Part 3 - 5 Weeks Before
“I tapped her on the shoulder and said do you have a beau? She looked at me and smiled and said she did not know.” Dead Milkmen, Punk Rock Girl
“Wha…” I lazily responded to some sort of inquiry… I didn’t even know what was asked. My nose was buried in the brand new laptop computer that Juan’s university had ‘given’ him for coursework, then charged him twice what it was worth on his tuition bill. It was really a very innovative program, designed to foster the use of technology and computers in the role of education. Too bad I was the only one who knew how to use it. “What’d you say?”
“I asked you what the hell you are doing,” Juan answered. “We have a game going on here, and you’re sitting there, zombified by a computer.”
“I… uh…” I stammered, my mind lost in a digital haze. “I’m checking… e…”
“Email? Again?!?” He yelled. “You fucking NERD! That’s, like, the fourth time in as many hours! Get off the fucking computer and get back in the game!”
“Yah,” added Mike, “We can’t just play Goldeneye with two players, man. It’s boring.” He yawned and stretched, the early morning hours beginning to wear on him. “Besides, I need you here so I don't lose all the time.”
"Yeah," added Juan, "We need our bitch over here to get slaughtered!"
I sat motionless with my mouth agape as the Microsoft hourglass cursor spun round and round, informing me that, while the terminal window didn’t appear to be doing anything of real consequence, it was
indeed attempting to connect to the server I asked it to. From behind me I heard a groan, followed shortly by the strained noises of a person who had been sitting Indian-style for the past hour and a half trying to stand without falling over. Within seconds, Juan was standing to the left side of his desk, his hand gripped around the cord of the power supply for the machine.
“Okay, that’s enough,” he demanded. “You’re getting off this thing.”
I glanced at the hand gripped around the power cord, then up at him. “You’d do that to me?”
“To make you play? Yeah I would!” He stated. “You didn’t come here to be a fucking computer nerd. You came to play video games!” With that, he quickly yanked the cord from the power strip.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“What the…” he uttered as the machine just kept right on humming, waiting to connect to my server. “Why didn’t it turn off?”
“Dude, it’s a laptop.”
“So?” He said tersely.
“So, the whole point of a laptop is that it’s mobile… You know, as in unplugged?” I lifted the corner of the machine and pointed to the gigantic battery clipped into the underside. “It runs on a battery.”
“Well, fuck!” he snapped as he sighed. He looked at me, then looked over at the display. In one smooth motion, he whipped his hand behind the lid and slammed it down, sending the display crashing down into the base of the unit and putting the machine into a suspended state. “There. Now get your ass over here and play.”
“Aw, come on!” I cried. “I was almost connected!”
“Well, now you’re not.” He stepped away from the desk and stooped to grab my controller as I swiveled around 180 degrees to meet him. “Here’s your controller. Pick your guy Baron Samedi and let’s fuckin’ PLAY.”
“I’m Baron Samedi,” Mike chimed in.
“Dude,” I said, thumbing the ‘Pikachu Yellow’ controller, “I’m Baron Samedi. You’re Max Zorin.”
“Well, I want to be Baron Samedi this time.”
“That’s too bad, isn’t it?” I replied as I maneuvered the Player Three icon down the list, looking for my white-clad voodoo practicing avatar. When I arrived, I was shocked – SHOCKED, I say! Mike had beaten me to the punch! His Player Two icon was already over the good Baron, blocking my ability to select him. “Hey, douche!” I yelled. “Get off my guy!”
“No!” He shouted. “The whole time you were over there fucking around with that dumb computer, I was Baron Samedi. That isn’t going to change now that you’ve decided to grace us with your presence, Joe.”
I looked over at him, silently prodding him to release his control over my avatar. He looked back at me and slowly shook his head ‘no’. “Dude! Come on!” I demanded.
“No.”
“Mike,” I sighed, “This isn’t funny. Give me my guy.”
“No.”
“Mike!” I said sternly.
“No.”
“Come ON!” I said, stomping my foot. “What are you? Like, twelve? You’re being a retard. Act like an adult so we can play the game!”
