Chapter 13

 

Thanksgiving approached and Christmas loomed over the horizon. Work seemed to consist of endless preparation, stocking shelves and putting together displays. It didn't leave much time for John and me to talk, but I liked that at least the time went fast. I also kind of liked the rush of activity with each approaching holiday. It divided up the year, always giving a new milestone to look forward to.

Brian scheduled us to work on some baking displays on the end caps of the grocery aisles. He seemed to schedule us as a team a lot. Maybe he noticed we worked well together, or maybe everyone else declined to partner with either of us. Regardless, John was at the complete opposite end of the aisle, and I didn't actually see him face to face until break. It was dark and cold outside, so he started in the direction of the break-room. The cashier from cosmetics perked up in her chair when we entered, delighted at the prospect of being entertained. I couldn't bear the thought of half an hour of this. Grabbing John's elbow and coat, I jerked my head silently and repeatedly in the direction of the door.

Outside, we had the picnic table to ourselves. It was mostly covered, and the streetlamps in the parking lot gave us partial light. We weren't sitting in total darkness. Not much could be done about the cold, though.

“Are you sure you want to be out here?” John asked, pulling his coat tighter.

Balanced on the tabletop next to him, I scooted a bit closer, some approximation of huddling together for warmth. “I'm sorry, I can't stand being in there sometimes.”

John's words came out in a deliberate, even measure. “No one there's said anything mean to you, have they?”

“No,” I said thoughtfully. “Sometimes I get the feeling that people could, that they would. But no, not to my face anyway.”

“Good,” he said with a nod, something both protective and vulnerable relaxing a bit. Then, embarrassed, he added, “I mean, not good, but—”

“I know,” I interjected. Using a soft tone was enough. He calmed without excessive reassurance. “Have they, to you?”

He shrugged and tried to look indifferent. “How's your research project going?”

The dodge was obvious, but I understood. I sighed. “As fun as ever. Actually, I found a book that's been a little more helpful. I'm learning all sorts of interesting facts about computers. By the way, do you know where the term computer bug comes from?”

“No.” He smiled uncertainly, surprised by my sudden enthusiasm.

“Well,” I said, mimicking his teacher tone. “Computers used to be huge, as in the size-of-multiple-rooms huge. They were big and full of components but also full of vacant space. So, sometimes when a computer stopped working, technicians would go inside and find malfunctions being caused by things like moths and insects. Hence, bugs.”

He gave hints of a smile as he shook his head. “I'm glad it’s going better.”

“Me too.”

“So are there any chapters on how computers become sentient and then homicidal?”

“What?” I asked, almost alarmed. That couldn't be a serious question but it wasn't like him to joke.

“You know, HAL.” He gave me a questioning look, but I shook my head.

“I'm sorry, I can't do that Dave.” He spoke in an affected, calm voice.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” I said with a hesitant smile.

“Seriously?” He looked incredulous, “You've never seen 2001: A Space Odyssey?”

“Nope.”

“No,” he said. “That won't do. Next Thursday, we're watching it.”

“We're going to watch movie about a homicidal computer?”

“No, so much more than that. The movie is phenomenal. There's alien intelligence and space travel. And, of course, there's a book.”

“Okay, okay.” I shrugged, conceding a smile. “Next Thursday.”

John smiled, then became quiet. From the wordless way he moved his lips, I figured he was trying to think of a natural way to say something irrelevant.

“Do you ever—” he said. “Well, would you—” He took a breath and started again. “Alright, you know I have friends.”

I nodded that yes, I knew.

“They're getting together tomorrow night to go bowling. Will you come with us?”

“Um—” I faltered, trying to contemplate this. “Maybe.” His face flashed disappointment and I corrected myself. “I mean if my parents say it’s okay, then yeah.”

He exhaled a smile.

“Do they know?” I asked. “I mean, do your friends know I'd be coming too?”

