How to Be a Normal Person (3 page)

“Harry S. Truman is waking up,” Bernice said, bending over until she was level with the cage. “Oh look at those pretty red eyes of evil.”

Harry S. Truman yawned.

Even Gus said
aww
. He would deny it until his dying day, though. Because that was just ridiculous.

“Ladies,” Betty said. “We’re here on a mission.”

“Ah, yes,” Bertha said. “Gus, we need to return
Cannibal Rollerbabes
. And go on to the next movie. Which probably also has cannibal in the title given that this is your video store.”

“That is most likely correct,” Gus said. “Opinion?”

“Using radio-controlled female cannibals on roller blades to lure men to eat was positively a stroke of genius,” Bernice said. “I admit, however, to thinking there could have been more babes in
Cannibal Rollerbabes
.”

“It’s from Canada,” Gus said.

“Ohh,” the We Three Queens said, because that explained everything.

“What’s next?” Betty asked.

Bertha sighed from the shelf where the
C
s began. “
Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death
. Seriously, Gus?”

“It’s a movie with very strong feminist moralistic backbone,” Gus said seriously. “And also, it has a battle between the Barracuda Women and the Piranha Women. Both are cannibal tribes. You know. In the Avocado Jungle. Fun fact, it’s based upon
Heart of Darkness
.”

“Betty,” Bernice whispered.

“Yes, Bernice.”

“Did Gus just say ‘fun fact’?”

“I believe he did,” Betty said.

“Whoa,” Bernice breathed.

“I did not,” Gus said, glaring at all three of them in turn. “You misheard.”

“It’s the inspirational calendar,” Bertha said, ignoring him completely. “It’s bringing him out of his shell and making him a bright burst of light and color.”

“He’s like that Katy Perry song,” Bernice said. “He’s a firework. Boom, boom, boom.”

Gus knew then that something had to be wrong with his life when a probable lesbian could compare him to a Katy Perry song. He made plans to burn the inspirational calendar as soon as he got home, and to spread the ashes over a four-mile radius. He hoped that would be enough to negate the effects of being a firework. He would wear more black tomorrow too. He was not a firework. Or, if he was, he was those black snake ones that you light and they do nothing but ash a long line. That was an acceptable firework to be. Nobody liked them and they did absolutely nothing.

“Definitely scowling more,” Bernice said as she cooed at him.

“You need to go watch feminist cannibals,” Gus said. “Trust me, your life will change.”

“That is not a group of words I’d ever thought I’d hear,” Bertha said. “Gus, I think our taste in movies might be different.”

“Name a good movie, then,” Gus said.

Bertha shrugged. “I liked the
Transformers
movies.”

“Get out of my store,” Gus said. “You heathen. You blasphemous creature. Michael Bay is to filmmaking what candirus are to urethras.”

“Um,” Bernice said. “What?”

Gus rolled his eyes. “Candirus? The Amazonian relative to the catfish? If a human urinates in the water, the candiru mistakes the stream of urine from a stream of water from the gills of a bigger fish. It swims up the urethra and attaches itself with spiny barbs and then starts to chew on the insides.”

“So,” Betty said, “just to be clear. You’re comparing Michael Bay to fish that swim up penises and starts to eat them from the inside out.”

“Yes,” Gus said, feeling rather pleased to have successfully pulled off an analogy. “I have very strong feelings about Michael Bay. None of them are good.”

“I found a picture on my phone,” Bertha said. “My word, that’s a lot of catfish in penises. I knew there was a reason I was a lesbian.”

Validation!
Gus had to bite his tongue, however. He didn’t know if now was the appropriate time to ask about threesomes. “I would rather have a fish in my penis than sit through a Michael Bay film.”

Of course, that was when the door opened to the video store. Lottie walked in, drag queen hair trailing behind her. “That is not something I ever thought I would hear a person say.” She eyed Gus curiously. “Much less you.”

“He seems to be saying a few things like that today,” Bernice said. “He’s an oddity, our Gus is.”

Gus absolutely refused to acknowledge the warm feeling that bloomed within him at being called somebody’s anything. He was not Katy Perry’s Firework, after all.

