Read Larry and the Meaning of Life Online
Authors: Janet Tashjian
Larry and the Meaning of Life (2 page)
“I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation why some stranger had your name in his pocket,” Beth said. “He's probably doing a where-are-they-now piece for his blog.”
From a logical point of view, this made sense. But something in my gut screamed to the rest of my body to pack my bag and hit the road.
Beth's expression was a unique combination of wanting to comfort her best friend and urging him to get over himself. She was the one person on the planet who could always cut my self-absorption to the quick. She ripped open the netting of a small crate of clementines on the counter and tossed me a fruit. I took this as a sign to move on and steered the conversation to her political science class, a course I'd audited a few times since I'd been home. But halfway through our discussion of the electoral college
8
my mind veered back to the wild man at the pond.
8
my mind veered back to the wild man at the pond.
“Don't you think it's creepy being stalked by some aging hippie spouting Thoreau? Who knows what he wants?”
“This is so you,” Beth said. “Instead of asking the guy face to face, you take off and spend the next days obsessing about it. If you want me to go with you and find the guy, I will, but we are
not
spending the next few weeks playing âWhat if?'”
not
spending the next few weeks playing âWhat if?'”
I couldn't admit I'd already gone back to the pond looking for Gus Muldarian with no luck. First Janine, now GusâI could never make a living as a private detective. In the usual way she could read my mind, Beth asked about Janine. I told her I still hadn't received an e-mail or call.
“What about that guy from your Soc class?” I asked. “Does he still want to go out with you?”
Beth told me he was more extinct than the spectacled cormorant. She stopped peeling her clementine and pointed to the space between us. “You're not thinking about us as a couple again, are you? Any chance we had evaporated when you took off after Janine.”
This was what I loved
9
about Beth. She always gave you exactly what was on her mind, both barrels.
9
about Beth. She always gave you exactly what was on her mind, both barrels.
“I was just asking,” I said. “Don't flatter yourself.” I went back to making a tabletop mosaic of a
Simpsons
couch scene with the tiny pieces of clementine peel.
10
Simpsons
couch scene with the tiny pieces of clementine peel.
10
Beth took pieces of peel from her own pile and added them to Marge's hair. “I mean, it makes sense logistically for us to hook up again with both of us around, not seeing other people.”
“On the other hand, there's nothing wrong with waiting,” I said. “Sometimes that's the best plan.”
As nonchalantly as possible, I checked out Beth's ironclad expression. I'd known her so long and would guarantee she'd rather be with no one than be someone's second choice. Nights I couldn't sleep, I wondered if choosing Janine over Beth had been the wrong decision. I made a choice, but it didn't work out. Life goes on, right?
Peter came in and threw his baseball cap onto the coatrack across the room. He'd parlayed his stint as my presidential campaign manager into a full-time job as an events planner for several grassroots candidates. I still couldn't get used to the beard and the jeans, a look miles away from the corporate robot uniform he'd worn during his marriage to my mother.
“Josh, I need you to write one of your speeches for this local candidate I'm working with.”
For what seemed like the millionth time, I told him I was out of the sermon/speech/rant writing business.
“This guy's a carpenter by tradeâgot into politics to fight the zoning laws. Hates those giant McMansions as much as you do. Come on, it'll take you two seconds.”
There were people who did this for a living, and I told him I was no longer one of them.
“Come on, give it a try for your old man.”
His perkiness made me realize there was no local candidate, that the whole thing was a ploy to get me to focus on my work again. Peter's manufactured enthusiasm sunk my already low self-esteem even lower. Almost as if he realized what I was thinking, Peter backed off and handed me a small
box that had come in the mail. No return address, just my name in a handwritten scrawl. Inside was a rook with a note.
Still think life isn't a game? Your move.
box that had come in the mail. No return address, just my name in a handwritten scrawl. Inside was a rook with a note.
Still think life isn't a game? Your move.
The note was unsigned, but I knew who'd sent it. I threw the note away as if it were radioactive. The feelings racing through me reminded me of when betagoldâaka Tracy Hawthorneâruined my life.
11
Was Gus the 2.0 version? Why couldn't people just leave me alone?
11
Was Gus the 2.0 version? Why couldn't people just leave me alone?
Beth was right; I needed to confront Gus and put an end to this before it got out of hand.
I'd spent hoursâmake that yearsâmulling over my character flaws. First off, my attention span was scattered at best; I continually zigged and zagged through endless lists of ideas, some of them implemented, many of them not. I found it difficult to be in social situations for too long.
12
But the trait I never seemed to be able to improve upon was how difficult it was for me to let people see the “real” Josh. I expended an enormous amount of effort hiding behind screen names, bumper stickers, and secret identities with no luck. I was Josh Swensen,
13
end of story. I still cringe when I think about hiding the real me from Beth on my Web site. Whenever we're on the cusp of an argument, Beth continues to remind me of that particular transgression.
