How to Be a Normal Person (32 page)

“Well I’m not having feelings any
more
,” Xander grumbled. “But it’s good, though. You two or whatever. I guess that’ll make things easier next month. Or harder. I don’t know. That’s gotta suck for the both of you.”

“Next month?” Gus asked.

Xander looked confused. “You know,” he said, even though Gus most certainly did
not
know. “When he moves back to LA? We were talking about it this morning. I didn’t think to ask if you guys were going to do the long-distance thing or what.”

That… did not compute to Gus. “Moves back,” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Xander said slowly. “You know he was only here for the summer, right? He still has that ridiculous house in Pasadena that’s too far out of the way to get to whenever I’ve had to go and water the plants. Didn’t…. Gus. You guys talked about this, right? He told you this was only temporary, right?
Right
?” By the end, he was sounding slightly horrified, as if he’d revealed some great secret inadvertently and was desperate to take it back. And that was enough for Gus to know he wasn’t trying to be some kind of massive dick. He genuinely looked upset.

But Gus couldn’t be bothered with placating Xander.

Because all Gus could think about was how maybe he’d just sort of admitted to himself that he was in over his head with Casey, only to find out Casey had no inclinations to stick around. Granted, that might be partially Gus’s fault for never questioning Casey’s stay in Abby, but when Casey had said that first day that he’d moved here, Gus had assumed it was for good. He never expected there to be a day that went by anymore when he wouldn’t see Casey. But apparently that day was oncoming and without his knowledge.

And man, did that fucking hurt.

And even though he was normal now, even though he was
different
now, Gus could feel himself shutting down. He was starting to frown, on his way to a full-out scowl. His brow furrowed and he thought back to the inspirational message from that very morning, the one he’d repeated to Lottie and Casey at the shop and again to the We Three Queens when they’d asked. From that stupid fucking inspirational calendar that he had wanted to burn. He’d woken up this morning, had looked up at the ceiling, and smiled quietly to himself. He’d said, “Today is going to be a good day,” before rolling out of bed and exercising.

That smile hadn’t even faded by the time he’d finished. He’d stood, halfheartedly glaring at the calendar but not really meaning it. He hadn’t meant it in weeks. He’d learned to become a normal person and normal people had friends and boyfriends and jobs and houses and lives and happiness. And Gus had all those things. Somehow Gus had all those things.

So he’d torn off the previous day’s message and read the new one for that day.

Be open, free, and honest, as this is the path to happiness.

Gus, well.

Gus was slightly pissed off.

GUSTAVO TIBERIUS
didn’t consider himself to be a petty person. Sure, there might be an instance or two in the past where his actions could have been
considered
petty, for instance: Firstly, when he was seven, toward a classmate with the presumptuous name of Reginald Brubaker who had accidentally beheaded Gus’s Fidel Castro action figure just when Gus had been in the process of reenacting the Cuban Missile Crisis in front of the class for show and tell. G.I. Joes were about to put a peaceable end to what had been a narrowly close nuclear encounter when Reginald had picked up Castro, then dropped him at Gustavo’s shriek of anger at having been interrupted, causing Mr. Castro’s head to pop off and roll under the teacher’s desk. Eleven years later, Gus had denied Reginald Brubaker’s application for a video rental card from Pastor Tommy’s Video Rental Emporium when Reginald was at home from Rutgers for the summer.

Secondly, when Gus was twenty-four, toward a Mrs. Catherine Clarke, who had resided in Abby, Oregon, for two years and six months. She’d returned a DVD copy of
Forrest Gump
scratched to the point where it was no longer watchable. Gus, regardless of the fact that he’d never really been a fan of such treacly fair, had been outraged that a DVD could be treated so poorly. He’d sent a letter to her certified US mail requesting a penalty charge of $4.95 be paid within thirty days or she’d face a cancelation of her membership. By the twenty-ninth day, she still hadn’t paid, and Gus canceled her membership early and with great satisfaction. He’d found out six days later that Mrs. Catherine Clarke had died two weeks previous while on a Nile River cruise in Africa when she’d fallen from the tour boat and been eaten by a bask of Nile crocodiles. Apparently, she’d leaned too far over the edge of the boat and had gone into the water, only to be consumed moments later in quite a ferocious manner. The family settled with the cruise company out of court two years later for an undisclosed sum. Gus had felt bad for eight full days after hearing the news.

