Not so super -- Chapter 9

 

I sat on the futon, looking at the TV.  I wasn’t really watching it.  It was just a destination for my unfocused eyes.  Mom, out of her post-power walk shower, was rushing around the kitchenette in her towel. 

 

I hated when she did that.

 

It was a small apartment.  We didn’t start with a lot of privacy.  We were always tripping over each other.  We gave each other as much space as the seven hundred square feet would allow.  Mom had created some private space for me by putting Chinese curtains across the far side of the living room.  This became my “bedroom.”  It was big enough I guess.  I didn’t own much stuff and all I really needed was the mattress, two wardrobes and the shelving we had put up.  But Mom had a real bedroom, with a door and a closet.  Why she needed to parade around after her showers was beyond me.  

 

But to be honest, the post-shower parade wasn’t the real problem.  The barrage of thoughts was much worse.  From the minute she got into the shower, until she was dressed and ready to go, her mind was a non-stop list of things she had to do.  She would run through her mental list over and over again, sending stray thoughts out in all directions.  The worst part was that there was no way for me to tell her that she was driving me crazy.  I sat there with my ears covered, dodging a never ending stream of “cancel dental appointment” and “figure out what’s wrong with.”  So instead, I’d crank up the TV, or my headphones, or do anything to blot out the noise.

 

I closed my eyes and upped the TV volume.  It didn’t help.  I was still getting hit by shopping lists and clothes that needed mending.  I needed a distraction.  I thought about Channy.  I tried to imagine Channy in a towel, puttering about in a kitchen.  I couldn’t.  I couldn’t conjure any image of her other than that MIT picture, which didn’t look a thing like her.  It certainly didn’t look like a girl who’d walk around in just a towel.

 

I opened my eyes and tried to return my attention to the TV.  Grainy figures moved from the screen to my unfocusing eyes.  A laugh track informed me that I could have been amused by what I was seeing.  But I couldn’t get myself into the show.  I could barely get myself out of my Mom’s to-do list.  About the only thing that was working was thinking about Channy.

 

Channy.

 

How did I feel about her?  Conflicted.  On one hand, she got it.  She really got it.  She got it in a way that nobody else ever would.  Even if her experience wasn’t exactly like mine, it was close enough for us to relate.  She was the only other freak out there.  She was the only one who had to hide the truth from the rest of the world.  She was the only one who had to wrestle with knowing things she couldn’t possibly know.  But there was as much wrong as there was right about her.

 

She was older than me.

She was smug.

She was messing up my relationships and other parts of my life.

And I just couldn’t picture her.

 

That was the worst part.

 

Those fleeting memories from Starbucks and the library had up and fled.  All I had left were those highly stylized memories that one creates, the ones without the discomfort, shame and awkwardness that make up real life.  All I had left was this terrible, posed picture of her.  Maybe that was it.  Maybe I just needed something more tangible.  A better picture, if I couldn’t be with her.  Something to make it more real.

 

I started at the sound of Mom’s bedroom door closing, as she went to make herself presentable.  I instantly took out my phone and fired off a quick DM.

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

Hey -- what are you doing?

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

Not much… Organizing my shelves.

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That seemed like a strange thing to do on a Saturday morning, but Channy wasn’t really bound by convention.

 

The morning had started off, like so many Saturday mornings, with a DM waiting for me: “Good morning, Rick!  Have a great walk!”  

 

It wasn't a love note, but it was sweet.  A reminder that she was thinking of me, even while I slept.  I had reached out to her when we hit Starbucks and we’d had a great conversation.  But I wanted more than words.

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

I need another photo.  But a good one.

A selfie -- the way you are right now.

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She immediately sent me a jpeg, no questions asked.  Not that she ever asked questions.  It was a selfie, taken in front of a full length mirror.  It must have been attached to the door in her dorm.  She was wearing black leggings, black shorts and a loose, pink t-shirt.  Her hair was pulled back behind her, which made her look almost recognizable.  But she’d left her glasses on.  And right there, in the center of the photo, was a smile.  It wasn’t smug.  It was only slightly serene.  It was exactly the way I wanted to see her.