His mouth opened wide in disbelief. “I’M the one you’re accusing of acting retarded? YOU’RE the one who’s over there,” he lifted his arm and tossed his hand toward the laptop limply, “Staring into cyberspace, hoping you get another love note from –“
There was a sudden burning rush of air in the sockets of my eyes as they opened as wide as I could possibly get them. My neck craned forward and my eyebrows furrowed, and with pursed lips, I shot a harrowing “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” across the bow of the ship carrying Mike’s thoughts. Without missing a step, Juan’s head whipped around to face Mike, who ducked his head. He then turned to face me.
“What was that?” he said.
“What was what?” I said back.
“That?” he asked, bobbing his head toward Mike.
“What?” I shrugged my shoulders. My stomach turned.
“You know what.”
“I know what about what?” I asked, an impending sense of doom beginning to settle in.
Juan’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be a fuck. You know what I’m asking about.”
I gulped. This was the one place I did not want to be. If he and his girlfriend – my sister – knew about this, I’d NEVER, EVER live it down. Quickly, my mind began to race as I tried to think of a way to get out of it. “Oh, um… THAT. Well, um… I subscribe to a… Uh…” My eyes wandered the room as I searched my random access memory for SOMETHING convincing… Aha! “A Joke service! Yeah, um…”
Good. This is good, keep going.
“Every day, I get, like, jokes and stuff, you know? Like, in my email and stuff?”
Great work. Look at him, he’s beginning to buy – NO! Not in the eyes! Quick, look at the ground! Okay, good. Now, keep going…
“And this week is, like, ‘Funny Love Letters’ and I find them really funny and I have been waiting to get this one for, like… Um… All day.” I nodded in agreement with myself. “Yah.”
I looked up to find him studying me. I tried to look completely non-committal and disinterested. The thing about trying to look non-committal and disinterested is that you are completely committed to and interested in looking non-committal and disinterested, and that fact is written across your face in bright pink. You can’t hide it. So all you come across looking like is a constipated retard trying to hide something.
Juan whipped his head around to Mike. “Spill it,” he commanded.
Now, there is one thing Mike is renown for, and that’s his loyalty. I had confided in him this one secret because I knew that it would never go anywhere, and in the heat of anger, he accidentally let slip a small tacit of information. The fact that it was an accident is the only thing that kept me from launching across the room and stuffing a gym sock in his throat, and besides, it was only a tiny fragment of information. Unfortunately, that tiny fragment was just BARELY useful enough to give Juan – the world’s foremost information extractor – enough of a hold to grab on and yank with all his might. And when it comes to information – especially potentially embarrassing information – Juan does not give up easily. So the situation I was faced with was this: Mike wouldn’t talk, no matter how hard Juan hammered him. And Juan wouldn’t stop hammering, no matter how much Mike refused to talk.
“Fine…” I said with a sigh, admitting defeat. “I’ve got a… A friend.”
“A…
Friend,” He replied mockingly.
“Yeah, a
friend,” I answered. “What’s wrong with having friends?”
He squinted menacingly. “Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit,” I answered. “I have a friend.”
“This isn’t a friend,” Juan answered. “This is something… more.”
“NO!” I answered way too quickly. “It’s just a friend! I have a friend! There’s nothing more than friendship between me and Katherine – ER, um… My friend…”
“Katherine!” He shouted. “AHA! So it’s a girl!”
“Um… Yeah, SO?”
“SO, it’s a girl!” He said with a big, wide, ‘Eat my shit’ grin.
“Yeah,” I sighed, “It’s a girl. What’s wrong with having a girl frien… WAIT! I meant –”
“A
GIRLFRIEND!” He said with a cackle.
“NO!” I demanded. “She’s not, like, a ‘girlfriend’ – I have a friend who’s a girl! Yeah…” I waved my palm horizontally in front of me, indicating that this was a smooth and simple truth. “I have this friend, and she is a girl, and we talk over the internet. It’s that simple.” My eyes locked onto his and my voice became stern. “It’s really… REALLY... That simple.”
