He was wearing a weird anime T-shirt from some obscure Japanese cartoon, and he had an open bag of gummy bears propped on the child seat of his grocery cart. It always bugs me when people eat things in the grocery store before they buy them.
The last time I saw him, he’d acted like nothing was wrong. We’d talked about the stuff we normally talked about and played video games. But after that phone call from his mom, I stopped seeing him.
I secretly hoped that it was his mom who’d made him stop coming over, but Todd always did stuff his mom didn’t like. He hid candy under the floorboards in his bedroom because his mom wouldn’t let him have processed sugar, and he snuck out of the house all the time. He bought Playboys. I’d seen him smoke weed. So I knew it wasn’t because of her.
As I stood there, I made a list of all the stuff I wanted to say to him, every snarky thing that ever crossed my mind about him. But then Rebecca just looked at me and shook her head. She raised her middle finger in Todd’s direction, and I smiled.
I got into a checkout line and left with the four items I needed. I know he saw me before I left, because there were only three people behind me in line. I’m pretty conspicuous. He knew it was me. He definitely knew.
I turned around for a second when I got to the exit and noticed that Todd was deliberately looking away. He didn’t want to make eye contact. So I left and didn’t tell anyone I’d seen him. Definitely not Maya, because then I would’ve had to tell her why we weren’t friends anymore.
I wonder if someday he’ll tell people that he had a friend who was schizophrenic and that it was too difficult to maintain the friendship because of the severity of the illness. He might get a few sad nods, and even some sympathy from strangers who think he was a nice person for trying.
I thought about keying his mom’s Acura in the parking lot for a second, then just walked home instead. Rebecca did cartwheels.
DOSAGE: 4.5 mg. Begin to taper off.
MARCH 20, 2013
I feel fine.
As you know, my doctors made a decision to keep me on the drug for the time being, but to taper it off gradually. We won’t be increasing the dosage or changing the medication, which is a relief. None of the really harmful side effects have manifested, and the blood tests are still inconclusive, so my mom insists that I stay on it until something else can be arranged. Not sure how familiar you are with the nasty side effects of coming off a drug you’ve gotten used to, but that is also a lovely spilled bucket of diarrhea.
The other doctors have mandated weekly blood and urine tests for now, but that’s hardly difficult. They probably talk to you a lot, too.
One nice thing about you, Doc. You never make me pee in a cup. That’s why you’re my favorite.
Oh yeah, it’s a blast being Jesus. Our last Stations of the Cross practice is next week. I think I’ve mastered the role.
I bow my head when Pontius Pilate washes his hands of my death. I let the girl playing Veronica put a cloth against my face to leave an imprint with my blood. I let two Roman soldiers nail me to a cross without screaming (because it was determined in years past that a screaming Jesus being nailed to a cross is really quite distressing to watch). Then I die with dignity after another soldier pokes me with a spear and proclaims that I truly am the Son of God, sort of like the way an old lady pokes meat at the grocery store and asks Is this fresh?
Dwight, as the narrator, leads the church in prayer, and I rise from the dead. So yeah, I’m ready to be Jesus. It’s nice to have a distraction from the baby.
Paul is really overwhelmed with all the baby preparations. If I had to describe him, I’d say he looks a lot like a crumpled umbrella. When he leaves for work in the morning, he already looks defeated, but he also looks kind of relieved to be getting out of the house. My mom has been making him go to a bunch of classes. Lamaze. Baby first aid. Breastfeeding.
It’s been a while since my mom had a baby. Obviously.
Actually, I don’t think she ever thought she’d be in this position again. She thought it was going to be just me. But now that she’s “with child,” her friends from work and book club are throwing her a baby shower. They are handling the games, the decorations, the invitations, and everything cutesy.
I’m in charge of the desserts. Cream puffs with pink and blue filling. Tiny baby-bottle cookies. Layered carrot cake, because it’s my mom’s favorite. And a vast assortment of cupcakes.
Our house has become a shrine to tiny, ridiculous things. Gifts have started pouring in even though the party is still a few weeks off.
Since my mom refuses to learn the sex of the baby, everything is yellow—the color for parents who wish their babies to be sexually ambiguous and confusing for people who look anxiously into strollers expecting to know immediately what they’re looking at.
It’s amazing because now that we don’t live in the Middle Ages, I think it would probably be a good idea to take advantage of the scientific advantages available to us. But when the doctor asked if they wanted to know the sex, my mom said that they wanted to be surprised.
Paul actually does not want to be surprised. I know for a fact that it is killing him not to know. The man lays out his clothes the night before work and folds everything in an obsessively neat pile. He wants to have a plan of action for everything, but he didn’t fight my mom on this because he’s suddenly become a weenie. She’s become even more powerful with the pregnancy because almost everything makes her cry, and Paul can’t handle that. He’d rather give her anything she wants than watch her get upset, which means they are going to have some serious discipline problems as it is with this kid.
My mom told me to invite Maya to keep me company because Paul’s mom is going to be there, and even though she’s forbidden from talking to anyone about me, she’s still annoying as hell. So Maya is coming.
Maya came over while I was taking inventory of the kitchen. She made the list of ingredients I’d need and sat dutifully while I pulled out equipment and then tucked things away. Every so often, she’d look up at me and smile, and I’d remember that we were basically in the house alone. We didn’t have Academic Team to study for anymore, no homework that needed to be done immediately, and nobody was really watching us.
It was easy to take her hand and gently pull her to my room. Easy to close the door silently behind us. But when I edged toward the bed, she shook her head and pulled me toward my desk chair instead.
She sat in my lap facing me. Her top might have come off. My pants might have been unzipped. But then the garage door opened, and we both scrambled to put clothes back on and race to the kitchen before my mom could open the door.
I cannot overstate this. I don’t think I’ve ever been more frustrated in my life. I kept thinking that if my mom hadn’t come home, would we have done it? It always feels like she’s ready when we’re together, but maybe that’s just because I’m a guy and I’ve been ready since, well, I’ve been ready for a while.
After Maya left, Rebecca spent the next several hours throwing me casual glances that might have been smirks. She seemed pleased with herself about something. She twirled her fingers in her hair and grinned.