by Jake Wizner
“Well—I mean, that’s what it is,” Zeke said, turning away from Max. “Yeah, I know … Six weeks. Listen, I’ve got to go.” He closed his phone and turned back around.
“Everything okay?” Max asked, picking up his book from the desk and flipping it over to read the blurb.
Zeke shrugged. “Just some shit back home.”
“What happened?” Max asked, looking up.
Zeke sat on his bed and ran his hands through his hair. “Fucking idiot,” he mumbled.
“You sure you’re okay?” Max asked.
Zeke looked at him. “My friend Devin stopped going to rehab.”
“Is that who you were talking about the other night, who smokes so much pot?”
Zeke nodded. “That’s not the issue, though. For him being stoned is normal.”
“What’s he doing? Coke?”
“Among other things.” Zeke looked at a spot on the floor. “He was always on something. Ritalin when he was young and then pills to help him sleep. I never thought it was that big a deal. But then he started with the ecstasy and the painkillers and anything else he could get his hands on.”
Max looked at Zeke’s pack of rolling papers next to his bed. “So that’s why the band broke up?”
“He started coming to rehearsals too fucked up to play, or not coming at all.” Zeke shook his head slowly and then looked up at Max. “You know, I thought he was maybe going to pull it together when he went into rehab last month.”
“Do his parents know?” Max asked.
Zeke picked up his iPod and began to scroll through. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Max watched him for a moment. “I’ve got to go meet Olivia. You want to come? It’s beautiful outside.”
“No, thanks,” Zeke said, putting his iPod in the dock. Pounding rock guitar blared out.
“Is this the Clash?” Max asked.
Zeke nodded and sat back down on his bed.
Max listened for a few seconds. “I forgot to tell you, Trish was looking for you at lunch. She seemed kind of bummed that you weren’t there.”
“Whatever,” Zeke mumbled, picking up his guitar.
“I think she likes you, dude,” Max said.
Zeke ignored the comment and started to play along with the music.
Max opened the door and stood in the doorway, watching Zeke. “You sure you don’t want to come?”
Zeke shook his head and continued to play.
Outside the dorm, Olivia was waiting, and when she smiled at him he momentarily forgot about Zeke.
“What are you reading?” she asked.
“On the Road,” he said, showing her the book and feeling more than a little bit pleased with himself.
She looked at the cover and grimaced. “Oh, I can’t stand that book.”
“Really?” he said as they headed toward the stairs. “What about My Ántonia?”
Two hours later, when Max returned to the room, he found Zeke asleep on his back, fully dressed, with the Grateful Dead playing on the dock. The mingled smell of marijuana and air freshener wafted through the room.
Max closed the door quickly and stood looking at his roommate. “Jesus,” he said, laughing. “You need to get out and get yourself some fresh air.” He leaned over Zeke. “Wake up,” he whispered.
Zeke grunted and turned over on his stomach.
“I’m going to have to jump on you,” Max said.
Zeke did not respond.
“Okay,” Max said, walking to the foot of the bed. “One, two, three,” and with that he launched himself on top of his sleeping roommate.
The effect was cataclysmic.
“What the fuck?” Zeke screamed, upending Max and jumping out of bed.
Max shook himself off and smiled. “You were so cute I couldn’t resist.”
“That’s so not cool,” Zeke said, glaring at him.
“I’m sorry,” Max said, laughing. He held open his arms and took a step forward. “How about a hug?”
“Stay away from me,” Zeke said, retreating.
They stood facing each other, Max smiling, Zeke looking thoroughly pissed off.
“So I guess a blow job is out of the question,” Max said.
“You’re sick.”
“How about some cuddling?”
Zeke shook his head. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“I’ve just got a lot of pent-up sexual energy.”
“So go whack off or something. Jesus.” He sat back down on his bed, then reached over and took his water bottle off the dresser.
“I might,” Max said, reaching into his closet and grabbing his Frisbee. “You want to go outside and toss this around a bit?”
“No.”
“Come on,” Max said. “Don’t you like playing Frisbee when you’re high?”
Zeke sat back on his bed and rubbed his eyes. “Why the fuck did you wake me up?”
Max shrugged. “I don’t know. Did you really want to sleep all afternoon?”
“Yeah, I did.” He lay back down and stared up at the ceiling.
Max sat on his bed and tossed the Frisbee a few times to himself before putting it back in the closet. “So what’s going to happen with Devin?” he asked.
“I still don’t want to talk about it,” Zeke said irritably.
Max nodded and sat back on his bed. He knew he should spend some time memorizing lines for class, but the heat in the room was sapping his desire to do anything. Unbuckling his sandals, he lay back on his pillow.
“We should buy a fucking fan,” he said.
As he felt himself starting to drift off, Olivia sat at her computer upstairs, typing away furiously.