He looked into my eyes. There could be no doubt about just how serious I was that this was a female friend whom I talked to over the internet. I had made that point clear. There could be no confusion. It had been cut, and it had been dried. It had even been bagged in individual little baggie thingies for ease of use. Unfortunately, Juan doesn’t drink that particular brand of tea. His lips spread wide and his teeth were bared in what had to have been the biggest smile I’d ever seen him make, and immediately I buried my face in my palms and braced for impact. “You have an internet girlfriend!” he demanded! “Oh my FUCKING God, this is way too much…”
“I… don’t…” I muttered.
“Does Jenny know about this?” He asked. I shook my head ‘no’, my face still planted in my hands. “And how’s your gay lover feel about this?” he asked, turning to face Mike.
“Ha, ha,” Mike replied to Juan flatly. “You know, that joke wasn’t funny the first 300 times you made it…”
“Sure it was. And it still is,” Juan said. “You’re just upset because your gay buddy found some chick on the net.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Mike retorted.
“Whatever,” Juan said dismissively. “What I want to know is how you even know if this chick is a chick.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, come on!” Juan said. “It could be a dude, you know, pretending to be a girl!”
“No, Juan,” I replied. “That’s definitely not the case.”
“You SAY that. But how do you know for
sure?” He paused for a moment, presumably to let that oh-so powerful question sink in with me, and then continued. “How do you know this isn’t some 47 year old bald dude from Omaha trying to fool you into thinking he’s a chick?”
I sighed. “That’s absolutely ludicrous.”
“Is it?” He asked with all the aire of a trial lawyer.
“It is.”
“And what… Proof… do we have of her lack of penisness?” He asked.
“Well, I… um…” I scratched my head, thinking for a moment. “I talk to her on the phone,” I answered.
“So?” He replied.
“A lot,” I added.
“That doesn’t prove anything!” He exclaimed. “All it proves is that you were talking to someone for a long time on the phone.”
“Yeah… Her,” I stated.
He made a face not unlike one of an elephant receiving a suppository, then coughed out “Bullshit.”
“What’s bullshit about it?” I asked. “I DO talk to her a lot! Like, twice a week!”
“Oh, I have no doubt that you talk to SOMEONE twice a week,” he postulated. “However, could just be this guy getting a girl to talk for him.”
“You know what,” I said, dropping my controller, “Fuck this. I’m not gonna sit here and listen to this shit.”
“AHA!” Juan shouted. “You admit that you’ve been talking to some gay balding Nebraskan!”
“I didn’t admit a goddamn thing, Juan,” I said with heavy exhalation. “I am merely tired of doing this.”
“Well, then, provide some proof!” He demanded. “If you can PROVE she’s a she, I’ll leave you alone.”
“Dude,” Mike interjected, “Show him the picture.”
Juan whipped around to face Mike, who nodded in the affirmative that yes, he had just suggested what Juan thought he suggested. Juan then turned back to me. “Yeah, show me the picture.”
“No.” I stated simply.
“Why the fuck not?” Juan asked?
“Yeah,” added Mike, “Why not?”
“Because I don’t feel like I should have to,” I answered. “You’re supposed to be my friend, Juan. I shouldn’t have to prove something as simple as the feminine qualities of a female whom I am friends with—“
“Dude!” he said, his arms outstretched in a christ-like pose. “I’m merely looking out for YOU!” He shot both hands forward, index fingers extended, pointing at me with both appendages. “I don’t want you to belabor under the delusion that you’re talking to some dolly, only to find out that SHE is a HE!”
“Well, I assure you, she is not a he,” I said as I placed my chin on the heels of my hands and began massaging my temples with my middle fingers.
“And how do I know that?” He inquired.
I sighed and slapped my palms against my thighs. “Well, Juan, I guess ya don’t. And I’m just gonna have to live with that fact, hard as that might be for me to do.” I looked up at him. “Your belief in something I already know as fact is irrelevant to me.”