 

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

A girl might wonder what you do with all of these photos…

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She might indeed.  I wondered why I needed them, myself.  But as I looked at the photo, it made all the difference in the world.  She went from being a mysterious demon to a real, tangible girl.  I could almost imagine a future with her.

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

I just wanted you, the real you.  

Something to look at when I think of you.

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

I understand...

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And then another jpeg arrived.  The same shot, only she had turned away from the mirror and was taking the photo over her shoulder.  I could see her face in profile, with a scrunchy holding her ponytail back behind her head.  It was the first time I had seen how thick her glasses were.  I could also see her back.  And backside.  A nagging feeling gnawed at me.

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

You’re making fun of me about Starbucks.

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

Rick, I’m making fun of things you haven’t even done yet ;-)

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Unsettling.  And wholly believable.  And I was totally keeping the photo.

 

I was still luxuriating in the picture when Mom came out of her room.  I shut off the screen and tucked my phone into my pocket.

 

“Rick, honey.  I’m “doorknob is” going to go shopping with Karen and then hit the office -- make yourself some lunch.”

 

She grabbed her winter coat and handbag, gave me a perfunctory “add pasta to the” peck on the forehead, and headed out to meet her friend.  I took a quick look in the pantry, a quicker look in my wallet and then made the tough choice.

 

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**Rick Smith

@IntegralRick

 

Anyone up for lunch?

 

#qDaBoyz

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**Gers Renowicz

@Gearson

 

No can do.  We’re reconfiguring the RGB sensors for the robot today.  Dad, would be pissed if I ran out on him.

 

#qDaBoyz

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That was so like Gers.  His dad was the most laid back man I had ever met.  I couldn’t imagine him getting pissed about anything.  If Gers had wanted to take an hour and join me for lunch his father would have been cool with that.  But I knew who wouldn’t be cool.  Gers wasn’t capable of taking ownership of his emotions.  It was clear to me, as it always was, that Gers would be pissed about missing the day with his dad.  Gers' dad traveled a lot for business and wasn’t often around.  If Gers had a chance to spend a day with him, there was nothing that could pull him away.  I could safely write Gers off the lunch list.

 

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**Alejandro Rodriguez

@DrDroDoctor

 

No can do.  Gotta falcon Aunty Lena. 

 

#qDaBoyz

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Lena wasn’t really an Aunt.  She was a neighbor.  She was a tiny, old woman who could barely walk.  Dro would “falcon” her by accompanying her on shopping trips. She shopped by having some kid come around with her to move all the objects from shelf to cart to kitchen, while she scooted around in her mechanized chair.  Dro was one of a rotation of kids who played this role.  I had gone with them a few times, just to hang with Dro.  I always felt awkward, having to slow myself down to accompany the old woman in her chair, but I liked her well enough and was almost tempted to join them.  But then I got the next tweet. 

 

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**Kenneth Sherr

@KenTheFinalFrontier

 

Lunch sounds great!  Crimson Pizza at noon?

 

#qDaBoyz

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Kenneth’s acceptance was as welcome as it was unexpected.  I wasn’t the only one who was surprised.

 

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**Alejandro Rodriguez

@DrDroDoctor

 

@KenTheFinalFrontier -- Hot Legs ejected?

 

#qDaBoyz

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**Kenneth Sherr

@KenTheFinalFrontier

 

No, Linda did not dump me.  FYI, she

is doing Christmas shopping with the girls.

Probably for yours truly…

 

#qDaBoyz

=================================

 

I was psyched to have a chance to hang out with Kenneth.  Between sports and music, he never had much time on weekends.  And what little time he had, Linda had taken over.  Kenneth and I used to spend lots of time together, but since we got to high school, he was the friend who had most dropped off of my radar.  I had a few classes with him and found opportunities to study with him.  But lazy one-on-one time had all but disappeared.

 

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**Rick Smith

@IntegralRick

 

You’re on, Bass-boy.  Crimson Pizza @noon!