“Nora was very specific that I'm supposed to invite you.” His words were accompanied by a slight grimace.

“Nora?”

“She's Mark's girlfriend,” he said, oblivious that this wasn't much help. “She arranged everything for tomorrow. By the way, it's 7:00 at the bowling alley near 42^nd. I can drive you.”

“Wait,” I half-raised my hands in a stopping motion. “I don't understand. She asked you to invite me?”

He nodded.

“John, I don't know her. Why would she want me there?”

Unsure how I might react, he tried to encourage a positive reception by giving a wide smile. It looked like he was in pain. I frowned and shook my head, and he stopped.

“She saw you a few times. I think once after school and then a couple times in the cafeteria. Ever since, she's been asking—” He stopped himself.

I understood. She was asking questions he didn't know how to answer.

“They said they really want to meet you if you're up for it,” he said, traces of hope not completely extinguished.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Yes.”

“Yeah?”

I stood and started walking towards the entrance. “Yes, if my parents don't mind.” I qualified.

All through our shift the next morning, John argued with me approximately every twenty minutes over the issue of a ride. I kept pointing out that I lived completely out of the way and he kept insisting it wasn't a big deal. He eventually conceded to the logic of what I was saying. He at least didn't seem irritated that I kept disagreeing with him. With enough reassurances that my parents hadn't objected and I definitely planned on going, he finally agreed to meet me there.

Mom had loads of questions for me when I got home from work in the early afternoon. She wanted to know as much as possible about these kids I was going to meet, who they were and what they were like. Over the course of several hours, I repeated the only honest answer I could: they were friends of a friend and I was meeting them for the first time.

By the time I walked out the front door, she still seemed torn between feeling pleased or upset. I was making friends, but nothing was how she had imagined it. I left to the sound of a half-hearted “Have fun” and the door slamming behind me.

Throughout the bus ride, I talked myself out of worrying because I didn't know where to start. My legs felt funny when I reached the stop. Stepping off the bus and firmly placing one foot in front of the other, I think I only made it by reminding myself that I'd made a promise.

I pushed open the glass door, and the overpowering smell and noise of the bowling alley greeted me. I took a few hesitant steps into the lobby and saw the clock. I probably spent too much time worrying about it, afraid to be late but also not wanting to arrive too early. The clock read 7:07, which seemed like a good compromise. I scanned the gathering groups of Saturday night bowlers, looking for any familiar faces.

I saw John, already on his way over. He must have been watching the doors. Jogging over, he wore an expression of relief. I started moving in his direction and we had an awkward sort of reunion near the shoe rental stand.

“Hey! You're here!” A huge smile engulfed his face, and it didn't seem right that anyone should be this happy to see me. He jammed his hands into his pockets and turned back in the direction he'd come from.

“Shouldn't I get shoes first?” I asked, grasping for a minute or two of delay. He walked with me to the counter where I was issued a hideous pair of size eights. John started to move to pay for it when I interrupted him.

“It’s okay, I've got it.” I handed the bills over to the woman behind the register.

“It isn't a big deal,” John said. Brow furrowed, he sounded annoyed. I wasn't sure what I'd done wrong.

I picked up the shoes and he turned to go. Holding them in one arm, I made a clumsy grab for his wrist before he walked away. Startled, he turned to face me.

“Look, I don't mean to act weird about money,” I said. “I've never been able to pay my own way so it’s sort of a big deal to finally get to.” I dropped his wrist and he shifted his weight. “More than that, though, it's important to me that you know I'm here because I want to be.”

He considered what I'd said, and the traces of irritation drained from his face. The lady behind the register cleared her throat and I realized we were blocking the next person waiting in line. Beginning the slow walk to the end lanes where his friends waited, he held my shoes for me and I pulled off my coat.

“How about this,” he said, “At some point, do you think you could be okay with the idea of a friend being generous just because they wanted to?”

