Youth in Revolt: The Journals of Nick Twisp (14 page)

Not even Mom looked like she believed that lie. “I think Joanie looks very nice,” said Mom. “She has a new boyfriend too.”

“Oh, what make of cars does he work on?” I asked.

“He happens to work on atomic accelerators,” replied Joanie. “He’s a nuclear physicist.”

“Did you meet him in posture class?”

Joanie looked very much like she wanted to bash me one. She had spent much of her early life pummeling me and probably missed this therapeutic outlet. “Still the smartest mouth in town,” she observed.

“Just like his father,” added Mom.

That, I thought, was hitting below the belt.

More than 150 people jammed into the funeral home chapel for Lefty’s memorial service, including—much to my surprise—Millie Filbert herself. Conspicuously absent was her alleged fiancé Willis. Since the body of the deceased was also absent, the morticians in their dark suits stood around looking awkwardly unoccupied. With nothing to focus their attention on, the mourners sat on hard folding chairs and studied the profusion of floral wreaths. This was somewhat ironic, I thought, since the only interest Lefty had ever shown in flowers was in riding his mountain bike over his neighbors’ landscaping.

How did Martha look? Her bloated face wore the unmistakable tread marks of out-of-control remorse. So what if her parents refused to face reality, she knew who had murdered her unfortunate brother. The guilt was eating her alive.

Lefty’s parents also appeared to be taking it rather badly. I regret, of course, making them suffer in this way. But I figure it’s only temporary. And anyway, it’s all for a good cause.

Besides his ubiquitous camcorder, Lefty’s dad also brought along the family VCR. A big TV had been set up in the lobby and was showing home videos of the decedent in younger and happier days. Some I recognized from their recent vacation in Nice.

After a respectful silence, Lefty’s minister stood up and read what sounded like a generic, death-of-a-teen funeral eulogy. He didn’t even get all the blanks filled in right. Twice he referred to Lefty as “dear Nerine,” prompting an old woman behind me to whisper, “Who’s Nerine? Did she drown too?”

When the minister had concluded his somber banalities, family and friends stood up to recall what they remembered most about the dear departed Leroy. These reminiscences were so embarrassingly maudlin, everyone in the chapel (including me) was soon sniffling. A couple of times Joanie nudged me to get up to speak, but—not wishing to wallow in hypocrisy—I demurred.

Among the speakers was Millie Filbert, who confessed sadly that although she had not known Leroy well, she had always felt the presence of an unspoken bond between them. “I only wish I had had the courage to reach out to him,” she said wistfully.

I only wish I could relay this fabulous news to Lefty. But since he is unaware of his death, revealing the context of her admission could prove troublesome. I just hope she doesn’t go and marry Willis before Lefty is officially resurrected.

To my extreme embarrassment, Mom stood up and announced that she too had experienced a recent grievous loss, and therefore knew how much Leroy’s family and friends were suffering. “We’re all in this together,” declared Mom. “Life is sometimes just the pits.” On that profound note, she sat down.

SUNDAY, September 2
— Things are tense, very tense around here. This is the day Jerry was due back, so Mom is in an even blacker mood than before. Plus, the 24-hour grace period has expired, so Mom and Joanie have resumed their lifelong habitual bickering. I have yet to see them spend two entire days together without shrieking at each other. Then Dad called to see if I was interested in any court-ordered bonding experiences. Joanie answered the phone and within 90 seconds was screaming profanities into the receiver. She has nothing but contempt for Dad (who doesn’t?) and is commendably up front about expressing it. After Joanie warmed up the phone, I got on the line and told Dad I did not appreciate “vague proposals” of Sunday activities, as these invariably turned into my washing his car or mowing his grass.

“All right,” said Dad. Even over the phone, you could tell he was seething inwardly. “Would you be at all interested in coming over and helping me clean out the garage?”

“No, I don’t think so,” I replied. “But thanks for the concrete proposal.”

“You’re entirely welcome,” said Dad, hanging up.

Meanwhile, in between defending her lifestyle to Mom, Joanie continues to eye me suspiciously. I struggle to remain inscrutable.

Joanie made the mistake of divulging that her new boyfriend Philip, besides having a doctorate from Massachusetts Institute of Technology, has a wife and three children in Santa Monica. Joanie met him because he is a frequent flyer to assorted accelerator locations. “It was love at first sight,” she said. “I asked him if he wanted a magazine. And he asked me if I had
Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists.”