CASTRATION CELEBRATION
Act 1, scene 2
(A classroom. The teacher is a young man, recently graduated from college, and he stands in front of the room addressing a group of largely uninterested students.)
TEACHER: Okay, class, open up your plays. Much Ado About Nothing, act 1, scene 1. I need eight actors for this scene, but two of the parts are tiny. I’ll probably need some girls to take guy parts, because all the parts are men except Beatrice. Any volunteers? (Nobody raises a hand.) Oh, come on, guys, this is Shakespeare. (Still no one volunteers.) Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to assign parts.
JANE (raising her hand): I’ll play Beatrice.
TEACHER: Excellent. Can I get someone to play Benedick? It’s a classic battle-of-the-sexes scene between these two characters.
BIFF: Did you say sex? (Much of the class starts to laugh.) I’ll volunteer for sex. (more laughter)
DICK: Shut up, Biff. (raising his hand) I’ll do it.
TEACHER (smiling): Great. Now who else will take a part?
(Students volunteer for the remaining parts.)
TEACHER: All right, then. Actors, front and center.
(The play begins, and the actors stumble through their lines, with the exceptions of Dick and Jane, who play their parts brilliantly.)
JANE (as Beatrice): I wonder that you will still be talking, Signor Benedick: nobody marks you.
DICK (as Benedick): What! my dear Lady Disdain, are you yet living?
JANE (as Beatrice): Is it possible Disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signor Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence.
DICK (as Benedick): Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for, truly, I love none.
JANE (as Beatrice): A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humor for that: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than hear a man swear he loves me.
BIFF (interrupting the play): What’s going on? I don’t get it.
TEACHER: They’re insulting each other. Quiet now. Listen.
DICK (as Benedick): God keep your ladyship still in that mind; So some gentle
man or other shall ’scape a predestinate scratched face.
JANE (as Beatrice): Scratching could not make it worse, an ’twere such a face as yours were.
DICK (as Benedick): Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
JANE (as Beatrice): A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
DICK (as Benedick): I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way, i’ God’s name; I have done.
JANE (as Beatrice): You always end with a jade’s trick: I know you of old.
(The teacher begins to clap, and the whole class follows suit. Jane and Dick make eye contact, smile, and turn away from each other to face the class. The bell rings and students rush off. Dick comes up beside Jane as they exit the classroom.)
DICK: Hey.
JANE: Oh, hi.
DICK: You were really good up there.
JANE: Thanks. So were you.
DICK: I guess it’s not such a stretch for me to play a totally obnoxious guy.
JANE: I guess not.
DICK (smiling): Ouch.
JANE (also smiling): Sorry.
DICK: It’s okay. I deserve it.
(Jane shuffles things around in her book bag.)
JANE: Where did you learn to act like that?
DICK (shrugs): I don’t know. When I was little I used to put on shows all the time, and I would play every part. Three Little Pigs, Little Red Riding Hood, The Wizard of Oz. My mom always said I was a born actor.
JANE: You did The Wizard of Oz by yourself? That’s impressive.
DICK: You should have seen me as the Wicked Witch. (in the witch’s voice) I’ll get you my pretty … and your little dog, too!
JANE (laughs): Not bad. I used to have nightmares about the Wicked Witch when I was little. And those flying monkeys terrified me.
DICK: You want to hear something weird? I wasn’t scared of the witch or the monkeys, but Clifford totally freaked me out.
JANE: Clifford? The big red dog?
DICK: He wasn’t big. He was enormous. I used to have nightmares where he would come through the window of my room while I was sleeping and carry me off to the moon.
JANE: That is weird.
DICK: You know, children’s books aren’t nearly as innocent as they seem. Take any book from when you were little and look at it again and you’ll see.
JANE: Oh, come on.
DICK: It’s true. Do you remember the book Pat the Bunny?
JANE: Of course. It’s a classic.
DICK: Have you ever thought about what that book is really about?
JANE: It’s not about anything. It’s a book for babies.
DICK (miming the actions he recites in a lewd, suggestive manner): Pat the furry bunny. Feel Daddy’s scratchy face. Slide your finger through Mommy’s ring.
JANE: Oh, that’s horrible.
DICK: How big is bunny? Sooo big.
JANE (laughing): Okay, that is really disturbing.
DICK: And what about Winnie-the-Pooh?
JANE: What about him?
DICK: There’s a whole chapter about him getting stuck in Rabbit’s hole.
JANE: Okay, that’s just ridiculous.
DICK (smiling): You know, it’s strange that we’ve been in the same class all these years, and this is the first time we’ve ever really talked to each other.
JANE: You and your friends aren’t exactly the most inviting group of people.
DICK: I know, right? But I’m surprised I haven’t noticed you before. (He stares at her, realizing for the first time how attractive she is.)
JANE (made uncomfortable by his stare): Yeah, well, I keep a kind of low profile.
