Read Larry and the Meaning of Life Online
Authors: Janet Tashjian
Larry and the Meaning of Life (15 page)
The light covering of snow seemed ominous instead of beautiful. I laid my bike on the ground and stood at the edge of the forest. I knew who'd be waiting close by.
“I can see your footprints in the snow!” I shouted. “I should've known you'd come after me here.”
“Then come and get me,” the voice called.
“You know why I can't,” I said. “Unless I want to lose a limb in the process. Those land mines I saw were real. You had everybody fooled but me.”
I kept my eyes on the trees as betagold emerged. She wore her camouflage tracksuit and beret.
“How did you know?” she asked.
I reminded her of her comment at Walden a few weeks ago. “You talked about antihandling devices. If the land mines in Gus's truck were fakes and the whole troupe knew it, why were you familiar with the intricacies of working with them? Only someone handling real land mines would know those kind of details.”
“I handled the mines, all right. Three of them are right here in your precious hole.”
“You've been trying to hurt me for years,” I said, “but I never pictured you as the homicidal type.”
She seemed taken aback. “Kill you? Why would I do that?” She wiped her nose with the tissue tucked inside her sleeve. “
I'm
the one jumping into the hole.”
I'm
the one jumping into the hole.”
I inched closer and asked what she was talking about.
“Stop!” she shouted. “Any closer and I'll jump.”
I stayed where I was.
“You want to know why?” she continued. “Because I'm old, because I'm tired. Because I'm alone.”
I suddenly realized she wasn't wiping a runny nose but tears.
“Because the biggest enjoyment in my life is torturing a young man who wants to change the world. Pretty pathetic, don't you think?”
Was betagold being real, or was this just another part of the game? There was no way to know for sure; all I could do was be honest myself. “I thought I was donating my kidney to youâthat should count for something.”
“All that means is you're a better person than I am. One more reason to kill myself.” She perched on the edge of the hole, arms and legs spread wide.
“What are you going to do, belly flop into a hole full of land mines? That's a horrible way to die.”
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I took another step as she wiped her eyes. “Where'd you get the land mines, by the way?”
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I took another step as she wiped her eyes. “Where'd you get the land mines, by the way?”
“There's a huge black market,” betagold answered. “But you probably found that out in your research.”
I inched forward a step. “I became quite the expert. Did you know there's a device you can bury near a mine that runs so hot, it burns out the explosives and detonator before they can trigger the mine? You can get them on the Internet.”
“You'd still have to find the mine to bury a device nearby.”
“That, or you could attach them to the mines before they were buried.” I lunged toward betagold and pulled her away from the hole. She wasn't bluffing; three mines stared up at me from the bottom. I reached into my pocket and took out the jerry-rigged remote I used every year to crisp Peter's turducken. “Those antiâland-mine devices reach 2,700 degrees. You can't ignite that kind of heat by hand.” I aimed the remote at the first mine and clicked. A pop, then smoke rising from the ground.
“What did you do?” she demanded.
“I snuck into your room at Victopia last night and attached the antiâland-mine devices to all three mines. You're not the only expert in handling them.”
When she tried to grab the remote, I lost my balance and almost fell into the hole. “Watch it!” I screamed.
She looked at me with such desperation, she could've been either a nominee for Best Actress or a woman in true despair. “Let me die,” she said. “Please.”
I told her I couldn't.
“You know what it's like to want to die. Don't you remember that kind of pain?”
As we stood on the precipice of the hole, I didn't think it
would be helpful to tell her that the only reason I'd ever entertained the idea of suicide was because she'd driven me to it. But this wasn't a fake suicide; it was real. Or was it?
would be helpful to tell her that the only reason I'd ever entertained the idea of suicide was because she'd driven me to it. But this wasn't a fake suicide; it was real. Or was it?
“Please,” she repeated. “Let me go.”
Was betagold in serious anguish, or did Peter need a final scene for his reality show? Was she about to kill herself, or was Peter's cameraman filming from behind those oaks?
“It's freezing out here,” I said. “Why don't we discuss this over coffee?”
She shook her head. “There's nothing else to talk about.”
I'd learned something important early on from Doug the vet technician. I didn't have to buy into the âus' and âthem'; I could choose to focus on the âwe.' I grabbed betagold's hand. “Okay. Let's do it.”
