Not so super -- Chapter 10

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

Can I see you today?

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It was early on Sunday morning.  Well, early for me.  Yesterday, I’d wrestled with my inner demon throughout the afternoon and into the evening.  I’d finally convinced myself that this was what I wanted.  This is what I needed.  I had to have a date.

 

I was still having difficulty wrapping my head around the real Channy.  Every time I thought I could picture her, smugness slipped in to take her place.  I wanted to see her again, to see her in person.  I wanted an in-person experience, filled with the humanity I’d seen in her.  I wanted to replace those alien moments from Starbucks and the library.

 

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

Oh, Rick.  I'm not sure that’s a good idea.

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I was more than a little bitter, reading those words.  I sat down heavily on the futon.  What happened to the girl who said she was going to marry me?  What happened to “ask me anything?”  In the midst of my self-pity, it was more than a minute before the strangest part of her response sink in.  “Not sure?”  Had she ever been unsure about anything?  What good was it to know that you'd be marrying someone if it left you with uncertainty regarding a date? I pondered her DM and finally responded.

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

Why wouldn't it be good?

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Her response came quickly.

 

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

I'm sorry, Rick.  I'm tied up right now.

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I remembered, briefly, our conversation from yesterday.  I remembered how many personal feelings and experiences that she’d shared, even volunteered.  But that was all gone.  There was something happening now and I had to pull it out of her.

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

What's going on?

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I waited, impatiently, staring at my phone.  I was painfully aware of Mom, thinking, just fifteen feet from me.  She was sitting at the dining table, sipping coffee and staring at her phone.  She idly ran a finger through her hair, paying more attention to it, than to me.  But the embarrassment of Channy’s rejection was all the more acute for Mom’s proximity.  I was losing faith in my ability to keep secrets.  That was a bad position for a liar to be in.

 

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

This!  My flight back home departs at 5.

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Her response came with a jpeg, a shot of her mostly-packed carry-on.  For a minute, I was distracted by the contents of her suitcase.  There were the science fiction novels, with some engineering books tucked behind them.  There was the Rubik’s cube.  There was a surprising amount of chocolate.  And there was something odd, tucked into the corner of the carry-on.  It looked like some kind of fabric with a camouflage pattern on it.  I thought back to all of the clothing I had ever seen her in.  She wasn’t the kind to wear camouflage anything.  I expanded the picture to get a better look.  It was underwear.

 

Whatever was in my head disappeared.  I sat there tilting the phone to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.  But then it hit me.  She was leaving Cambridge.  Today.  This seemed an awfully big thing for me not to know.  Dragging my head out of the gutter, I responded.

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

How long will you be gone for?

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

I'll be back in just over two weeks.

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I was surprised to find how much this news affected me.  It had been a month since I'd seen her last.  And we'd surely be able to keep up our correspondence while she was in Detroit.  So why should it make a difference?  

 

But it did.

 

I looked glumly at my phone, but it had no consolation to offer me.  As a last resort, I tried again.

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

An early lunch?  I really want to see you.

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There was a painful pause.  I felt the tick of each painful second while I waited.  I couldn't help but imagine the anxious airplane waiting to take her away from me.  Finally, I received her response.

 

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

Starbucks at 11?  I want to see you, too.

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Hot damn!  A moment of inspiration struck.  Maybe the real problem was that she didn't want to be seen with me.  We'd look goofy together, me being so much younger.

 

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**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

How about the Starbucks on Mem drive?

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It was a little farther away, and unlikely to be frequented by her classmates.

 

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**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

Okay!

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How I wished I could hear her thoughts now.  Was that a happy exclamation point?  A frustrated exclamation point?  I couldn't guess.  Neither could I wait until 11.

 

Mom looked up while I was putting on my coat.

 

“Will you be back for lunch, honey?”

 

“Uh, I'm meeting Dro.”

 

A guilty sensation erupted near my liver.  That was a big lie.  Mom had asked me to tell her when I started seeing Channy.  I was on my way to see Channy.  This was a major transgression.  Mom and I had made so much progress, but I was backsliding fast.  But I couldn't tell her the truth.  I had to stay miles away from the truth that would lead back to those voices I’d once heard.