So, no, Gus wasn’t petty, per se, but like most normal human beings, he did have his petty moments where he acted irrationally, unbecoming of the level of maturity he’d reached in his nearly thirty years of life.

Upon hearing that his boyfriend, the asexual stoner hipster known as Casey Richards, had plans to move back to Los Angeles, California, Gus’s first reaction was an irrational one.

He closed the Emporium early (leaving a hastily written note on the door: SICK AGAIN. NOT PLAGUE—OR BIRD FLU-RELATED. BE BACK SOMEDAY), turned off his phone (but not before sending a hastily written text to Casey that he hoped would be believable and not require any follow-up questions: SICK AGAIN. I AM FINE. EVERYTHING IS FINE. TALK LATERZ HOMIE), and ran home, avoiding anyone and everyone he could (it helped that his door to the Emporium was a hundred feet away from the door to his house; granted, he was seen by multiple people on the street who would later attest that he was running like a crazy person, a ferret cage at his side, his eyes wide, mouth hanging open as he took in great gulps of air).

It was only after closing the door behind him that he realized that Xander probably went straight to Casey to tell him of the slipup. After all, one who is planning on moving away from their boyfriend probably wants to be in control of such information. So Casey was probably on his way to the house, or would be momentarily. Gus hadn’t seen which way Xander had headed upon leaving as he had been in a hurry to close down the store before the low-level panic attack became something more.

It hit him then that Casey could be on his way over
right now
.

Gus wasn’t ready to hear that Casey was moving back to California and therefore their relationship was over.

And honestly, a part of him was terrified that Casey would tell him their relationship
wasn’t
over and that Casey wanted Gus to
move
with him to Los Angeles. Nothing in this world scared Gus more than becoming a
Californian
. He didn’t have anything against Californians; as a whole, he understood them to be polite, healthy people who were sometimes famous and/or made sex tapes that they would release on the Internet and then say their phone or computer was hacked while they cried to Barbara Walters (who would then make said celebrity one of her ten most fascinating people of the year). No,
that
didn’t bother him, and the
people
didn’t bother him. It was the
idea
of becoming a Californian
himself
that was scary. For one, Gus was not a vegan and did not enjoy fruit smoothies with added boosters to help his immune system but instead tasted like grass. Two, he did not like to jog everywhere he went, and especially not along a beach in slow motion. Three, Michael Bay lived in California. Four, he would not know anyone in California aside from hipsters. He knew not all people in California were hipsters, but all the people he knew from California were hipsters, and he’d taken the SATs. He knew what kind of question that could be. A
trick
question. Five, from what the movies had shown him, Los Angeles was filled with three things that set Gus on edge: smog, murders, and food trucks, all of which would have no qualms against causing his death. Especially the food trucks.

Since Gus was in no way prepared to face such a conversation with the boy that he was possibly in love with (and when the fuck had
that
happened?), he decided the best course of action would be avoidance until he could properly research his next steps.

He closed all the blinds in the house. He turned off all the lights. He hoped that from the outside, it looked like no one was home. He knew his car was still in the driveway, but since he usually only drove it on Sundays, he hoped no one would think any differently.

Just to be safe for when he started his research, he grabbed the comforter from his bed and hunkered down behind the couch with the laptop resting on his knees. He pulled the comforter up and over his head, blocking the light from the laptop from escaping and alerting anyone to his presence.

Harry S. Truman was confused by what Gus was doing, so Gus pulled him under the blankets too. Harry S. Truman thought that was possibly the greatest thing that had ever happened and proceeded to curl up near his feet, his tail flicking against Gus’s ankle.

Gus pulled up the Internet because he had to have
answers
and the Internet (mouth pregnancies and Tumblr aside) had yet to fail him.