To counteract the
feelings
that clawed at his chest and made him want to smile and say things like
Let’s find a meadow and have a picnic among the daisies
, he said, “That had better not be tuna salad. I’d hate to have to boycott your business for the rest of my days.”

“It’s chicken salad,” Lottie said.

“Are there pickles in it?” Gus asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Of course not. Do you really think I’d do that to you?”

“Again.”

“What?”

“You meant to say do you really think I’d do that to you
again
. You did it once before.” And she had. It was pretty much one of the worst days ever.

She grinned. “And did I sure learn my lesson. You thought I did it on purpose and didn’t speak to me for two days. My life felt empty and dark without your scowls darkening Lottie’s Lattes, where we like you a lottie.”

“Ooh,” Bernice said. “That’s catchy.”

“Like chlamydia,” he muttered under his breath.

“Thank you,” Lottie said to Bernice. “I’m glad you think so. Gus tends to look like he bit into a lemon when I say it.”

“I do not,” he said.

“You’re doing it right now.”

“That’s my normal face.”

“Ah,” Betty said. “It explains so much.”

“Smile,” Bernice said. “It couldn’t hurt.”

“It really does,” Gus said. “What would happen if I got a heart attack while smiling? My face would freeze like that in rigor mortis and you would have to see my smiling, frozen corpse at the viewing because I would insist upon it being an open casket just to spite everyone.”

“I’ll make sure you’re cremated,” Bertha said. “And I’ll spread your ashes at Michael Bay’s house so he has to walk on you every day.”

“Out,” Gus said. “I have business to attend to.”

“He has to eat his sandwich alone,” Lottie said, as if they all didn’t know. “He doesn’t like eating in front of people.”

“It feels unnatural,” Gus said, slightly defensive. “You all aren’t eating and I am and you’ll watch me as I chew. It’s private.”

“Fine,” Betty said. “Give us
Avocado Cannibal Babes
or whatever it’s called and we’ll go be pro-feminism while you masticate in private.”

“Heh,” Bernice said. “Masticate in private. That sounds dirty.”

Gus wouldn’t even dignify that with a response. He took the We Three Queens’ video card, charged them two bucks (even though it should have been four; he told them it was because they were regulars, and that was mostly true. It also was because he loved them deeply and didn’t know quite else how to say it. Gus was nothing if not a reticent person), and sent them on their way. They promised they would see him tomorrow and he said flatly, “The joy I feel knows no bounds.”

They laughed, not fooled in the slightest.

He wondered, as the door closed and those Vespas fired (whined) up, when exactly he’d lost control of the situation and found himself with people that could be considered friends. If he had warm and disgustingly fuzzy feelings at the thought, well. No one was there to see them and hell would freeze over before he’d ever admit it.

NO ONE
else came in the rest of the day. That was okay. It was a Thursday, after all.

THE AFTERNOON
was warm when he closed up the Pastor Tommy’s Video Rental Emporium. He flipped the sign, shut off the light. He walked the shelves to make sure every movie was perfectly in its place. It’d only been We Three Queens today, so nothing had been moved, but it helped to be meticulous.

He reshelved
Cannibal Rollerbabes
and pondered, briefly, at the mysteries of Canadian filmmaking. He should like to see Canada one day, but probably wouldn’t. That would require leaving Abby, Oregon, and aside from a trip once to Seattle to a medical marijuana dispensary with Pastor Tommy a year before his death (which had included cookies and cupcakes and suckers laced with quality THC; Pastor Tommy had been in literal heaven as he proudly displayed his medical marijuana card and loaded up on enough pot products to last him at least two months), he’d never really stepped foot outside of Abby. Or at least, rather, Douglas County. There’d been no need. The world was big and scary and unknown. Gus didn’t need it. He had everything he needed right here. With
Cannibal Rollerbabes
and all the other high quality cinema.

(Yes, he even had
Transformers
. All of them. But fuck Michael Bay right in the face for ruining the childhood memories of millions of people and continuing to do so with soulless sequels.)

Harry S. Truman chittered happily as he splashed in the water in his cage, waiting for Gus to be done so they could head home.