When she looked up, it was as though she was seeing me for the first time. “You'd do this with me?”
“I was willing to die with you during a fake kidney transplant, and I'm willing to die with you now.” I swung my arms, pulling hers alongside mine. “One ⦠two ⦔
“Wait!” she shouted. “Are you sure?”
“About as sure as I'll ever be. Hurry up before I change my mind.”
Her entire face broke into a huge smile. “Then let's go. One, two ⦔
Just as she was about to yell three, I let go of her hand and aimed the remote at the land mines. They both fizzled out before our eyes.
Betagold gazed down into the smoky hole. “So were you just playing with me?”
“I was wondering the same thing about you.”
She took a long look around the woods. “It's pretty here. I can see why you like it.” She wrapped her scarf around her throat and backed away from the hole.
“Take care of yourself,” I said. “Maybe I'll see you around.”
She stopped to take in the forest one more time. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
I watched her walk toward the road, then carefully climbed down into my still-sacred space. I put on my gloves and cautiously cleared out the burned-out mines. I'd drop off the debris at the dump on my way home.
After this, Princeton was going to be a cakewalk.
Boston's South Station
Peter returned from L.A. triumphant. “They green-lit the show. We're going into production next month!”
As excited as I was for Peter's new career, the thought of my face being plastered across the nation's television screens was almost impossible to imagine. But when I began to complain, Peter stopped me.
“The studio decided to go in a different direction.”
I asked him what he meant.
“You know those bozos in Lala-land. They feel they're not doing their jobs if they don't stick their noses in.”
“What did they ask you to change?”
“Basically, you.”
“That's great,” Beth told me. “You didn't want to be on television anyway.”
“Yes, but I wanted to reject them, not the other way around.”
Peter elaborated only when I pressed him. “Okay, okay. They wanted someone a little less ⦠nerdy.”
“I'm not nerdy!”
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“Someone more, I don't know, athletic, photogenic, likable.”
“Feel free to stop anytime.”
“The good news is we're not in debt, you can attend school, and my events-planning career gets a giant bump.”
I asked him how the series could possibly be a reality show if the studio reshot it after the fact.
“None of those shows are reality reality,” Peter answered. “They're scripted, cast, and edited like every other show. After these past few months, you of all people should understand the shifting nature of reality.”
He had me there. I told him to make sure and let me know when the show aired.
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After much deliberation, I decided not to tell either of them about my incident with betagold yesterday. Peter would flip if he found out about her seppuku land-mine attempt; besides, I felt as if I'd wrapped up the confrontation nicely.
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After much deliberation, I decided not to tell either of them about my incident with betagold yesterday. Peter would flip if he found out about her seppuku land-mine attempt; besides, I felt as if I'd wrapped up the confrontation nicely.
When Peter left the room to take a call, I used the opportunity to talk to Beth alone.
“All this effort you put out almost rivals our presidential campaign.” I tucked a lock of her growing-out hair behind her ear. “That's a lot of work to go through for just a friend.”
“You're not going to hit on me now, are you? Don't you think we both need time to process all this?”
I stared at the kitchen clock for a nanosecond. “There, done. Totally processed.”
Beth punched me in the arm the way she always had, the way she hopefully always would. “Let's just wait and see, okay?”
“What are we supposed to be waiting for?”
In an incredible combination of bad luck and timing, Janine chose that exact moment to knock on the front door. Beth put on her jacket and gave me a smile. “I guess we wait for another time.” She kissed me on the cheek and let Janine in on her way out.
I didn't know who I was happier to see, Janine or Brady.
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We made Caesar salads, then hung out in the basement.
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We made Caesar salads, then hung out in the basement.
“One thing you never told me,” I said. “Since you weren't really studying with Gus in L.A., where were you while I was searching the country for you?”
“First I went back to Boulder, then I spent the winter in Costa Rica. Got pretty good at surfing. That's where I'm headed now.”
So much for my next question.
“But I'm happy to visit you at Princeton after you settle in.”
Question answered. “Do you think there's any chance of us ever being more than friends again?”
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“It meant a lot to me that you'd donate an organ to get me away from some manipulative jerk,” she said. “It makes up for all the other stuff, for sure.”
“So there's a chance?”