“Fine,” he said after a few moments. “If you don’t show me the picture… I’ll…” His mind searched through the database of diabolical deeds stored in his memory. Suddenly, one fit the bill. “I’ll tell your sister.”
“Fine, go ahead,” I replied. “I was going to anyway.”
He pouted, then immediately smiled. “Ok, fine," he said with a glint in his eye. "I'll tell your parents.”
I nearly ground my teeth to powder when he said that. I had absolutely no problems with my mother knowing that I was talking to a girl. However, the second the internet was mentioned, she’d fly into hysterics about how this ‘stalker woman’ would probably ‘shiv’ me and steal all my worldly possessions. And God forbid Jon foster the notion that it was actually a man – It took nearly a month and a half of constant denial to finally convince her that Juan was just playing a joke when he said that Mike and I were “Doing the gay together.” Why she would choose to ignore simple evidence which had been presented to her all these years of my blatant heterosexuality and choose to believe Juan – of all people – is beyond me. But should Juan take it upon himself to tell her again that this was the case, the fallout would be catastrophic…
“Fine,” I surrendered. “I’ll show you the damn picture.” He smiled wide in response, the sweet taste of victory filling his mouth.
I lifted the lid of Juan’s laptop and, once it had booted up, negotiated the less than helpful “Dial Up Helper” application that his college installed on the machine by default. Soon, I was connected to the net and connecting to my mail server.
“This is a black screen with a bunch of text.” He stated. “I thought you were opening a picture of her.”
“Dude, I have to download it before I can open it,” I replied. “Calm down.” I logged into my shell account and went into PINE to grab my email. Just then, I noticed that I had a new message in my inbox. It was from Katherine, and it was entitled “Good News!” Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who saw that line.
“’Good News’, huh?” He asked. “Gay marriage is illegal, so I don’t know what he thinks is such good news…”
“You’re a dick," I stated as I dug through my old messages and located the one with a few pictures attached. I went through the process of pulling them down to the machine, and shortly, all three were open and displayed.
Juan studied the pictures for less than a second when he chimed in, “Fuck me… It’s a goth!”
“No way!” I shouted. Mike stepped in on the other side of me to observe. “She’s not goth,” I stated, “She’s a punk rock girl.”
“Eh,” he replied, “Goth, punk. Same thing.”
Immediately both Mike and I whipped our heads around to face him. In stereo we shouted, “No, they’re not!”
“Wow, I stand corrected by the hipster cops,” Juan replied. “Whatever, you fags. Just explain the unnatural flaming red hair on her – or his, as the case may be - head?” He turned around and began heading back to his spot on the floor to resume playing Goldeneye.
“I dunno,” I replied. “She probably just likes her hair that color. What’s wrong with that?” I left the stash of pictures and went back to the terminal window where PINE still held the new message from Katherine.
“I don’t guess there’s anything wrong with that,” He replied as I read through the message. A gigantic smile grew on my face as I read the very last sentence of her email to me. “I just wondered why anyone would, you know, do that to themselves. And what’s the fucking difference between goth and punk, anyway?”
“Heh,” I replied. “I’ll let HER answer that one. She’s quite passionate about the subject.”
He coughed a little as he moved the controller to the left repeatedly, searching for the Sean Connery James Bond avatar. “Fuck that shit, I don’t wanna call some fucking old fuck in Omaha.”
“She’s from San Francisco, actually,” I answered, “And you won’t have to.”
“Oh?” He inquired as I heard the trademark gunshot sound signaling the choice of character. “Why not?”
I looked at Mike, who’d just read the message wile my back was turned. His face was wrought with shock. He hadn't given me nearly the amount of crap that Juan had about this, simply because he's a supportive and awesome friend. However, this particular bit of news had crossed the line for him, and that fact was written all over his face. And if HIS reaction was this bad, I knew Juan's was going to be ten times worse. I sighed as I spun back around to face Juan and relate the news. “Because she just bought a plane ticket to Atlanta.”
His head whipped around so fast it very nearly went three hundred and sixty degrees, and I knew within seconds of looking at his face that this was going to be a very, very long night.
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