the cafetorium, her hips swaying to the beat. She let go of my hand, and I, yes, shuffled left to right, right to left.
“That the best you can do?” she said, lifting her arms over her head, her torso twisting. “You really need to loosen up.”
True, but this was a middle school dance, which meant a bunch of people standing along the walls and maybe three couples dancing, as well as a few groups of girls. The stares dug into my cold, dead skin.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Anna said, reading my mind. “If you want to dance like a zombie, that’s fine. It’s what they expect. But if you got some moves in there somewhere, this is the time to break them out.”
Suddenly, I could see myself as if standing outside my own body. Small, thin, and gray, lurching as if I’d just stepped out of Night of the Living Dead. Only more pathetic, because no one was frightened of me.
The song shifted, from a light R&B tune to Chris Brown’s “Forever.” Maybe it was time to put all my moves together, the ones I broke out when in my room alone.
I raised my left knee, then my right, hopping to the left, then back to the right. I shot my arms high and then to the side, using a little trick up my sleeve where I could dislocate my elbows briefly for a quick spin of the forearms. Then, with arms at my sides, I did what I called the snake, creating a wave that went from my feet to my shoulders and back down again as if my bones were made of Jell-O. A kick, a spin, and the splits before
bouncing back to my feet and into a pop-and-lock that, if the music were turned down, included actual popping sounds coming from my joints as they went in and out.
As the song faded, I finished with a quick robot and bowed to Anna, who started clapping.
Then there was another pair of hands coming together, and another, and another. I looked around as it went from person to person, and pretty soon the whole place was applauding.
“Jed, JAY-zus, who knew,” Anna said. “Incredible. Absolutely amazing.”
I wasn’t totally sure it was possible, but I was pretty sure my smile might actually have been going from ear to ear (wait, that could be entirely possible, so I brought it down a notch).
“Thanks,” I said.
“Where did that come from?”
“Mostly from fooling around at home. Testing stuff. I learn things about my body every day.”
“I gotta say, most of that looked like it really hurt.”
“It would have for anyone else. But that’s my gift.” I paused. Did I say what I thought I said? “Yeah, that’s my gift. One of the cool things about being undead. My body can be elastic like that.”
“Whatever it was, that was a lot of fun to watch,” Anna said. “Makes me envious.”
“It shouldn’t. There are a lot of very uncool things about being this way.”
She took me by the hand then and led me through the crowd to a corner in the shadows. Standing close, she almost whispered, “Tell me about it. About it all.”
“What do you mean?”
“About being what you are.”
“A zombie.”
“Yes.
“It’s not my favorite word, but you can say it.”
“Zombie.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How did it happen?”
Good question, and one I’ve been asking myself for thirteen years. How, and mostly why. Why me? Why am I the first? The only?
It all came pouring out.
I told Anna about the birthday party, how I knew from that day on I wasn’t like everyone else. Heck, I wasn’t like anyone else.
First they told me what a zombie was. To be honest, having a heart that beats every second seemed annoying, and breathing also sounded like a hassle. I was OK with being undead.