Folding my coat over my arm, I reached to take back the shoes. I was relieved to smile. “I could try and get used to that idea.”

“Good.” He nodded and then looked over to where a seemingly huge group of strangers quieted at our approach. “Are you ready for this?”

“No, but let's do it anyway.” The world's smallest joke got a proportionally small laugh and he led us the rest of the way.

John introduced me with a simple, “Hey everyone, this is Layla.” The girl with long, chestnut hair stepped forward to oversee a much more helpful exchange.

“Hi, Layla. It is so lovely to meet you! I'm Nora.” Her hand was extended to shake mine, but, seeing that I was holding my coat and bag, she immediately adapted. “Oh here, let me take those for you,” she said. My hands were unburdened and my things stowed in an empty chair nearly at the same time she completed making the offer. Satisfied she had me settled, Nora turned me to face the enclosing circle of people.

I felt lucky: she was one of those confident sorts of people, comfortable taking charge. She also understood how to make things a little easier on everyone. Nora gave quick introductions, mindful to repeat everyone's name a couple of times, and to give me some sort of relational explanation if possible. There was her boyfriend Mark, the blond guy I recognized from school and the store. The tall guy with dark curly hair and sharp features was Jonathan. Next was Drew, who channeled an early Beatles sort of vibe. His light brown hair was kind of shaggy, and his whole demeanor languid and relaxed. His fingers were loosely intertwined with those of the willowy girl standing next to him, his girlfriend, Briar.

She gave a half shrug with her free arm at the introduction. “My parents are sort of hippies.”

I mirrored the gesture. “My parents were really into Clapton.”

She smiled and Drew laughed. In the little knot of people, something loosened. Everyone focused on claiming seat space, turning attention to changing shoes and locating the right size bowling ball.

Another guy bounded down the stairs. “The festivities may commence, for I have arrived.”

“Hey Brett, glad you could make it,” Nora said. “John and Layla just got here so we haven't started yet.”

Brett stared at me with a slightly dumbfounded look. “Holy crap, he wasn't making you up.”

His dark hair was cropped short and he wore what seemed like a perpetual smirk. It was a complete snap judgment, and I never would have admitted it to anyone, but I had the sudden and lasting impression that he was the kind of guy who liked fart jokes.

Nora had us organized us into two groups playing simultaneous games. The split seemed odd until I started watching everyone, and then her reasoning became clear. Jonathan, Brett and Mark played to the right, and the rest of us to the left. More focused and perhaps more skilled, the three guys went through their rounds faster and wound up playing four complete games to our two. They kept it pleasant but some natural competitiveness kept surfacing between Jonathan and Brett. Mark seemed to be there to keep the peace, his friendly interference balancing them out. The two of them were getting irritated by the fact that, despite not paying attention, Mark kept getting the highest score.

For everyone else, bowling was simply the excuse to get together. Limping through each round, they chatted about nothing in particular, laughing at inside jokes. I smiled and tried to be polite, but felt the sidelong glances. They weren’t sure what to make of me. I was here as John's friend, thereby some extension of him. His behavior didn't reflect particularly well on either of us. I knew it was because he was nervous, but he missed all the pained looks when he spoke to exhaustion about some random topic. Periodically checking himself, he’d sink into odd and unpredictable bouts of silence, continuing to miss the nervous looks all around him. I tried to buffer, always either absorbing or extracting words from him. Staring into my lap, I ignored the feel of all those eyes watching me.

“It’s your turn,” John said, breaking his self-imposed silence. Drew reluctantly unwound himself from the entanglement of Briar's arms. He took a halfhearted bowling stance and Nora leaned over, whispering, “They go to different schools. They don't see each other much during the week so, unfortunately, they're always like this.”

“The rest of you all go to school together?” I ventured a tentative question.

“Practically since elementary,” Mark said, landing hard in the central chair to write in his score.