 

If Mom knew I was lying, she didn't let on.  She probably would have been thrilled to hear I was meeting the “mystery girl” -- so long as the girl remained shrouded in mystery.  I couldn't imagine any scenario in which Mom was cool with the actual Channy.

 

I popped out the door and took a right, heading away from Central Square and my usual haunts.  At Memorial Drive, I took another right, putting MIT at my back.  It was a funny location for a Starbucks, close to some office buildings and not much else.  I doubted that there'd be any other students there at this time.  Maybe we'd have the whole place to ourselves.

 

From almost a block away, I could see someone waiting for me.  My breath caught in my frigid throat -- it was the woman, not the girl.  In a flash, it all came rushing back to me.  Somehow, sometime during the endless Twitter conversation, I had forgotten about that one, fraught moment.  I had forgotten about that instant in which I found myself looking at the sharp, critical eyes of a woman, far older than her face suggested.  As quickly as the feeling came, I felt it recede.  What had caused that horrible sensation?  All I could see from here was someone waiting outside of Starbucks.

 

Or, to be exact, I could see a diminutive figure in a shocking pink jacket, smiling at me as I approached.  As I got closer, I tried to read her smile.  It was a little serene, not at all smug, with some real joy bursting through.  Any and all apprehension was completely washed away.  

 

I had a sudden urge to give her a hug.  I didn’t know what was appropriate.  She thought we were going to be married someday.  What did she think we were now?  After an awkward second, our bodies too close to be friends but too far to be anything else, I opened the door for her.  Without losing that magnificent smile, she gave me a brief curtsey and went inside.

 

The place was far from empty, but it was easy to find a table for two.  We took off our outdoor gear to reserve our seats.  While she was pulling her hair back with a scrunchie, I gave a little start.  When I looked over at her, I realized that she was wearing contacts, eye liner and maybe even lipstick.  But it didn’t end there.  She was wearing an artsy necklace, black bracelets, a white blouse and black skirt that didn’t quite cover her knees (although her leggings did).  I quickly pulled my gaze back up, using all my willpower not to linger anywhere until I was making eye contact.

 

“Wow…” I stammered.  “You look great.”

 

“Well,” she said giving me a somewhat dimmed smile.  “I figured we were on a date.”

 

I tried to furtively glance down at my own jeans and t-shirt.  The laugh she gave me was genuine, something that put me in mind of bells.

 

“Oh, Rick.  I have so much to teach you.  Let’s start here:  You want to hold my hand.”

 

She reached out her hand and I took it.  I felt like a neanderthal.   My hand was so giant and uncouth while her’s was small and delicate.  I marveled that a hand could be so soft and smooth.  Whatever I had been expecting, the experience was better.  I felt my heart beat a little faster every time her fingers flexed.  She led me over towards the counter, to place our orders.  As we walked, she experienced a little, uncertain wobble. A flash of pink caught my eye.  I looked down.

 

“Even heels!  What is it with heels?” I asked.

 

“I remembered that you like the way I look in heels…” she said absentmindedly.

 

I had never said such a thing, but that's not what bothered me.  I was already becoming comfortable with Channy ‘remembering’ the things I would say.  That's just how it worked.  But I couldn't even imagine thinking such a thing.  I’d never given heels much thought.  I had noticed girls, like Channy, wobbling in heels, but why would I find that attractive?  It's not like the girls wore heels to school.  I just couldn't imagine where this had come from.  It was difficult to wrap my head around the things I would think in the future.

 

While she studied the drink list, I dropped her hand.  I surreptitiously took a step back and admired her in the heels.  She did look good, although it was hard to imagine what the heels did to complete the look.  I stepped back and thought about her hand again.  She read my mind and our fingers intertwined.

 

When we were almost at the front of the line, she leaned in close to me, or as close as our height difference would allow.  In just above a whisper, she breathed “I've never done this before.”

 

“Gone on a date?”  

 

I was surprised.  She was pretty and smart and nice.  How could a girl like this have been overlooked by guys?  I was almost mad on her behalf thinking of her, being lonely, at home with her parents on a Friday night.