DICK: But you were the first person to volunteer for a part today.
JANE: I couldn’t just sit back and watch Shakespeare get mangled. I mean, come on. Did you hear Jerry keep pronouncing the “g” in signor? (imitating him) Sig-noor Benedick, Sig-noor Benedick.
DICK (laughing): And can you imagine if Biff had played Benedick?
JANE: Can he even read?
DICK (laughs): Come on—
JANE: Sorry.
DICK: It’s okay. I like a girl with an edge to her. (stops and looks at her) Hey, what are you doing Saturday night?
JANE (flustered): Saturday night? This Saturday night? Nothing. I mean, I don’t know. Usually I stay home and read.
DICK: You want to do something?
JANE (regaining her composure): What, drive around with you and your friends? No, thanks.
DICK: No. Not that. Just you and me.
JANE: And do what?
DICK: I don’t know. (thinking) We could go bowling.
JANE (laughing): Bowling?
DICK: Why not? Shakespeare used to bowl all the time.
JANE: Was he any good?
DICK: Terrible. That’s why he decided to be a writer instead.
JANE (shaking her head): The things the history books leave out.
DICK: Tell me about it. Like I bet you didn’t know that Abraham Lincoln’s real name was Abraham Goldstein, but he didn’t think he could win as a Jew, so he changed his name.
JANE: How was his bowling game?
DICK: Not very good. Andrew Johnson, on the other hand … that guy could roll. Second-best celebrity bowler in history after Benito Mussolini.
JANE: You’re really a storehouse of useless information, aren’t you?
DICK: I do my best. I actually know how to say “scrotum” in five languages. You want to hear?
JANE: Not really.
DICK: No, listen. Scroto, escroto, skrotum, le scrotum, and balzac.
JANE: Balzac? You’re making that up.
DICK: No, it’s Dutch. Really.
JANE: I don’t know whether to be impressed or seriously concerned.
DICK: You know, it’s not easy growing up named Dick. You end up with an unhealthy preoccupation with your genitals.
JANE: Thus your desire to roll big heavy balls at penis-shaped pins.
DICK (laughing): Exactly. So what do you say? You want to come bowling Saturday night?
JANE: I’ll think about it. (She smiles and walks to another part of the stage.)
(same music from earlier)
(Dick)
Her name is Jane, and on Saturday night
I’m gonna take her out to bowl
She’s really witty and I think she’s really pretty
I was broken, but with her I feel whole
Suddenly there’s something new in New Melon
I don’t have to drive around acting like a felon
Sick heal, fake real, Depression now a New Deal
I think that I might be in love
(Jane)
His name is Dick, and on Saturday night
He’s gonna take me out to bowl
He acts all tough, but I see that it’s a bluff
I was broken, but with him I feel whole
Suddenly there’s something new in New Melon
I’m charting a new course, a modern-day Magellan
Trapped free, I we, no more being lonely
I think that I might be in love
(Dick and Jane)
Trapped free, I we, no more being lonely
I think that I might be in love
(Curtain)
The next Sunday at two-thirty in the afternoon, Olivia walked downstairs with a completed first act in hand and knocked on Max and Zeke’s door. She had been hiding out a lot in her suite the past few days, mostly to write without interruption, but also because she was afraid that if she kept flirting with Max she might lose her resolve to stay single. Indeed, the only reason she was here now was that she needed to talk to Zeke.
Still, if she was being completely honest with herself, she was a little disappointed not to see Max when Zeke opened the door. As much as she hated to admit it, flirting with Max was fun, and their banter always left her charged to write. She stepped inside and looked around the room.
“Max isn’t here,” Zeke said
, “but he should be back soon.” “I actually came to see you.” She noticed his guitar on the bed. “Were you practicing?”
He shook his head. “Just messing around.”
She sniffed the air and gave Zeke a disbelieving stare.
“What?” he said.
She grinned. “The air freshener doesn’t really work.”
Zeke shrugged. “Whatever.” He sat on his bed and began to tune his guitar.
Olivia noted the pair of boxer shorts with penguins printed on them left lying out on Max’s bed and smiled before turning her attention back to Zeke.
“So I was talking to Trish,” she said, “and she was telling me that you write a lot of the music you play yourself.”
“Some of it,” Zeke said.
She watched him tune his final string. “Do you have any interest in working with me on my musical? I’m writing the play and the lyrics for class. I really want someone to write the music for me.”
“What’s it about?” he asked, strumming a chord and then tightening his D string.
“I’ve only written the first act. You can look at the opening song if you want.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t really like musicals, to be honest.”
“I thought you wrote one with Trish.”
He shrugged. “That was for a school assignment.”
“I’m sure this is totally different from what you wrote for school. Just read the beginning.” She held out the papers in her hand and sat down next to him as he started to read.
He came to the bottom of the first page and looked at her with a smile. “You’re writing this for class?”