The problem was that he didn’t know what to look up first.

He had too many issues.

He opened up a tab. Thought for a moment. Then:

How to be in a long-distance relationship

Good. That was a start. But it wasn’t enough. He opened up another tab.

How to move to California

That one didn’t feel as right. In fact, it felt way off.

So he opened up another tab:

How to tell someone you don’t want to move to California

Better, but what if he was selling himself short?

Just because he could
live
in California, didn’t mean that he would
be
Californian, right?

He opened up four more tabs:

How to survive in Los Angeles

How to breathe air that is essentially all smog

How to not get murdered in California

How to avoid food trucks

Good. This was good. But what
else
was California known for?

How to survive earthquakes

How to not get stuck in the La Brea Tar Pits

How to not get raped by Kobe Bryant

Okay, so he had a baseline now. Now, he had to focus on what he really wanted.

How to know if he’s the right one for you

How to disappear in Canada

How to make a sex tape

How to find Michael Bay

How to not get arrested for assault

How to breathe through a panic attack

How to know if you’re overreacting

How to make little fuss out of a big deal

How to act calm in scary situations

How to surf

How to know if you’re cool enough to surf

How to find a new job in a new city

Someone knocked on the door. Repeatedly. For minutes.

He ignored whoever it was and closed his eyes until they went away. He knew who it was, but he wasn’t ready to face them yet. He was on a mission, after all.

How to be happy even if your heart is breaking

How to do the right thing

How to let someone go

How to lose something precious

How to be an idiot and ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me

He stopped then. He stopped because he knew he was getting out of control. He stopped because if he didn’t, he would keep going and he knew it would do him no good. He took a breath, and then another, and then another. He let them out slowly all in turn until his vision was less hazy, and he could lightly chide himself for his reaction. Why did he care so much? Three months ago, he was fine. Three months ago, he was okay. Three months ago, he never sat huddled under a blanket halfway through a meltdown because of a hipster. The idea alone was laughable. That wasn’t who Gus was. Gus was surly and grumpy and worked in a video store and didn’t give a fuck what other people thought about him. Sure, that Gus was lonely and slightly sad and not living like he should, but at least
that
Gus was safe from all this bullshit. At least
that
Gus knew what he had, what he wanted, what he
needed
to get by day to day.
That
Gus didn’t take chances and he was
fine
with it. He didn’t
need
it. He didn’t
want
—

(Eleven days before he died, Pastor Tommy said, “Did I ever tell you about when I saw your mother for the first time? I was in Seattle working as a day-laborer. She was a waitress at this shitty little diner near a construction site. She asked if I wanted fries with my burger. I asked her if she believed in love at first sight. She said she hoped I had better lines than that. I told her I wanted cottage cheese instead of french fries. I left with her phone number because I was
enraptured
by her. I waited three hours before I called her, like a real man should. Five months later, she was pregnant. I was over the moon about it. I thought she was too. We moved to Abby because it was the first place my finger touched on a map of the Pacific Northwest. You were born here. I thought it was good. I thought we were all good. Then you turned three and she left. One day she was here and one day she wasn’t. She left a note that said she was sorry but she couldn’t do it anymore. She wasn’t cut out to be a wife or a mother. She wanted to be free and she couldn’t do that with us. So she left. And I was
angry
, Gussy. I was angry for such a long time. I was angry with her and myself and this place and this house. I was so angry at all of it. But I was never angry with you. I was never angry with you because I loved you more than anything I’d ever loved in my life. My heart was broken but you helped me put it back together. You said, ‘It’s okay, Daddy. It’s okay,’ even though you didn’t understand what was happening. And I
believed
you. And I realized something then. That regardless of how much it hurt, I would have made the same choice again and again and again. Because even though I felt like my heart was breaking, I still had you, okay? I had your mother for a short time too. But you? I’ve had you all of your life. And that’s the thing, Gussy. Some choices hurt. Some decisions hurt. But the only reason they hurt is because you care about them so much. You were my good decision, Gustavo. My right one. I’ve always thought so.”)