 

But, on reflection, it made sense.  I’d always had some difficulties with girls.  Rightly or wrongly, I had blamed the voices in my head.  I was afraid that if I let anyone get too close, they would find out about me and then everyone would know.  Maybe she suffered from the same thing.  Maybe she was afraid that boys would find out about her dreams and humiliate her.

 

With such an air of self-confidence surrounding her, I was surprised to hear that she’d suffered like I did.  But as I was getting more and more peeks at the frightened girl behind that smug exterior, it started to make sense.

 

“No...” she said with her little twinkling laugh,  “I've been on enough of those.”

 

Or not.

 

I tried to wait patiently, in the uncomfortable silence.

 

“This moment,” she said, with a dreamy smile on her face.  “I’ve never lived this moment before.  Here.  With you.”

 

I tried to sort through the implications of that.  She’d never dreamed this.  Whatever else our future life was supposed to involve, it didn’t include us getting drinks today.

 

“Uh.  I’m sorry to have knocked you off script,” I stammered out.

 

Her head shot suddenly, to meet my gaze.  She wore a cryptic smile that I couldn't interpret.

 

“Don’t be sorry, I love this!  Having no script means having no expectations!  There are no rules, no pond, no ripples to avoid…”

 

I almost didn’t hear the end of her sentence.  Her voice had trailed off into nothing.  A vacant stare had replaced her look of sheer delight, like clouds gathering over the sun.  I saw that we’d come to the front of the line to pay and tried to get her attention. Ignoring my silent urging, she turned to me.

 

“Ripples!” she hissed.  It was almost a whisper but it might as well have been a shout.  I felt the blush rising to my cheeks while the other customers turned to notice what must have seemed like nonsense to them.  

 

“The shoes!”

 

We were in front of the barista.  A short, plump, blond kid who was looking at us, totally unable to follow our conversation.    Frankly, I wasn’t doing so well either.

 

“That will be eight dollars and forty-five cents,” he said, almost apologetically.

 

I fumbled in my pants pocket for my wallet.  By the time I had it out, I saw that Channy had already inserted her credit card into the machine.  I marveled briefly over the thought of even having a credit card.  But then a wave of shame shot through me.  It was like Kenneth all over again, with other people picking up my tab.  I wanted to say something, but I didn’t want to embarrass Channy.  I was sure she would feel uncomfortable with people thinking we were on a date.

 

“I could have gotten that…” I complained, ambiguously.

 

“I know,” smug and serene.  “But I’m the one with the job, so it's my treat today.”

 

That shut me up.  I was silent, all the way back to the table.  Trying to contemplate what that even meant.

 

“A job…”  I murmured, as we sat down.

 

“I know!” she said, neither smugly, nor serenely, her eyes twinkling with humor.  “You still think of me as some sort of…”  Demon?  “Elf that lives in the twilight world between visiting you.  But I’m not.  So I have a job.”

 

I silently thanked my future self who had thought to use the word ‘elf’ when this first came up.  I would never have thought of that.

 

“So, what does the queen of fairyland do to earn her keep?” I asked.

 

“An elf, not a fairy!” she corrected.  “She folds clothes at the GAP, if you must know.”  She looked up, at my open jaw.  “I know what you’re thinking -- how can I possibly reach the top shelves?  But they do have stepladders.”

 

Actually, I have no idea what I was thinking.  I simply couldn’t align the image of Channy,  the supernatural being, with someone folding clothes to put them back on shelves.  Although I would imagine her doing it in a very serene manner.

 

We drank quietly for a few seconds.

 

“What were you saying about ripples, when we were on line?” I asked.  The serenity melted out of her face add she considered whatever it was that had struck her.

 

“That morning in Starbucks wasn’t like anything that I’d ever dreamed, and I still don’t understand why not.”

 

“How was it supposed to be?” I asked.

 

“Well, I don’t think that anything is ever supposed to be anything,” she answered thoughtfully.  “But in my dreams, you were excited to meet someone like you.  We exchanged handles quickly and I…” she trailed off in a surprisingly hesitant, almost embarrassed manner.  “I saw a look of longing in your eyes as I left.”

