The Genius of Little Things (5 page)

I’m going to digress a bit more and say that most of the mimes were a blur to me, partly because Zoe’s washing machine mime wiped everything out of my memory. It involved stretching out her arms to form a square as she made various clicking, whirring, and churning noises. The most remarkable cycle was final spin. She was wearing a tight fitting t-shirt and no bra.

When class ended, Zoe and I reached the door at the same time. I stood back, allowing her to go first and ignore me. Instead, she turned and addressed me. “Gurzy really loves the less-is-more stuff, and you do practically nothing.” I let her sashay away.

For the rest of the afternoon I imagined myself responding in a variety of ways.

Thank you.

Thank you. I like your smile and dark eyes. They’re like huge hazelnuts. Your eyes, I mean, not your teeth.

Thanks. You gave me a new appreciation of the spin cycle.

Here’s my point. My “success” in the miming exercise, and Ms. Gurzy’s compliment and Zoe’s pseudo-compliment, gave me the idea to join drama club. Science and theater! That would impress Caltech!

Ms. Gurzy was thrilled that I was approaching her. But she said there was no longer a formal drama club at Firebird High. “It’s so typical,” she said. “Plenty of money for a losing football team. Dooohn’t get me started.” It seemed to me that she had already started.

I returned to Carl and Janet’s after a long evening at the library. Partly because I had just been chased by a crazy man who, inexplicably, wanted me to sniff his hand, I was in no mood to see the note on the refrigerator white board.

Tyler, we did plan dinner tonight, didn’t we? We left it for you, in the refrigerator. Are you all right? Reschedule?

Scheizen
. I wrote,
Sorry, thanks, yes
, and
I’m free Thursday
.

In the morning they were both gone, but there was a response.
Thursday dinner, and we need to talk
. I hoped they meant we would talk
at
dinner. In my experience, an official talk with FoPas included variations on the phrase, “we believe you stole it,” and “we’ve contacted your case manager,” or “it’s not you, we need the space,” or “blasphemer!”

Carl and Janet didn’t need the space and they weren’t religious at all, as far as I could tell. They did have some Buddhist art around the house, but that could have been for decorative purposes. Possibly they could accuse me of stealing. I was pretty sure that a black metal table in their living room had once supported a vase, but I could have been wrong about that.

I did not want to leave this FoHo. Not yet. If I were tossed back onto the Foster-go-Round, I would probably end up near Nellis Air Force base, in another school district, in a house with hooligan biological children. Or worse. I could end up in a group home.

I called my case manager. He spent the first minute badgering me with generic questions. I answered the way he expected. “I’m fine, I feel fine, doing fine, things are fine.” I asked him if he had any new information. I heard papers shuffling, a cough, and someone’s cackling laugh in the background.

“Nope, everything’s
awe
-some.”

I didn’t believe him, so I asked him, point-blank, whether Carl or Janet called him recently. More paper shuffling, a squeak, a sniff, and finally, “yee….ahhhh… no.”

“They didn’t?”

“Doesn’t look like it. Yes, they did.”

“What did they—”

“Gotta run. Keep blowing that sax.” For the record, I had never played a saxophone in my life. Stupidly, I told him I would keep blowing.

Later that day, I wondered whether
blowing a sax
was a metaphor or euphemism, like blowing one’s horn. I decided he had, like the case manager before him, mixed up my chart with some other foster. Which meant that, possibly, everything was far from
awe
-some.

FOUR

Unlike many students who apply to your university, (LOOK UP STATS) I have held some kind of job since I was in my early teens. Impressive? Perhaps. Necessity? Absolutely. I don’t rely on anyone,
although I will not turn down financial aid or grants
, and I feel that is one of my strongest attributes. It also explains why, with the exception of my science fair achievements, I do not have an impressive array of extracurricular activities. While others have
wasted
spent time on
meaningless
pointless
ridiculous
various pursuits, I have been working and saving money for
your inflated tuition
college.
Call me a geek, but don’t call me pampered
.

**

My catering hours had been reduced to less than ten per week, but at least I still had one regular, non-crazy tutee. Levi Butler was ideal in many respects. I didn’t need to commute to his house. He was a lazy student and never seemed to learn much, which meant he would always need my services. The only drawback was, he was sixteen going on eleven.

I met Levi at Covenant Catering. When were preparing for a funeral reception by carving flowers out of radishes, I mentioned that I did tutoring on the side. Later in that shift, Levi whispered, as if he were being stalked by an organized crime ring, “I totally need you.”

Levi was home schooled, and he was certain his mother had been keeping important facts from him. To prevent her from learning how he was “cheating” on her, Levi always called me whenever he had a convenient excuse to get away. He made me promise to never call his house. Today I regretted picking up the landline.

“It’s Levi. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Please give me more notice when you need a tutoring session, because—”

CLICK

I was pressed for time because Carl and Janet and had planned an important dinner.

I waited for Levi on front doorstep. His ancient white Lincoln Continental pulled up to—more like docked at—the curb. He hopped out and loped toward me. It didn’t look like he was going to stop. He was all bone and sinew, like me, but he was about half a foot taller. He misjudged distances between himself and other objects, like a dwarf who had magically been transported into a giant’s body and was still getting used to it.

“Check it out,” he said, thrusting an iPod at my nose.

I leaned away from the device and reminded him that he already had several iPods.

“I used to. Gravy got inside one and I lost the other, but that’s okay because this one holds more music.” Levi maniacally touched icons with his index finger, as if he had a time limit.