“No.” Nora said, bothered by the inexactitude of this answer. “Only you, Paulson and Andrews were in elementary together. Except for Drew, the rest of us weren't even in the same school until freshman year.”

Mark shrugged indifference.

“They all met through soccer,” Briar explained. “Soccer club since you were, what, four?”

“No, it would be ridiculous trying to force kids that young into a competitive sport,” Drew scoffed. “We were five.”

Lowering my voice, I looked to John. “Andrews?”

“John, Jonathan,” he said, “it got confusing.”

“So how do you and Andrews know each other?” Nora seized on the opening she'd been waiting for.

John got up to take his turn at the front, abandoning me to the question.

“We both work together at the store. We started talking and found out we go to school together too.”

“I don't think I've seen you around in any classes,” said Jonathan who was now Paulson.

“I'm a junior.” I tried to smile, but it felt small.

“Dirty old man!” Brett said to John after he completed his turn. Having missed all this, John looked confused. Nora gave Brett a directive look and he dialed back the laughter.

“So that's where you've been for lunch for the past two months!” Mark laughed at his deduction.

I rose to take my turn and by the time I'd finished throwing the ball at the gutter, conversation had drifted forward.

“So Drew, when's your band playing again?” Brett asked.

“No idea.” Drew stretched while he answered. “Aside from my parents' garage we've never found another under 21-friendly venue. Anyway, no one's had time to practice in weeks.”

“School busy?” Nora asked sympathetically.

“More admission prep-tests. Seems stupid to me but apparently I'm in no position to argue with a 100% college acceptance rate.” He rose and walked forward for his turn.

“Ah, the trials and tribulations of going to private school.” Mark sighed, then said to me, “Drew's parents love him too much to send him to public school.”

“Nah.” Drew paused, aiming the bowling ball and throwing a strike. “They only want to make sure I get a good education that leads to a better job. Tell you what though, when you're all frustrated little minions stuck in your entry level jobs, I'll try to be a generous boss.”

“Where? As shift manager at McDonald's?” Brett laughed.

Mark shook his head, turning to look at him. “Dude, do you even realize you just burned yourself?”

Finally working it out, Brett looked more than irritated at the laughter at his expense.

“Not a manager,” Briar said. “It would be such a waste and you'd be miserable. Why not something with music?”

He dropped to the bench beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “I'm thinking more along the lines of leader of a social and artistic revolution.”

“I'm thinking leader of a weird religious cult.” Mark countered.

Drew raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “Hey, as long as everybody's naked.”

They all laughed, but a pause of quiet came. “What about you Paulson?” Mark directed the question to where the tall boy stood, looking for the correct black bowling ball.

Not bothering to look back, he asked, “Are you seriously asking me what I want to be when I grow up?”

“Yeah.” Mark smiled, but didn't laugh. “Yeah I am.”

“Happy.” Paulson walked forward in silence.

Even with all the cracking noises in the background, oppressive silence filled the little nook. John eventually rose to take his turn, too. Ever helpful, Nora moved from where she'd been sitting next to Mark to fill the newly vacated spot beside me. She'd been ping-ponging herself this way for most of the night, wanting to spend time with her boyfriend but also not wanting to lose track of me midway through this introductory gathering. “He went through a pretty messy break-up this summer,” she explained. “He and Cordelia had been dating for about a year and a half and then this summer, they broke up.” Nora's gaze rested on the stoic boy. “He still won't talk about it.”

I shifted in my seat. The silence was unhappy, but I had no idea what I could or should do to relieve it. Mark seemed a lot more comfortable in this role. Looking back to where I sat, he brightened. “How about you, Layla.”

“Me?” I felt my eyes widen in panic.

“Yeah.” Mark gave an easy smile. “What's the future hold for you?”

“Well this is embarrassing, but until about an hour ago, I was sure it was going to be professional bowling.” The joke fell flat, their faces all remained impressively blank. I gestured to the overhead projector, pointing out my abysmal score. Getting the joke, Mark started laughing, signaling to the others it was okay.

