The City of Dreams -- Part 15

[I just discovered that I've been unintentionally cheating in my word counts in Write or Die.  Turns out that the program counts double spaces as extra words.  The result is, where I thought I'd typed 2500 words in the last 50 minutes, it was actually only 1900.

[The good news?  I still typed 1900 words, and you get another section.  So here it is.  Also, you may have noticed that some words have been creeping into the story in capitol letters.  Or capital letters.  I'm not sure which.  Write or Die doesn't do italics, so I've started throwing them in capitolized/capitalized--aha!  The spell checker just informed me that letters are capitalized, so they must be capital letters.  Which is beside the point.  The point is that capital = italics.  Said and done.]



       When I woke up the next day, I felt horrible.  Terrible.  I tried to not feel too bad about it, especially after such an amazing night, but for some reason I was angry.  I couldn't pin down anything in specific to be angry about, but I was.  Mad.  Furious.  Everything was wrong with the world, and I felt like shouting about it.  Or, at the very least, not getting out of bed.  Or, if I had to get out of bed, at least I wasn't going to be happy about it.  At all.
    "Who's Brie?" asked my mom at breakfast.
    I glared at Tamara.
    "Yes, I told her, Mr. Rain Cloud," said my sister.  "Go glare at someone else who cares."
    "Come on, Perry," said Mom.  "Can't I want to know about a girl my son is interested in?  I only have one son, you know.  That makes you special.  Unique.  Like a parsley plant in a bed of flowers."
    I blinked at her.  "Was that a compliment?"
    "Of course," said Mom, not quite smiling.
    "She's just a girl," I said.
    "No girl is 'just a girl,'" she replied.  "Every girl is special."
    "Like parsley," I said.
    "Exactly."
    "That you don't eat, but just leave sitting on a plate after all the good stuff is gone."
    "My, you are grumpy this morning, aren't you."
    "Have a bad dream about Brie?" asked Cindy, sitting down to join us.
    "Shut up," I said.
    "Manners," warned my father from the kitchen.
    "Sorry," I muttered.  I actually did feel bad.  I didn't want to be angry, or unhappy, or rude.  I never did.  I've never understood the phrase 'misery loves company.'  I didn't want company.  I wanted to be alone.  Or alseep.  Asleep actually sounded very good.
    "Here they are," said Dad, bringing in a plate of waffles.  "Fresh out of the waffle iron--at least the ones on the top are.  I'm afraid those on the bottom are getting a bit soggy, so let's pray quickly and get eating."
    Cindy said the prayer over our food, which meant it was short, and we three teenage hands lunged for the top of the pile.  Unfortunately, Dad beat us to it and snagged the warmest, crispest waffle for Mom.  It was fair, I guess--she did give birth to us, so she deserves something--but when the dust had settled, I'd ended up with a somewhat floppy specimen from a few down the stack.  Great.  Something else to be mad about.
    "Pass the syrup please," I said.  I looked over to see Cindy looking at me apologetically as the last drops dribbled from an empty bottle.  "Great," I muttered.
    "I didn't realize it was so empty," she said.  "And I run cross country."
    "What does that have to do with anything?"
    "I need a high calorie diet?"
    "Forget it," I said, standing up.
    "Aren't you going to eat?" asked Mom.  "I can guarantee that girls prefer guys who don't die from starvation."
    "Who cares?" I said, heading for the stairs and my room.
    "I'm leaving in ten," Tamara shouted after me.  "I'm not waiting for you!"
    "Who cares?!" I shouted back, taking the steps up to my room two at a time.  I didn't bother to close my door behind me, but just crashed face-first onto my pillow.  "Ow," I said, rolled onto my side enough to take off my glasses, then flopped back onto my face.
    I knew I wouldn't go back to sleep, though I wanted to.  I knew I'd roll back over, walk down the stairs, pick up my backpack and go to school.  It was inevitable, like the tide, although I only really had a vague idea what the tide was like.  I guess I imagined that the water level just went up magically, then went down again.  It would be better for my feelings if it were more violent, though, rushing at the shore with a wave of force, smashing routines and regularity into oblivion.  THAT would be a satisfying tide.  Going to school like that would be worth it.
    Someone sat on the bed next to my legs.  From the hand on my calf, I figured it was Mom.
    "I'm sorry," I said, muffled by my pillow.
    "It's okay, Perry."
    "I don't mean to be like that.  I just feel terrible today."
    She laughed quietly, shaking the bed.  "Seems to me you feel terrible pretty much every day."
    That was true enough, though I didn't bother answering.
    "What's up?" she asked after a few seconds.
    "Nothing in particular.  School's fine."
    "Is it something about Brie?"
    I shook my head slightly.  "Brie's cool.  You'd like her."
    "Ah," said Mom.  "Does that mean I get to meet her?"
    "Sure," I said, "just as long as I don't have to be there when you do."
    "Embarrassed about our parents, are we?"
    "Embarrassed about me," I muttered.
    Mom rubbed my calf.  "You don't have anything to be embarrassed about, kiddo.  You're a funny, smart kid.  What is there not to like?"
    "You didn't say 'good looking,' Mom."
    "I don't want you to get a swelled head."
    We sat for a minute--well, Mom sat while I lay on my face--and I started to think I should get up.  Tamara really would leave me.  I know, because she'd done it before.
    "Perry," said Mom.
    "Yeah?"
    "Is there anything we can do?  Your father and I.  We'd like to help."
    "I just don't feel good today.  It comes and goes."  MOSTLY COMES, I thought.
    "If you don't want to talk to us, there are people you can talk to," said Mom.  "There's a counselor that we've been talking to that specializes in depression.  He has some good things to say.  Your dad says it's been helpful."
    I rolled over and looked at Mom.  "Helpful for whom?"
    "For your dad."
    "Dad's not depressed."
    Mom smiled at me.  "He's your father, Perry.  You two are more alike than you may think.  Both of you think you have to change the world."
    "I don't need to change the world," I said.
    "Exactly," said Mom.  She patted my knee.  "I think I hear Tamara heading for the door.  Better get going, Mr. Rain Cloud."