14
12
But the trait I never seemed to be able to improve upon was how difficult it was for me to let people see the “real” Josh. I expended an enormous amount of effort hiding behind screen names, bumper stickers, and secret identities with no luck. I was Josh Swensen,
13
end of story. I still cringe when I think about hiding the real me from Beth on my Web site. Whenever we're on the cusp of an argument, Beth continues to remind me of that particular transgression.
14
As I biked down Route 2, I gave myself a reluctant pep talk.
Face this guy like a man. Find out what he's up to. Let him see you're not afraid.
Face this guy like a man. Find out what he's up to. Let him see you're not afraid.
But I
was
afraid. I'd been run over by political mobsters, framed as an embezzler, even attended my own funeralâall I wanted for the next few months was to sit in my hole and do nothing. The last thing I needed was a washed-up celebrity stalker stalking a washed-up celebrity like me.
was
afraid. I'd been run over by political mobsters, framed as an embezzler, even attended my own funeralâall I wanted for the next few months was to sit in my hole and do nothing. The last thing I needed was a washed-up celebrity stalker stalking a washed-up celebrity like me.
I locked my bike in the parking lot and headed down the hill to the pond. After a few moments I spotted Gus wading along the shoreline. I had to give the guy creditâthe water was sixty degrees, tops. Hoping the cool water would bolster my efforts, I pulled my jacket and shirt over my head, kicked off my sneakers, and waded in. The water's temperature was jolting, but its clarity was even more of a shock. I could see my jeans, my feet, and several trout swimming by.
15
As I closed the space between the mysterious stranger and me, I found myself inexplicably grinning. This was the most alive I'd felt in months.
15
As I closed the space between the mysterious stranger and me, I found myself inexplicably grinning. This was the most alive I'd felt in months.
“Awakens the mind, doesn't it?”
I'd been careful not to let Gus see me enter the pond, and I'd made as little noise as possible. It was as if the guy had eyes in the back of his head.
“In the winter, I walk
on
the water instead of in it.” The acoustics of the pond carried his chuckle back toward me. “Walk on water, I like that.”
on
the water instead of in it.” The acoustics of the pond carried his chuckle back toward me. “Walk on water, I like that.”
I jogged toward him until I finally caught up. We faced off like two busts in an aquatic art installation:
Two Heads in Historic Pond Discussing Nothing Historic.
I imagined a miniature
cartoon version of Beth hovering over my shoulder whispering encouragement in my ear.
Don't let him off the hook. Find out what the hell he wants. Tell him to leave you alone or else.
16
Two Heads in Historic Pond Discussing Nothing Historic.
I imagined a miniature
cartoon version of Beth hovering over my shoulder whispering encouragement in my ear.
Don't let him off the hook. Find out what the hell he wants. Tell him to leave you alone or else.
16
“Who are you?” I asked. “And how'd you get my name and address?”
Gus's expression showed not only mischief but kindness. “Is that what scared you off the other day? You were
meant
to find that paper in my pocket. There are no accidentsâyou should know that by now.”
meant
to find that paper in my pocket. There are no accidentsâyou should know that by now.”
I ignored the imaginary Beth on my shoulder; this guy was intriguing. As we treaded in silence, I spotted the two giant koi that lived in the pond.
17
17
“Buddhists often release fish as part of their hojo-e ceremony,” Gus said. “They're very big on life being liberated.”
“Who isn't?”
“We need to liberate your mind. That's why you'll meet me here every day, rain or shine. We'll discuss the rules of life, and you'll perform the tasks necessary to achieve enlightenment.”
“Enlightenment? I can barely figure out how to get through the day.”
“Exactly. That's why you need a guru.”
“A
guru
?”
guru
?”
“Call it what you wantâguru, teacher, mentor. No one makes spiritual progress without one.”
“I was just thinking about having a mentor the other day.”
“Of course you were.”
He dove into the pond and came up holding a small trout. I'd spent enough time by the water to know how nearly impossible it was to catch a fish with your bare hands. He closed his eyes and held the fish for a moment before throwing it back in. “Enough questions for one day. We have more important things to doânamely, to walk.”
Every time I said the word
but
Gus held his finger to his lips to silence me. I finally gave up and treaded toward the far end of the pond. Truth be told, I was tired of being stuck, tired of wallowing in my own screwed-up-ness. Even if he was a bona fide wack job, what did I have to lose?
18
By the time I reached my clothes, I decided I wanted to study with Gus. I envisioned the cartoon mini Beth, hands on hips, shaking her head in disbelief.
but
Gus held his finger to his lips to silence me. I finally gave up and treaded toward the far end of the pond. Truth be told, I was tired of being stuck, tired of wallowing in my own screwed-up-ness. Even if he was a bona fide wack job, what did I have to lose?
18
By the time I reached my clothes, I decided I wanted to study with Gus. I envisioned the cartoon mini Beth, hands on hips, shaking her head in disbelief.
After spending the morning with Gus, I felt like I'd known him for years. No, I felt he knew
me.