“No, seriously though.” Drew was still smiling.

“I haven't thought about it too much. Sometimes I think being a nurse sounds good, you know, getting to help people.” I shrugged. “I don't know, and I still have so much more school to get through.”

“That's cool,” Briar said, smiling encouragement. I read it as her being predisposed to liking me more than the quality of my answer.

“Mark's mom is a nurse!” Nora looked pleased at remembering the connection.

“She doesn't seem like she cares too much about helping people,” Paulson said.

“My mom loves helping people.” Suppressing a smile, Mark crossed his arms.

“Dude, your mom is mean.” Brett responded.

“She's not mean. She just doesn't like you.”

“That is so unfair,” Brett pleaded. “The rest of you were throwing water balloons too.”

I smiled, trying to blend into their laughter at a memory I didn't share.

Drew laughed. “Whatever you end up doing, man, make sure it doesn't require having any sort of aim.”

It was a joke too far. At just the wrong moment, John turned in his seat next to me, getting ready to say something when Brett lashed out: “No need for you to even open your mouth, Andrews. We all know, you're going to infinity and beyond.”

John looked at the floor and said nothing. I think I was the only one to see the traces of flushed skin rising up his neck.

“Brett, don't be a dick.” Paulson suggested.

Nora had no intention of letting things get derailed. She stood up. Bustling and organizing, she made noise about packing up and moving on.

“Thank goodness,” Mark said. “I feel like I've smoked an entire pack of cigarettes sitting in here.”

Amid the scramble of changing shoes and gathering coats, I made a quick dash for the restroom. In the partial privacy of the bathroom stall, I tried to breathe out some of the anxious writhing in my stomach. This was going pretty well and they were all nice, but it was still a group of strangers with questions, watching me. I needed a minute or two to myself because it didn't sound like this was even close to over.

Sometimes it helped to splash water on my face but one look at the sink ruled that out. Even washing my hands with soap and hot water left me feeling more dingy than when I'd walked in. Using my back to push out the door, I hadn't settled on where I was supposed to dry my hands. The door crashed into Paulson, who was also standing outside the bathroom with wet hands and an unsure expression. Giving a weak shrug, I wiped my palms on my jeans. He gave a half-smile and wiped his on his shirt.

“I'm sorry if they're being jerks,” he said. “They can be a lot to take sometimes.”

“It’s fine. Everyone seems really nice.”

“Maybe it is better to dive right in,” he said, matching my pace as we walked back, “just get it over with. Kind of weird for us though, not having the advantage of having heard all about you. I don't think Andrews has ever been able to keep this quiet about a girl before.”

Too late, he realized he shouldn't have said this. It didn't matter, though: a coat was shoved into my arms and the current of the group pushed us toward the exit.

Outside, fresh air and early dusk greeted us. Loud negotiations started over who was going to be driving in which car.

“Shot-gun!” Brett yelled, looking toward John.

“Why don't you ride with us?” Nora suggested. It wasn't quite a threat.

The plan was to meet up at Mark's house. Drew and Briar were up for the longer walk to where John’s car was parked. They trailed along behind us.

“Is everything okay?” John asked.

“It's good.”

“Really?” He looked unsure.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound more confident. If nothing else, I needed to pull it together for his sake. Aside from Brett, they were being nice, and not only to me. They all seemed decent enough, but it struck me as odd that their friend disappeared for two months and it hadn't occurred to any of them to notice.

There was a twofold appeal to regrouping at Mark's house: a big family room in the basement and fairly understanding parents. Mark's mom looked comically tiny standing next to him. She didn't seem mean as much as very, very tired.

“Hi, Kathryn.” Nora greeted her while the rest of us overwhelmed the small space of the entry. The others retreated down the stairs to the basement as soon as they'd taken off their coats, but Nora motioned me over. “This is John's friend, Layla.”