 

#qDaBoyz

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It was only ten after ten.  Still plenty of time to kill before meeting Kenneth.  And plenty of homework and chores to kill it with.  I cracked open my books and tried to concentrate on some problem sets.  I must have read the same question ten times before admitting that I just didn’t have the focus to handle them.  My phone was sitting on the table, just inches away from the math book.  Every time I grabbed it to use the calculator app, the photo gallery beckoned me.  Finally, I gave in and scrolled through my three photos: smug and serene, pretty and real, flirty and cute.  It was amazing to see how different she was in each photo -- she didn’t just appear different, it was as if there were different people shining through each photo.

 

I tried to imagine taking three photos of me that felt so different.  It didn’t seem possible.  I went back to scrolling through hers.  The new selfie was my favorite.  It was perfect.  It captured her smile in the best light, very serene, barely smug.  And behind thick lenses, her eyes were sparkling.  Not quite with the mischief of the last photo, but with something better.  With the joy of being able to share herself with me.

 

By now, my things were spread all over the little dining table.  Two pencils rested lazily on my barely used notebook.  The laptop was open, but had fallen asleep.  Several textbooks rested at odd angles, none of which encouraged me to work.  They had all fled the spot in front of me, making room for the phone.  

 

I gave up on homework.  I tucked my phone into my pocket and tried using chores to pass the time.  But these left me even less motivated.  I tried putting on music to help me focus.  I cleared dishes out of the drying rack and moved laundry along.  I tidied up in the living room and then pushed through the curtains into my space.  It was a wreck.  I combined a few piles and looked around.  I had totally lost my taste for tidying.  It was barely eleven, and still too early to head out to meet Kenneth.  I gave in and did the only thing that felt worth doing.  I reached out to Channy.

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

Can I ask you something?

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

Of course!

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Of course.

 

It still bothered me how open Channy always was.  I tried to be careful about what I asked.  It was spooky how she always made time for my questions, no matter how goofy.  I kind of wish she would, just once, say “I’m busy, Rick.  I’m talking to someone else.”  It only fed my image of her of as some demon that lurked in her lair, waiting for a chance to beguile me, and lure me away.

 

On the other hand, who else could I talk to?

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

Knowing the future… is it ever too much for you?  Do you ever wish you didn’t know?

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I couldn’t have picked a better question.  The impact on Channy was powerful and immediate.  The tone of the conversation that followed was so alien that I could easily have believed I was talking to someone else.

 

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

Wow.  I guess I wasn't expecting to talk about this so soon.  Are you sure you're ready, Rick?

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That day’s Channy was full of uncertainty, self-doubt and even regret.  It turned out that she did suffer from knowing too much, just like me.  But while I suffered from knowing too much about others, she suffered from knowing too much about herself.

 

Her dreams covered a wide range of her life, not just in terms of her age, but in terms of her happiness.  There were good dreams, boring dreams and even nightmares.  She had done some correlation studies -- reminding me of my own work -- and discovered that the unpleasant dreams were the ones that resurfaced most often.

 

In fact, I was surprised to discover that this was probably why she had dreamt of meeting me so often.  It wasn’t because she was excited about meeting her future life partner.  Quite the opposite, she was a nervous wreck.  She felt a gigantic responsibility to get it right, to set the relationship in motion.

 

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

And I was right to worry!  

I was just terrible.  

Everything went wrong.

I’m lucky I got a second chance to meet you...

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She had told me that she’d been showing up every Saturday, waiting to see if she could catch me.  What she hadn't told me was how anxious she had been.  She had sat at her table, chewing on her nails and staring at a blank computer screen to avoid looking like the stalker she was.  I was a little surprised to hear the disparity between the girl she described and my image of the smug, serene girl who had loomed in front of me that day.

 

The real Channy had been anything but smug or serene.  She had ran out of the Starbucks when she saw Mom and just kept running.  She had only gotten halfway back to MIT before she was overcome by grief.  She collapsed on a bench and sobbed until some stranger stopped to ask if she was okay.  This was beyond my ability to imagine.  How could this girl who appeared to be so self-possessed, have so much inner turmoil?