 

As always, the me she dreamed outshone the real thing.

 

“Wow.  That certainly sounds better than what happened.”

 

“And I’ve been thinking about it over and over… Trying to figure out what caused the ripples, making the actual meeting so different.”

 

She lapsed into a brief silence before starting again.

 

“I saw a lot in that dream.  I saw what you wore, and indeed, you wore it.  I knew about my new backpack.  And I knew I was wearing those pleated, black chinos and the light blue blouse.”

 

Did I remember her shirt?  All I really remembered was the smile.  For all I know, she could have been wearing scuba diving gear.  And heels.  I did remember the heels.  Undeterred, she continued.

 

“But I had no idea what shoes I was wearing in the dream.  So I got to choose.  I knew you loved heels…”

 

Really?  Loved?  That seemed too strong a term.

 

“... so I bought these, just for that day.  God, how I wanted to own them.  I remember thinking, as I walked down Mass Ave, that I didn’t really know how to walk in heels.  It takes practice and I had never owned a pair before.  Maybe I was too clumsy.”

 

That didn’t sound right.  I certainly didn’t remember her looking clumsy.

 

“Or,” she turned the mischief back on me. “Maybe I was too overwhelming for you.”

 

She winked, as if she was making a joke.  But that was it.  That had to be it.

 

“Man,” I admitted “was I intimidated.  I can’t believe that I got a single word out that morning.”

 

She laughed, but it was a quiet, wry laugh, without a hint of bells.  In her anxiousness, her eagerness to please, she probably had screwed it up.  I could tell that this girl, who expressed so much confidence on the outside, was beating herself up, internally.  Thinking about how close she came to losing something she cared about, something she needed.  I reached out and covered one of her hands.  When she looked up at me, there was a hint of a tear in one eye.  But she rewarded me with a smile, a genuine smile of gratitude and hope, like no other she had ever given me.

 

“Can I confess something?” I asked.

 

“Sure!” she said, her smile broadening, even while the tears started to leak out of the corners of her eyes.

 

“You’re really beautiful, and awesome, and smart, and sophisticated.  I think that I’m still intimidated by you.”

 

Whatever impact I was expecting, my comment had the opposite.  The smile vanished in an instant replaced by an unfamiliar look of fear and maybe even self-doubt.

 

“That’s natural. Isn’t it?” she said, in a quiet, frightened voice.  She focused on the black bracelets, fidgeting with them uncomfortably.

 

“You mean, because you’re so old?” I asked in a whisper.

 

“Nineteen is not old,” she shot back, defiantly, a grimace rattling across her face.  “That difference will mean nothing in ten years.”  The tears were really coming now.

 

“And today?”

 

She pulled away her hand and slumped against the back of the chair.

 

“Maybe, today, I’m just your big sister,” she admitted.

 

“The sibling I never had,” I smiled.

 

“The sibling I never had,” she growled.

 

We sighed at each other, while she dabbed at the eyes with her napkin.

 

“So, like, in 2 years, you can accompany me to an R-rated movie.”

 

“Was that an attempt to make this less awkward?” she shot back.  She looked hurt, and maybe even offended.  But I was thrilled.  She had hurled a question at me.  I had lured my favorite Channy out into the open.  We drank in silence for a minute.

 

“So, in your dreams, it gets less awkward?” I asked.

 

“Rick, ’honey’... it’s going to get better.”  

 

I opened my mouth but nothing came out.  I was having difficulty figuring out what was outside and what was inside.  Something was wrong with what she had said and I had too much gunk in my head to think through it.

 

“There will be fights.  There will be screaming, crying fights.  When I forget our anniversary, when you teach your bad habits to the kids.  And, oh, God, things that you don't want to know about.  But it’s going to be okay.  It’s going to be better than okay; it’s going to be amazing.”

 

I frantically struggled to put my thoughts in order.  It was my turn to speak.  I had to say something.

 

“It must be complicated, carrying all this future in your head,” I stammered.

 

“Our future,” she corrected.  “And it’s better than complicated, it gives me such a sense of peace and hope.”