When she told me she didn't know, I rattled off a list of reasons why we were compatible. She listened thoughtfully but
still didn't come around. “I love you, you're great
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but you're kind of ⦠high maintenance.”
still didn't come around. “I love you, you're great
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but you're kind of ⦠high maintenance.”
First my mom, then Janine? Was I
that
much more work to keep up with than the average guy?
that
much more work to keep up with than the average guy?
“But you're still one of the most important people in my life,” she said. “Let's see what happens.”
We took turns on the swing for most of the afternoon before she had to go. I spent the rest of the night packing for school.
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“What do you mean I can't drive you?” Peter asked the next day. “You're going to deny me the parental privilege of taking my only son to college?”
I told him our parting scene at Princeton paled in comparison to the other adventures we'd shared these past few years. “Besides, you know what a junkie I am for public transportation. And I only have one bag.” I didn't mention the fact that for the first time this year, I'd actually finished writing a sermon. The long train ride would give me ample time to crank out a few more.
Peter reluctantly drove me downtown to South Station. Thankfully, neither of us wanted a sentimental episode with violins and tears. Instead he bought me a veggie sub and a bottle of water, and instructed me to call when I arrived.
I found myself choking up when I finally had to say goodbye. But before I could say anything, Peter grabbed the sub from my hand. “Maybe I should go vegetarian too. Might be good to
lose a few pounds before I start spending time in L.A.” He took a giant bite of the sandwich. “People don't eat enough eggplant. It's such a great vegetable.”
lose a few pounds before I start spending time in L.A.” He took a giant bite of the sandwich. “People don't eat enough eggplant. It's such a great vegetable.”
From a botany perspective, eggplant was a fruit, but I didn't want to squabble. Peter seemed as reluctant as I was to deal with the ramifications of this new separation.
“I'm not going to come home screwed up like last time,” I said. “If that's what you're worried about.”
“I'm not worried. Do I look worried?” He stopped chomping on the sandwich. “I'm petrified. Can we make a deal? Can we just have a normal year this year? Quiet, nose to the grindstone, nothing too unpredictable? I don't know how much energy I have left to keep up with you.”
“
Me?
You're the one creating an alternate reality to get me off the couch!”
Me?
You're the one creating an alternate reality to get me off the couch!”
“I guess a little bit of you has rubbed off on me.”
Still, I agreed to a calm and uneventful year. I took a bite of the sub to seal the deal. Peter gave me one last hug and told me he'd talk to me that evening.
When I tossed the sandwich wrapper in the trash, something on one of the café tables caught my eye. There were no empty coffee cups or napkins, just a hand-carved chess piece and a train ticket. I sat on one of the cane chairs and examined the pieceâa maple pawn, beautifully carved. A pawn, often the first piece moved in a new game. The ticket was for a train leaving for Miami in ten minutes.
This chess piece has nothing to do with you,
I thought.
Board the train to Penn Station and be on your way. Someone probably forgot this and is coming back for it. Mind your own
business for once.
I asked the man at the next table if anyone had been sitting there; he said he hadn't seen anyone in that seat for the past hour. I brought the ticket to the information counter, but the clerk said he was going off duty and to put it back where I found it in case someone came looking.
This is just a coincidence,
I thought. But was it? Or could this possibly be the beginning of a new game? What awaited meâor anyone elseâon the other end of this train ticket? I looked at the giant clock. Five minutes left for the train to Miami, twelve minutes to Penn. The two trains were departing on adjacent tracks. I ran to the platform, still unsure about which train to board.
I thought.
Board the train to Penn Station and be on your way. Someone probably forgot this and is coming back for it. Mind your own
business for once.
I asked the man at the next table if anyone had been sitting there; he said he hadn't seen anyone in that seat for the past hour. I brought the ticket to the information counter, but the clerk said he was going off duty and to put it back where I found it in case someone came looking.
This is just a coincidence,
I thought. But was it? Or could this possibly be the beginning of a new game? What awaited meâor anyone elseâon the other end of this train ticket? I looked at the giant clock. Five minutes left for the train to Miami, twelve minutes to Penn. The two trains were departing on adjacent tracks. I ran to the platform, still unsure about which train to board.
I'd promised Peter this year would be simple and uncomplicated. On the other hand, the chess piece and train ticket appeared to be a sign. I stood at the top of the platform between the two trains.
I crossed my fingers and boarded.
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