Shocked, Mom flew off the handle and called Joanie a “home wrecker.”

Joanie got livid and said, “Oh, really? I understand your last boyfriend didn’t exactly qualify as bachelor of the month!”

So much for comforting Mom in her hour of need.

This emotional turmoil has played havoc with my erupting zit. My chin
looks like an explosion at an earthworm ranch. I wonder if there’s such a thing as malignant acne?

I have lost interest in my
Penthouse
collection. Now I am only interested in the real thing. I think about Sheeni constantly. She is the one bright, dazzling star in my gray world. Which reminds me, I have to go walk her stupid dog.

MONDAY, September 3
— Labor Day — Just think, if I had a job, I’d be paid all day for sitting around being bored. Instead, I get to do it for free. What a laborious holiday. And all those ominous back-to-school ads in the newspapers.

Mom and Joanie aren’t speaking to each other. This is better than screaming, but still palpably tense. Mom got mad at Joanie for not helping with the breakfast dishes. “I don’t understand it,” said Mom, tossing a plate against the wall for emphasis. “After 18 years of not lifting a finger around here, you go out and get a job waiting hand and foot on total strangers. Why is that?”

“Because,” replied Joanie, slamming down her book
(Particle Physics for Laypersons)
, “occasionally one of those strangers displays a fucking particle of gratitude.”

“Lazy, foulmouthed home wrecker!” reasoned Mom.

“Overbearing, never-satisfied shrew!” rebutted Joanie.

No wonder people have to escape family life through drugs. I just hope Sheeni and I have better rapport with our gifted children.

Lefty’s mom just called and asked if I wanted Lefty’s baseball card collection or computer. They’re clearing out all his stuff! I suggested maybe they wait a few more days, since the body still hasn’t been recovered. But she said no, she now has an absolute conviction that her son has “discarded his deformed body and departed this sphere.” (So much for motherly intuition.) She wants to distribute his possessions to “needy youths” as soon as possible. (So much for being paralyzed with grief!) Already, she’s given away his bike, stereo, and most of his clothes. So I said I would take the baseball cards
and
the computer. I just hope the other legatees will be as amenable to returning their bequests.

Mom and Joanie have made up and are organizing a “holiday picnic.” I’ve been drafted to go to 7-Eleven for some chips and charcoal. Can this day get any drearier?

7:30
P.M
. Yes, improbably it could. When Albert and I returned with the groceries, we found Mom and Joanie in the back yard. They had moved the grill out of the garage and set up the lawn chairs. Unfortunately, Mom, seeking
a more Sierra-like ambience, had also cranked up the trailer—thus discovering the TV, tuna salad remains, and a large portion of my
Penthouse
collection. When the interrogation began, I proposed as one possible explanation a visitation by the homeless. Mom, however, refused to buy it.

“You are disgusting,” she bellowed, “a disgusting, sick pervert.”

“Oh, Mother!” interjected Joanie. “All boys his age are interested in those kinds of magazines. You should be grateful, at least, the pictures are of women.”

“Thank you, Miss Home Wrecker,” replied Mom. “When I want your opinion on raising my child, I’ll ask for it.”

Joanie sighed, sat down in a lawn chair, and picked up her book. I sighed, sat down in a lawn chair, and picked up a magazine. Mom ripped the magazine from my hands and tossed it across the yard. Albert dashed after it and brought it back. Mom grabbed the magazine, smacked Albert on the nose with it, threw it at me, and stalked into the house. Joanie looked over from her book.

“When are you leaving?” I asked.

“I escape tomorrow morning at six.”

“Wish I was going with you,” I said.

“Your day will come,” said Joanie. “I never thought mine would, but it did.” Joanie studied me for a moment. “Can I ask you one question?”

“OK,” I said.

“Is Lefty dead?”

“Not as dead as Jerry,” I replied. “Did you really take a posture class?”

“Implants,” said Joanie. “I wanted them all my life.”

Mom walked out of the kitchen door carrying a tray of hamburger patties. “OK,” she said brightly, “let’s get that charcoal started!”

Later, as we were cleaning up from the gala picnic, the doorbell rang. It was Lefty’s dad and Martha delivering his computer and famous baseball card collection. Helping them unload, I was appalled to see their station wagon was jammed to the roof with Lefty’s worldly goods (much of them, of course, unlawfully obtained).