 

She had returned to her dorm, mid-morning, and crawled back into bed.  She was too depressed to do anything but sleep.  At the same time, she was petrified about what she’d dream.  For Channy, even a depression-induced catnap held the risk of prophetic dreams.  She was terrified of finding that the future had been radically changed.  Would she dream of a different, older Channy, alone and unloved?  Would she be doomed to see new, sadder memories while remembering the future that was supposed to have been?

 

Instead, she dreamt about the library.

 

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

I woke up suddenly, around 1pm.

It was like I was drowning, and that library was my lifeline.

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She woke up gasping for air.  Horrible sounds crawled out of her throat with every wheezy breath.  Sweat caked her hair to her scalp.  Her heart was beating a painful mile a minute.  She had clutched her chest so hard that her fingernails had left marks which hadn't yet healed.  But the sensations passed, and she forced herself into action.

 

She showered and discarded her sweaty clothing -- the clothes I had seen her in -- and googled public libraries in Cambridge.  It was like her Detroit Starbucks adventure, but with a far greater urgency.

 

As moving as the story was, I liked the part about discarding clothing best.  I tried to visualize it as I bundled up, to head into Harvard Square. The image wouldn't materialize.  Instead, I pressed her for more details about finding me in the library.

 

There are six branches of the public library in Cambridge and she dedicated the rest of the day to visiting each one.  On her third try, the deja vu set in.  She was in the right place, and she knew it.  

 

Because she had seen a clock in her dream, she knew what time the meeting would take place, but not on what day.  From seeing me, and the weather, she guessed that the meeting would take place soon.  From that day on, she dropped everything, everyday, at 2pm, and headed over to the library to wait for me.  After the magic moment passed, she returned to campus.  She repeated this ritual day after day.  Until I showed up.

 

Between our two meetings, her dreams continued to include our future together.  Seeing that I remained in her future, she regained that serenity that was so much a part of my perception of her.  It was strange seeing this story unfold, 140 characters at a time.  The story was all there, just waiting for me to ask about it.  But I got the feeling that, had I not thought to ask, I would never have seen this side of her.  

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

That must be hard for you.

I hate knowing private things about other people.

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I typed, thinking of Jenny.

 

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

I know you do.  And I know that you don’t want to hear about the future.

Even those parts that are directly about you.

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

How would you know that?

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

I remember you telling me.

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And the minute she said it, I knew that it was true.  I already couldn’t handle what I knew about Mom and Jenny.  How could I possibly deal with knowing what Channy and I will go through in the future.  Maybe it was okay to just accept what I was supposed to know and leave things at that.

 

I sighed and stared away from the phone, needing a break to digest what I'd learned.  It was coming up on noon and I was a block away from Crimson Pizza.  I signed off, and received a quick reply.

 

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

Well, if you’re still collecting pictures, here’s another one!

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I opened up the jpeg she had sent.  It was her, in her dorm, doing yoga on a mat.  She looked very attractive, although the lack of glasses made her eyes look small.  Her yoga pants suggested cute legs, but her voluminous pink t-shirt concealed an awful lot.  Suddenly, as I walked into the shop, I realized something.  I had spent so much time looking at the Channy in the photo, I had failed to see just how much she was opening up to me.  Behind her, very visibly in the photo, was her room.  Spread around her were the artifacts of who she was.  As I looked at the scattered collection of objects I realized how much I had to learn about her.  She answered every question I asked, but how many questions had I never even conceived?

 

Overall, the room was neat.  Her bed was rumpled, but made.  Her desk was organized and her shelf was tidy.  Except for the books.  There were books all over -- on the bed, on the desk, on the floor.  It was as if she forced herself to clean up every night, and then left bits and pieces of her new day behind her.  That also made me wonder how much time she spent in that room, if she just went from book to book, with the occasional break for yoga.