“Hi, Nora. Hi, Layla.” A new person being present seemed less of a concern than simply another person being present. I could see her lips moving, taking a headcount of the people coming into her house. At the end of the evening, I wondered if it mattered which kid was left behind as long as there was only one.

I added my coat to the heap and followed Nora downstairs. There were a few mismatched couches and a big television. A spiderweb of cords came out the front, leading tangled trails to a game console and various controllers. Nora turned on the stereo and Mark and Paulson started hooking up a game. Everyone fell into what seemed like a well-practiced routine of either waiting their turn to play or hanging out to talk. I tried not to act like a lump. I mostly listened to Nora and Briar, but didn't feel like I had anything worthwhile to contribute.

Nora spoke about a group project from one of her classes. It didn't sound like it was coming together very well. She shook her head gravely and, somehow, even in this dark basement, light bounced and gleamed in her hair. I thought about all the adjectives they used on the backs of shampoo bottles. Nora sighed and lamented that she didn't want to have to take control of yet another project, but the chaos couldn't continue. Briar was sympathetic, mentioning some of the problems her art class had already run into with preparations for a winter exhibit. I don't know why it took me so long to notice, but it made perfect sense. Her curly hair hung all the way down to her waist and she wore a poetic shirt made of natural fibers. Flecks of charcoal looked permanently ground into her cuticles. Her parents may have been the hippies, but she seemed okay with embracing the aesthetic.

They seemed like unlikely friends, but the exchange, the interest in each other's problems felt sincere. Looking around the room, the whole group seemed sort of mismatched. I wondered for a while what it was like to hang out with the same people you'd known since you were five. Perhaps friendship was nothing more than a very long habit of being around someone.

Keeping my thoughts to myself, I tried to be pleasant. Nora and Briar talked on and I managed to ask a question or two. Fortunately with them, it was sufficient to be there and occasionally make sympathetic sounds.

The video game was mostly ignorable, a constant low-level stream of laughter and trash talk coming from the opposite end of the room. John and Paulson were starting a game when I joined Nora in heading upstairs to get drinks for everyone. I thought it was interesting, their faces wore matching expressions of focused, cerebral contemplation of the video screen.

Kathryn heard us moving around in the kitchen from where she and Mark's dad sat in the front room. “Nora, will you keep an eye on things down there, make sure no one breaks anything?”

“I'll keep them all in line.” Nora assured her. I didn't doubt for a moment she would.

Balancing an armload each of glasses and soda cans, we made our way back downstairs. This round of the racing game was drawing to a close and things were getting loud. Paulson tried to stay collected but he was losing, badly. He hunched forward, yelling at the screen, lurching and twisting his body in an effort to physically compel his car to turn faster. The guys around him were trying to cheer him on but I heard the groans at each bad turn, each poor play. Sitting cross-legged beside him, John looked perfectly at ease. He seemed oblivious to the noise, his head tilted, almost intrigued by the momentary diversion. He didn't respond to the chorus of groans that marked his win. From above came the distinct sound of a foot stomping.

“Hey keep it down!” Mark admonished.

Turns had been based on each new person playing the previous winner but I noticed everyone seemed to be relaxing away from the television. John turned the controller over in his hands, examining it.

“Do you mind if I play?” My words astonished me. John smiled and I dropped down next to him. He handed the control over, giving me a brief explanation of the buttons. Nearby, I heard a renewed interest in keeping the game going. Paulson grabbed his control again and the screen flashed a countdown to start a new race.

John stayed next to me, by turns giving either praise or quiet hints. “A little right,” he said. “Little more right. A little more. Okay, perfect. Wait, how are you going backwards?” Everyone laughed with me at how badly I lost, but it was a bit more tactical than me not being very coordinated. I saw the lingering glances. They seemed to find my presence acceptable. Nora demanded to play winner and the game went on until, upstairs, the subtlety of stomping the floor turned into loud observations about the time.