Once the chores were finished and the receipts counted (okay, the one receipt, but whatever), he loaded Harry S. Truman back in his carrier, switched off the lights, and locked the doors to head home a block or so away.

LATER THAT
night, he cooked a TV dinner that came out looking nothing like the picture on the box.
BEEF ENCHILADAS!
the box said, but Gus was convinced it should have said
BARF ASSCHILADAS!

He ate it anyway, and thought maybe next time he went shopping (Sundays, always on Sundays), he would try a national brand rather than a store brand. The thought vexed him slightly (as change often did), but he made the firm decision and tried not to notice how sweaty his palms felt.

He thought about turning on the TV, but he rather liked the quiet, so instead, he picked up the encyclopedia next to the recliner he sat in (Pastor Tommy’s old chair, and he doubted he could ever part with it, no matter how much it hurt to see every day). He was on the letter
G
from the print year 2010. Much to their horror, it’d been the last year
Encyclopaedia Britannica
had decided to provide hardcover print editions, relegating anything further to the Internet. Given that Gus hadn’t had a new edition since 1995, Pastor Tommy had splurged for his son’s birthday and bought him the entire thirty-two volume collection.

Pastor Tommy would have said Gus had shed a tear when he’d started opening each of the thirty-two individually wrapped books. Gus would have said that Pastor Tommy was a liar and that he’d merely had allergies hitting him especially hard that day. “It’s all the grass clippings,” Gus had said in a slightly strangled voice.

Pastor Tommy had just smiled and toked on his joint.

But Pastor Tommy was gone, and Gus had some reading to do. He opened the book to where he’d left off, and began reading aloud about how in February 1875, the SS
Gothenburg
wrecked on the Great Barrier Reef. Between ninety-eight and one hundred and twelve people lost their lives. Such a tragedy. Harry S. Truman apparently didn’t give two shits about the loss of life as he curled up in Gus’s lap and slept.

Eventually, it grew dark and Gustavo Tiberius took himself and Harry S. Truman to bed.

Before he fell asleep at precisely 11:00 p.m., he looked up at the ceiling and said, “Today was an okay day. Tomorrow will be too.”

And he almost believed it.

HIS ALARM
went off at seven in the morning.

He opened his eyes.

He said, “Today is going to be an okay day,” to no one in particular.

He rolled off the bed and completed his morning exercises, because his body was a temple.

He stood, wiping the sweat from his brow.

He looked down at the nightstand and saw the inspirational calendar. He’d forgotten to burn it the night before. He told himself he could do it over the weekend. He thought about ignoring the message for the day, but he knew that Lottie and the We Three Queens would ask him about it and he wasn’t in the mood for deflecting today.

He sighed.

Life was hard.

He tore off the previous day’s message and read today’s.

Don’t look back. You’re not going that way.

“What the fuck,” Gus said.

Grumbling, he showered, cleaned his teeth, and did not smile and/or flex in the mirror.

He wore black slacks and a black Emporium shirt. He fixed his name tag to make sure it was straight.

Harry S. Truman waited for him in the hall. Gus picked him up and took him to the kitchen.

He ate his apple while the ferret played with his pellets.

When they’d finished, Gus locked the door behind them and they headed out into the world.

“YOUR AURA
is browner today,” Lottie said as soon as he’d walked in the door.

“Good,” Gus said. “That is what I was going for. I succeeded.”

“Hmm,” she said.

“Hmm what,” Gus asked without asking at all.

“I had enough muffins left over,” she said. “I didn’t need to make any more last night.”

“Oh,” Gus said. “How joyous.”

“So I googled auras.”

“Fascinating,” Gus said. “You should keep what you do in your spare time private because that sounded wrong. Black coffee.” He paused. Then, “Please.”

Even the
please
hadn’t thrown her off track. “What did you learn this morning?”

He sighed. “That you shouldn’t look back, always forward, which, honestly, is ridiculous, because what if you’re walking down the street and some deranged ninja with a blood feud comes up behind you with a sword and stabs you in the kidney? If you had looked back, you could have seen him coming and taken appropriate countermeasures to ensure your kidney remained intact. Black coffee.
Please
.”