Better than Janine, Peter, or even Beth. Better than every other person in my life except one.
me.
Better than Janine, Peter, or even Beth. Better than every other person in my life except one.
I hadn't been to Bloomingdale's since I'd returned to Massachusetts and could feel the anxiety buzzing through my organs like electricity.
19
Since I was here last, they moved the store to the mall across the street. I wandered around the new location until I found Marlene, my mother's favorite salesperson, holding court behind the center counter.
19
Since I was here last, they moved the store to the mall across the street. I wandered around the new location until I found Marlene, my mother's favorite salesperson, holding court behind the center counter.
“Joshie! Come over here and give me a kissâcome!” She gestured furiously for a hug, and I obliged.
20
“Where have you been? I haven't seen you in ages.”
20
“Where have you been? I haven't seen you in ages.”
I filled her in on my cross-country trip, then told her the last time I was here, my mother didn't speak to me.
“She's been here plenty of times sinceâeven I've heard her.” Marlene sat me down on the stool and pretended to show me an anti-aging serum.
I knew Marlene hadn't conversed with my mother since her death, but I appreciated the vote of support. Marlene had aged, but her penciled-in eyebrows, bowl haircut, and giant glasses still made her seem like the crazy aunt I'd always wished I'd had.
Marlene ducked behind the counter to make a quick phone call. I didn't want to get her in trouble, so I pretended to examine the products in front of me. As I scanned the list of ingredients, I realized I was stalling, not to protect Marlene but myself. What if Mom was truly gone? The permanence of life without our “conversations” reverberated inside me again. Mom was the most alive person I'd ever known
21
but her zest for life made her death that much more painful. She'd packed a lifetime's worth of laughing, dancing, hiccuping, swimming, cooking, and making up stories into her short time on earth. Even standing in front of thousands of screaming supporters on the campaign trail paled in comparison to how much fun it was to carve a pumpkin or sit on a park bench with her.
22
Since her death, my biggest struggle had been to force myself to view the world in its true
vibrant colors, not the monochromatic version it appeared to be when I woke up each morning and realized she was still gone.
21
but her zest for life made her death that much more painful. She'd packed a lifetime's worth of laughing, dancing, hiccuping, swimming, cooking, and making up stories into her short time on earth. Even standing in front of thousands of screaming supporters on the campaign trail paled in comparison to how much fun it was to carve a pumpkin or sit on a park bench with her.
22
Since her death, my biggest struggle had been to force myself to view the world in its true
vibrant colors, not the monochromatic version it appeared to be when I woke up each morning and realized she was still gone.
Marlene cruised by with a customer and whispered, “Joshie, she's here today. I know she is!”
I got off the stool and shuffled toward the escalator. “Mom? Are you listening? Can you hear me? I need to talk to you.”
I stood in the aisle and listened. Nothing.
A woman walked by entering text into her BlackBerry. Another stopped at the counter beside me and picked up several lipsticks before heading to the shoe department.
Somebody say somethingâanything!
A man with a blue suit and matching cell phone walked toward me. The Bloomingdale's makeup department was the only place I was actually glad to see a cell phone; it meant someone would be bringing my mother's words to me. But this customer was listening, not talking. No use to me at all.
“Mom, I've found someone who wants to be my spiritual teacher. Is he a crackpot or authentic? I need you to talk to meâcome on.”
Two high school girls in plaid uniforms bounced from display to display ogling the new autumn shades.
“I think he's for real,” the first girl said.
The other girl rummaged through various testers. “I'm not so sure.”
“You met him for a reason,” the first girl said. “I say go for it.”
“Yes!” I pumped my fist into the air, scaring the girls to the next counter. The reception was so good, I half expected my mother to glide down the escalator in full heavenly splendor. Instead, a harried woman in expensive sweats tugged her
toddler off the moving stairs with such force the little girl burst into tears and dropped her aardvark plush.
toddler off the moving stairs with such force the little girl burst into tears and dropped her aardvark plush.
I crouched down and returned the toy with a whisper. “Trust me, when she's gone, you'll even miss days like this.”
The woman thanked me for the doll and jostled her daughter toward the exit.
“Did you hear your mom?” Marlene asked.
“Loud and clear,” I answered.
“See?” She handed me a small gift bag of samples and told me to give them to Beth.
I stood in the middle of the department one more time. Was it greedy to ask for one more encounter with my mother?
A blond woman with three inches of black roots passed by talking on her cell. “Oh, once isn't enough? You know what you need to do, now do it!”
So, so, so
my mom.
my mom.
Other books
The Severance by Elliott Sawyer
Zion by Dayne Sherman
Stars Across Time by Ruby Lionsdrake
The Awakening by Marley Gibson
Bedrock by Britney King
Advertising for Love by Elisabeth Roseland
Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated) by STEVENSON, ROBERT LOUIS
Priya in Heels (Entangled Embrace) by Ayesha Patel
The By-Pass Control by Mickey Spillane
The Grim Reaper's Dance by Judy Clemens