I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask about the gravy.

“Oh that. It was last Friday at work. I was in the middle of training this new girl, you know the kinda hot one? And the phone rang. I had to answer it because nobody else was around and I wasn’t wearing underwear because mom forgot to put the clothes in the dryer
again
. I was all out of boxers and the swim trunks I was wearing were binding and I was listening to this new band. What’s their name? I forgot the band’s name. Here maybe I can find it…”

This happened often. The more Levi talked, the further away from the point he veered. I digress from time to time, but my digressions do have a purpose.

“Okay I’ll find it later,” he said. “But anyway, I reached for the phone and I
knew
it was one of the birthday clowns calling to cancel.”

Ordinarily I let him ramble on, but I was expecting Carl and Janet any minute and Levi was no closer to disclosing the point of impact between the gravy and the iPod, so I cut him off and informed him the lesson would be very brief. He didn’t mind. It occurred to me that he called a tutoring session because he was bored.

We went to the patio and sat on the cold iron chairs. The blinds of the neighbor’s house pinched open and closed twice. I began a lecture on cell stabilization. I picked up where we left off in the last session. I introduced the concept of homeostasis. Before I uttered the word, I knew how Levi was going to react.

He leaned forward and cupped his hand to his ear. “Homo stays where? Huh?”

When Levi became bored, he would pretend to be a dirty old man with a hearing problem. The first time I was mildly amused. Then I simply tolerated it. Levi laughed at any attempt at humor, especially his own, and sometimes for no reason at all. It was not a real, ha-ha laugh. It was a rumble-laugh, more like a nervous tic or a vocal murmur.

I closed the textbook and asked him what he planned to do with his life. He said his parents expected him to go on a mission next year. After that he would come back to live with them. I asked him if he thought his parents would support him forever. He was quiet for a few moments, like he had never thought about it. Then he said he might star in porn videos.

I told him he was full of
scheizen
.

“What’s
scheizen
?”

“A German swear word.”

“What does it mean?”

“Fecal matter.” He stared blankly. “Tell me you know what fecal matter is,” I said.

“Of course.” He was probably lying. “I don’t see why you can’t use simpler words for stuff.”

That comment made me snap. It was my own version of snapping, which didn’t involve violence, like when other people snap. My snapping was merely snappish. I told him he was drifting through life, flush with his parents’ cash, yet unconcerned about what would happen if the money spigot were shut off, while some people—me, for example—worked our proverbial butts off. I warned him that someone who didn’t know Etruscans from atoms shouldn’t expect his future would always be full of free i-crap. “Don’t assume the world will be your oyster.”

He looked down as if trying to find a speck of sand on the cement patio. It was the same look Nathan Niedermyer had when I informed him he would never be an engineer if he couldn’t comprehend signed integers.

In his old man voice, Levi replied, “
Hoist
her? I hardly know her.” Rumble-laugh.

At that moment I saw Carl and Janet though the sliding glass doors. They had brought bags of take out food.

Levi turned. Janet pointed to the food. Levi assumed it was an invitation, and it probably was. He said he was “
starv
-a-ling.” He hopped up and went inside, nearly knocking over a clay planter in the process. It annoyed me how he comically changed the word
starving
, but I was more peeved by the fact that he thought of Carl and Janet’s house as his own.

I followed Levi inside. Suddenly, there was an even bigger problem.

“I hope you like Thai,” Janet said. “No time to cook.”

I stood there, mouth open, like a fish on dry land. I couldn’t say that it was too spicy, and that my BiMo killed herself with Thai food. Nobody wants to hear something like that. Janet didn’t wait for my answer. She asked Carl what one of the dishes was called. Carl hesitated but finally announced it was
prik king
. Janet laughed and said she loved doing that to Carl.

Carl and Janet sat across from Levi and me. As I nudged the chili peppers and noodles on my plate, Janet asked me to tell her about my friend.

“I’m his
tutor
,” I corrected.

“Okay, don’t tell me.” She leaned into Levi. “What’s your story?” It almost sounded seductive, the way she said it, possibly because her cleavage was showing.

Levi looked down at his plate made his rumble laugh. He told her there was nothing interesting about him.

“Two guys who don’t talk,” she said. “Might as well talk to myself.”

“
I’m
here,” Carl said.

“I see that.” She took a long gulp of wine. Levi rumble-laughed.

I loaded up my plate with plain rice. Carl waved the phrik king carton menacingly in my direction. I shook my head. He put the carton back on the table and turned back to Levi.

“I take it that’s your Continental outside,” Carl said. “Seventy-nine?”

“Seventy-eight. The Cartier edition.” Levi started another of his five-minute monologues. Here’s the short story. Levi polished the car every week and kept it covered when he wasn’t driving it. Some guy offered him twelve grand for it. He wouldn’t sell because his grandfather wanted to keep it in the family.

Free car, must be nice.

Carl declared that his father also drove a Lincoln. “A sixty-two with suicide doors.” He went on about how it had been a technological marvel in its time. Levi was listening to him as if he were giving out instructions on diffusing a bomb that would go off in two minutes.

Janet butted in and declared that she hated cars. “I lease a Lexus because clients don’t want to be driven around town in some Nissan
Sentra
. Six hundred a month just to entice people to buy something they don’t need and will end up getting into a fight over when they’re upside down on the mortgage. A car is an appliance. A house is a box.”