    "You look terrible," said Mike during calculus.
    "Haven't we had this conversation before?" I asked.
    "Probably.  Have you looked terrible recently?" asked Mike.
    "You look terrible every day," I said.  "It's the hair."
    "We already settled this," he said.  "Sook likes my hair."
    "But she might like it better if you did it differently.  Don't be afraid to change, Mike.  Change is the gateway to a brighter future.  With different hair."
    "Nope," he said.  "I looked in the mirror this morning, put the gel in, combed it all out, and could only think about what a handsome devil I am.  I put the 'good' in 'good morning.'"
    "Is that even an expression?" I asked.
    "I just made it up.  Cool, huh?"
    "Why do you even hang out with me?"
    Mike blinked, his eyebrows up.  "That's a random question."
    "I'm serious, Mike.  Why do you even hang out with me?"
    "Did you get breakfast?" he asked.
    "What?"
    "Did you eat anything?"
    "Why does that matter?"
    "You're always grumpier when your stomach is empty.  Most people are.  Food fuels optimism."
    "See?" I said.  "That's exactly what I mean.  You have optimism running out your nose, but you hang out with me.  Why bother?"
    "Opposites attract," said Mike.  "Besides, I need someone around to remind me that life isn't all roses and Sook."
    I squinted at him.  "For some reason that phrase sounded bad.  Like 'Sook' was a euphemism for something else."
    "Yeah," he agreed, "I don't think I'll say that again.  So, to change the subject completely, are you asking Brie to the dance?"
    "Probably not," I said.
    "What?  Why not?"
    "I just don't think I will."
    "Does Brie know you're not going to?"
    "She probably already got asked out by someone else."
    "No she didn't," said Mike.
    "How do you know that?"
    "Sook found out."
    "Why did Sook find out?"
    "To see if you could ask Brie.  She figured you wouldn't have the connections, and you wouldn't ask Brie about it directly, so now you know she's not going with anyone, and you can ask her."
    I shook my head.  "I don't think we're that kind of friends."
    "What kind?  The kind that does fun things together?"
    "We do stuff.  Just not the dance kind of stuff."
    "What, you make out all the time?  You can do that at dances, too."
    "Ew," I said.  "I hate it when people make out at dances.  It's creepy."
    "Then stop making out long enough to go to the dance," said Mike.  "What's the problem?"
    "We don't make out.  We just don't do dance kinds of things."
    "Then explain to me more clearly.  What kind of things DO you do?"
    "It's hard to explain."
    "I'm a good listener," said Mike.  "Sook tells me so."
    "You just like to look at her hair."
    "There are perks of being a good listener.  I won't try to hide it.  Do you listen to Brie?"
    I thought about it.  "I don't think I'm a good listener."
    "Admitting you have a problem is the first step towards change."
    "Then why won't you admit you have a problem with your hair?"  
    "I don't have a problem."
    "Denial," I said.
    "I can change my hair any time I want to," said Mike.  "I just don't want to.  And you changed the subject."
    "I didn't realize we even really had a subject we were talking about."
    "Brie!" said Mike.  "How can you not want to talk about Brie?  Every guy likes talking about the girl he likes.  When we're with them, we talk to them, and when we're not, we talk about them.  But we do it in a manly way, with grunts and stuff, so we don't seem like we're girly."
    "I think we are kind of girly-men," I said.  "I mean, we did watch a Jane Austen movie last month.  I think it's hard to still be a man after something like that."
    "Whatever," said Mike.  "Watching movies about extremely rich men is totally manly.  Just because these rich men didn't get that way by crashing into other rich men while wearing football helmets doesn't make them any less rich.  Besides, I'd like to see a football player wear a suit as cool as those Regency Period suits."
    "See?" I said.  "We even know what the TIME PERIOD was called.  We are no longer men.  We are honorary girls."
    Mike shrugged.  "Would that be such a bad thing?  Look at how cute the people are that we get to hang out with as honorary girls.  I admit, Brie isn't as cute as Sook, but she's pretty close.  Brie is joining us for lunch, right?"
    "I don't know."
    "You don't know?"
    "You'll have to ask her."
    "Why don't you ask her?"
    "Whatever," I said.
    "What does 'whatever' mean?" asked Mike.
    "It means I don't want to talk about it."
    "You are so lucky I'm a nice guy, Perry.  Otherwise I'd completely ignore you on days like this and let you wallow in your self inflicted misery.  Let's go to English."
    "Did the bell ring?" I asked.
    "Didn't you hear it?"
    I shook my head.  "I was just thinking."
    "About what?" asked Mike.
    THE DANCE, I thought.  "Nothing," I said.