“Gee,” I said, “I could take all of this if no one else wants it.”

“Aren’t you the greedy little friend,” observed Martha.

Lefty’s dad showed me his delivery list. “Sorry, Nick,” he said, “everyone wants something to remember Leroy by.”

The list must have had at least 20 names and addresses on it!

“Maybe you should keep a copy of that list,” I suggested. “Just in case Leroy happens to turn up.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Lefty’s dad. “If my son’s alive, I’ll buy him anything he wants. Brand-new.”

What commendable generosity. Now I’ve got two computers. And I can get big bucks for the card collection too.

10:30
P.M
. Sheeni took advantage of the holiday rates to call collect. Thank God, I happened to answer the phone. Just the sound of her voice gives me the most amazing adrenaline rush—and immediate T.E. It seems almost incredible that someday soon she and I will be experiencing—as passionate beings—the ultimate expression of human union. (Which reminds me, I have to go to the library and drugstore.)

Sheeni reports Lefty is the sensation of the trailer park. Everyone wants to meet this pious youth from Burma. “He had a full social calendar today,” Sheeni said, “starting with a 7 A.M. prayer breakfast with Mrs. Clarkelson’s faction. Everyone is amazed by his mastery of English and his ignorance of theology.”

“Is he staying swelled up?” I asked.

“Perfectly,” replied Sheeni. “He sleeps with dear darling Albert’s sweet little blanket and that keeps him swollen nicely. He’s a remarkable sight in a bathing suit. Father loaned him a pair of his old trunks and we went swimming between church services and the afternoon prayer meeting.”

“He hasn’t made any passes at you, has he?” I asked. “I mean while you were at the beach together in your bathing suits. I hope you weren’t wearing that purple bikini.”

“I was, as a matter of fact,” Sheeni answered. “For your information, Lefty was the perfect gentleman. He is very nice, if a bit dim. Of course, he got somewhat excited applying my tanning lotion. That’s only to be expected. Odd, he looked a bit crooked, but perhaps it was only the weave of Father’s bathing trunks.”

I suggested to Sheeni that in the future she consider applying her own tanning lotion.

“I’ll remember that, darling,” said Sheeni, “the next time we’re at the beach together.”

“I didn’t mean me,” I said. “It’s OK for me to do it. But not Lefty.”

“Oh, I see,” said Sheeni. “You are an advocate of discrimination. And against Asians. I should have thought the era of such reactionary prejudice was behind us.”

I changed the subject. “Your dog is doing well.”

“Oh, Albert!” exclaimed Sheeni. “I miss him terribly. Tell me all about the little sweetie!”

Since I wasn’t going to run up Mom’s phone bill talking about Albert, I made it brief, and soon I heard Sheeni’s sweet voice saying, “Goodbye, darling. I love you.” Then I put Albert down and she said goodbye to me.

Thus ends another laboriously labored Labor Day. Only one labor remains before I sleep. This involves some precision handwork on a T.E.

TUESDAY, September 4
— Joanie departed for the freedom of the open skies hours before I got up. She left me an envelope on the kitchen table. Inside was a short farewell note and $50 in tens and twenties. My wad is now back up to $90! And that’s not even counting my ever-appreciating baseball card collection.

I celebrated by going out for donuts. When I got back, Mom was in Joanie’s room painting the walls. An ugly pale pink. I hope she cleared the color choice with Joanie. I learned the hard way when I was younger—never mess with Joanie’s room. The bruises take too long to heal. Mom’s asked for bereavement leave from her job for the entire week. Needless to say, her constant presence here will be cramping my already crimped style.

11:30 A.M. Total unmitigated disaster! I just got a call from Lefty’s mom. She asked me—all excited—if I knew where Leroy was. I said well, ocean currents being what they were, he was probably halfway to Hawaii.

“That’s interesting,” she replied. “Because we just got a postcard from him. Dated Saturday. And postmarked Lakeport, California! Weren’t you just up at Clear Lake?”

“No, I went to Tahoe,” I lied. “What does the card say?”

Lefty’s mom read the short inscription: “Dear Mom, Dad, and Creep. I am enjoying my new life as your former son and/or brother. Too bad I didn’t bring my swimsuit, the lake looks great. I will write again when I get a job and get married. Regards, Leroy.”