 

There were other hints of her sprinkled throughout the room.  There was a painting on the wall behind her.  It was a hazy French painting of a footbridge, going over a million green and pink lily pads.  There was a gigantic rubik’s cube on her desk, next to her teeny little laptop.  There was a weird clock with two faces in the bookcase.  It was probably broken. One face was pointing to midnight, the other just a few minutes earlier.  She had something that looked like a cactus by her window.  And what was that exotic looking drink next to her yoga mat?

 

This was a lair, but not a demon’s lair.  It was her girl-cave.  She was a real girl with a real dorm.

 

I was suddenly jolted back to reality as Kenneth came up behind me.  I clumsily shut off my phone and shoved it in my pocket.  Kenneth chuckled at my obvious subterfuge.

 

“Between, your secret tweets and that girl in the library, I’m beginning to think of you as an international man of mystery, bro.  Whatever happened to that library girl?”

 

Involuntarily, my left hand reached for my phone and then stopped.

 

“Wow,” said Kenneth, catching on immediately.  “They are one and the same.  Do I feel dumb?  That’s great, Rick, I’m really happy for you.  Although it’s too bad it’s such a big secret.  So, is she, like, from somewhere else, that you never get to see her?”

 

Not exactly.  She was two miles down the street, in the Lotus Position.  But I wasn't ready to talk about it.

 

“It’s not like you think.  She’s just the daughter of a friend of my mom’s.”

 

I felt terrible, lying to Kenneth.  But how could I possibly explain?  Any conversation that started with Channy ended by exposing us as the freaks we were.

 

“Oh,” Kenneth answered, half-disappointed, half-skeptical.

 

“Yeah, it’s not serious.”

 

“So, more of a casual daughter of a friend of your mom’s?”

 

“Yeah,” I agreed.

 

“And what would define a serious daughter of a friend of your mom’s?”

 

“Oh, you know,” I grappled feebly to keep up with wherever this conversation was headed.  

“Sometimes, daughters want to do stuff.  She doesn’t need to do stuff.”

 

“Daughter of friend of mom type stuff?” Kenneth asked.

 

“Yeah,” I agreed, desperately looking for an exit from this conversation.

 

“You can be worse than, Dro, dude.”

 

We got through the lines and placed our orders.  Like the math team busride, lunch with Kenneth included a charade.  Similarly, I didn't like it, but I’d learned to accept it. The pizza charade went like this:  I order one slice and a coke. That’s pretty much what I could afford.  Kenneth orders 4 slices and a giant drink.  He’s a big guy.  But not that big.  Every single time, no matter who we’re with -- Gers, Dro or even Linda.  Every single time.  After three slices he’ll lean back and say “I’m done.  Anyone want?”  Nobody ever wanted but me.  They know better.

 

I used to be embarrassed by this little act of charity.  I didn’t need it.  But it made Kenneth happy, so I took it.  

 

We sat down, Kenneth with his heap of pizza, me with my slice.  I was worried that Kenneth would press for more Channy details.  Mercifully, he returned to his favorite subject.   The conversation was inundated with anecdotes about Linda.  Slowly, the light dawned.  He seemed to sense that I was avoiding talking about Channy, and let me keep my silence.  Kenneth was easy going, and could create comfort anywhere.  During that meal, he did so by driving the bulk of our conversation.  However, I hit my capacity when we got to the subject of Linda’s prowess on the viola.

 

“So, other than Linda, Linda and Linda, what’s new in the world of Kenneth?” I asked, as I munched Kenneth’s final slice.

 

“I’ll tell you what’s old.  Failing driving tests is getting old,” he said, fidgeting uncharacteristically. His eyes darted about, landing on anything but mine.

 

“Wow.  Again.  How can a man who handles the bass like a ninja have so much trouble with a car?” I asked.

 

“You’d think, right?” he said, suddenly animated.  “But I get in the car and it’s more like basketball.  I’m all awkward limbs and having to remember what comes next.  I don’t know.  I just can’t do it.”

 

We munched in the brief silence.

 

“You know what’s really bad?” Kenneth continued.  “Linda needs wheels.  I don’t know how much longer she’s gonna wait.”

 

“Linda is not going to dump you because you can’t drive,” I asserted.