 

But I was confused.  The Starbucks dream hadn’t turned out like she expected.  What did these dreams mean if they could be wrong and change?  Channy must have understood that on some level or why did it upset her when she failed to live up to her dreams?  I struggled to formulate my question.

 

“How can you know that these dreams will all work out?”  I asked.

 

“Because I killed her.”

 

H

Hnh.

My world faded to nothing but gray, as I was overcome by what I thought I’d heard.  Out of the depths of my sudden isolation, I realized one important thing and seized it like a lifeline.  I had heard a man’s voice.  Whatever else that had been, it had not been Channy.

 

Gripping my lifeline firmly, I pulled myself up, fact by minimal fact.  

 

It was definitely a man’s voice.  

Not too deep.  

Slight Bostonian accent.  

A little gravelly, like someone who smoked his fair share of cigarettes.  

 

While sorting this out, I realized that I wasn’t breathing.  I wasn’t really seeing anything either.  First things first, I forced myself to take in air and almost hyperventilated.  I tried to send calm through my veins, to get my body back under control.  I thought about Channy, trying to create the serene appearance she managed so often to project.  And then she came into view.  

 

She had, of course, been sitting in front of me, the whole time.

 

Her mouth was open, in the shape of a little ‘o.’  Like she’d been about to speak but no longer dared.  Her pupils, already small without her glasses, had dilated to almost nothing.  She looked as scared as I felt.  Her lack of zen snapped me back into the moment.  I slipped my hand into my pocket and retrieved my phone.  Looking down quickly, I turned on the video recording app and slowly stood up.

 

By this time, there were four other patrons in the place, aside from us.  All were substantially older than us.  Three were men, one was a woman.  I turned in a slow circle, allowing my phone to record the whole shop.  I just managed to catch one man as he packed up his things and exited the cafe.  He was trim and a little taller than me, maybe six feet tall.  His hair was just starting to turn gray around the ears, but was otherwise a rich, dark color.  He walked with an athletic gate.  The clothes he wore were at odds with his appearance.  They looked worn and comfortable, but old.

 

And now he was gone.

 

I made up my mind.  I had to hear the other two speak.  I walked up hesitantly to the guy closest to us, trying to conceal that I was recording.  He was a balding, fat man in a suit that must once have been top of the line.  He had an expensive smartwatch and a ridiculous hat, which we had placed on the table.  I looked around and saw that one section of his papers had dropped onto the floor.

 

“Is that yours?” I asked, trying to control the trembling in my voice.

 

“Why so it is, young man, why so it is.”

 

He smiled as he picked it up.  He had a piercing, tenor voice and a strong southern accent.  I walked away feeling certain that I could cross him off of the list.  While I’d been talking to him, the third guy had disappeared.  The woman was getting up to leave as well, but I was pretty sure that I’d heard a man.

 

Belatedly, I realized that one of the baristas was male as well.  With still uncertain steps, I made my way back to the counter.

 

“My… Ch… She loves chocolate,” I said, indicating Channy, who seemed as confused as the barista.  

 

“How much are those brownies?” I asked.

 

The barista gave me a skeptical look.  Humoring me, made a show of checking the sign that was clearly visible.

 

“Two dollars and ninety-five cents,” he said.  Good enough.  He had a young voice.  There was no way it could have been him.

 

“These are better,” offered the punky barista, in an unmistakingly girlish voice.  “They have pecans and they’re only two-fifty.”

 

With a sense of inexcusable satisfaction, I brandished my wallet and bought one of each, carrying the bag back to Channy.  I shut off my app as I walked.  As I handed her the bag, she rose.  Her mouth was still partially open and there were tears threatening to come back out.

 

“For your flight,” I said, guiding her to her coat.  

 

Confused, she fumbled herself back into her winter gear.  Even as she dressed, she had a hard time taking her eyes off of me.  She was ready to burst from the questions and emotions inside.  She knew that something had happened to me.  She might even have recognized the signs from dreams that she’d had.  But she had never lived this moment and she didn't know what I had heard.

 

I had to get her out of there.

I had to tell her.C