 

“Well, she’s not here now, right?”

 

“Woah, big guy, don’t let Dro get in your head!  What does he know about dating?” I asked.  I couldn’t believe we were even having this conversation.  Kenneth chuckled and hunched forward.

 

“Yeah, you’re right.  You’ve probably had more dates with that Library Chick than he’s had in his whole “I wish” life.”

 

Wait.  Was that me?  Maybe it was.  Maybe I did wish.  My heart started racing in my chest.  I could sense that Kenneth was still ragging on Dro.  I nodded and smiled, but hadn’t understand a word he said.

 

I didn’t want to date Channy.  That would be weird.  She was old.  And creepy.  But maybe, to go on one date.  Maybe that’s what I needed.  I needed some time with her, to soak in her humanity.  To really interact with the real thing, the person I had been talking to all morning.  And if she was so damned sure we were going to get married, she’d surely be willing to go on a date.  I made up my mind to work up the nerve to figure out how I’d phrase the question to ask her if she wanted to go on a date sometime.  I’d do it for sure.

 

“Right?” asked Kenneth.

 

“Right,” I hoped.

 

“I got to hit the head ” he said, placing me back on safer ground.

 

“Why not duck?” I asked.

 

“You’re a riot,” he said, as he got up and slouched over towards the restrooms.

 

My phone was out before he’d disappeared from view.  I thought about asking her on a date.  But somehow, between my brain and my fingers, the words changed a little.

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

I’m worried -- I feel like everyone knows about us.

Zeta was making fun of me and now Kenneth is asking about you.

=================================

 

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

Don’t worry, Rick.  It’s going to be alright.

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That wasn’t the girl I’d been talking to, earlier.  That was some smug, serene girl who kept showing up in my life.  I couldn’t understand it.  By her own admission, she had sobbed in the street after she met me.  But now she was sure that our secret was safe.  Her dreams must have told her so.  I couldn’t understand her at all.  Mom was right.  She was truly a mystery girl, dorm and all.

 

The thought of her dorm reminded me of the latest photo, and all of those details she had shared with me.  I opened the photo and enlarged it, trying to read the titles of the books around her.  My best guess was that the big one by her pillow was an engineering book.  I’m not sure that I could have understood the title even if I could have made it out.  I turned to the book on the floor, partially under the bed.  I couldn’t make out the words, but that was surely a mythical creature on the cover -- half-man, half-horse.  Fantasy?  Science fiction?  How could Channy read that stuff?  Wasn’t she afraid that her friends were going to put two and two together and realize what a freak she was?

 

“Not serious at all…” smirked Kenneth, now back in the seat across from me.

 

I nearly jumped out of my skin.  Sheepishly, I put the phone back in my pocket.

 

“Well, you know.  A girl like that is out of my league.  Nothing’s gonna happen.”

 

“She likes you enough to send pictures,” he pointed out.

 

I thought about the photo.  I wished I could explain.  I wished I could talk about it.  But Kenneth would think that we were both crazy.  Worse, he might think that there was something wrong with her.  He’d warn me to stop talking to her.  He’d worry about me.

 

I preferred to do all the worrying myself.

 

I shook my head and popped the phone back into my pocket.

 

“So why is she called “Fake Wife?” Kenneth asked.

 

I winced.  Everyone knew.

 

“It’s just a joke.  Something her mom said once,” I improvised.  Boy, I was going to have a hard time remembering that whopper of a lie.  I needed to write it down.

 

“Well, I’m rooting for ya, Richard.”

 

I gave him a thin smile and started to rise.

 

We lived in opposite directions, so the walk home was lonely and cold.  I spent the time thinking about, not talking to Channy.  My thoughts were hopelessly jumbled.  I did want to go on a date with her.  I wanted to see her in person.  I wanted to have a real conversation, where the real Channy peeked through, with her fears, her uncertainty and even her science fiction.  But was she good for me?  Was she turning me into someone else?  Was she coming between me and my friends.

 

I only knew one thing for certain:  It was too early to fall in love.