I’M WAITING FOR MY FRIEND JAMIE AT THE G&S Camera Store, wondering why someone would ever pay $2000 for a telephoto lens. Through the front window, I can watch the parade of humanity going by. They say it’s the most crowded week of the year in New York City. Holy Reproduction, Batman. There are a lot of people in the world.
When Jamie texted me last night that he was coming into the city to meet up with some girl he’s been e-flirting with, I jumped at the chance for some company. I even invited him to crash overnight at Big E’s. My buddy is late but I don’t even mind because I’m out of the apartment. That’s what spending most of yesterday watching football with my grandfather has done to me. We’re talking English football here. As in, soccer. Big E likes to wax on about how this is a more nuanced sport.
If “nuanced” means nobody ever scores, then yes. Yes, it is.
“See that guy, the team owner?” Big E asked me at one point. “I went to college with him.”
Of course this isn’t true.
“Did you know him well?” I asked.
“Yeah, pretty well, for a while. Nice person, but he treated his girlfriend like garbage.”
Then I asked, “How did you meet?” Big E ran with that for about twenty minutes of the most elaborate, detailed bullshit I’ve ever heard. In moments like that, I understand why he was such a legendary lawyer.
This is how I’ve seen my father and Aunt Suze interact with my grandfather. It’s how I’m going to survive my days here. I’m going to ask him a lot of questions, and I’m going to answer all of his with a form of yes. Eventually, he’ll get hungry or sleepy. (Preferably the latter.) There will be no talk about me, and why the hell I’m Not at College. No talk about a new home aide either, or plans to move him into a facility and sell his apartment for a gajillion dollars. There will be zero reason for him to throw the remote.
It must suck to outlive your wife, when everyone expected you to be the one to die first. To be given the gift of long life and not know what the hell to do with it. To be a sharp mind trapped inside a soft, weak, failing body.
Someone elbows me in the waist.
“Hey, man!” says Jamie when I turn around. He’s got his backpack chest strap clasped shut and he looks so out-of-towner dorky, I cringe.
“Jamie!” I say, and we guy-hug. It’s actually really, really good to see him. “You look different. It hasn’t been that long, has it?”
“At least a month. Maybe more? Dude, why don’t you ever drop by school for a visit?”
“Um, you know why,” I say.
“Oh, yeah.” Jamie’s face falls. “I do.”
The why has a name: Eliza.
“Well,” I say, “I’m glad you’ll be staying over so we can catch up.” I look around the store. “So you’re really going to buy that video camera you’ve been lusting after?”
Jamie grins and nods. “Christmas money just put me over the top.”
A sales clerk nearby hears this and shifts into Perky gear. “Our video department is upstairs!” she says.
“There are departments here?” I ask. “There’s an upstairs here?”
Jamie laughs at me. “Come on, I’ll show you my world.”
I give him shit for it, but really, I envy Jamie. He has a thing. A passion. A reason to keep his eyes open.
For me, that’s always been a girl. Eliza, and then before her, Nadine, and before her, Iris. I could go on. It’s only during the short breaks between these songs that I can really listen to myself. Up until now, though, I haven’t heard anything remotely interesting.
In the video department, I accompany Jamie as he feels up every camera they’ve got on display. It’s basically obscene, the way he gropes. Cups them into his hand and fondles the buttons. I feel like I should give him some privacy.
“Oh God,” he moans. “This is the one I’ve had my eye on, and it feels even better in person than I thought it would.”
Gross, right?
“When are you meeting up with this girl?” I ask, trying to bring us back to a PG rating.
“One o’clock,” he says. “At the Met.”
“Museum date. Nice.”
“There’s a photography exhibit we both want to see.”
“Sounds cool. She sounds cool.”
Jamie pauses for a moment and takes a breath like he’s about to say something.
“So, how are we doing?” asks the salesclerk as she appears out of nowhere.
While Jamie buys the camera and arranges for it to be shipped to his house, I wander over to a wall of video monitors. I take a step and suddenly see myself on all of them. Not my whole self. My head and shoulders are cut off, but that’s typical. When you’re six foot three, you get used to parts of your body not fitting into things like camera frames. And portable toilets. And cars.
I examine what I do see. The body could be anyone’s. If I didn’t remember I was wearing a brown plaid scarf, I would have assumed it was a stranger’s.
“Oh my God, that was exhilarating,” says Jamie behind me. I turn to see him holding up a printed receipt for his purchase.
“Mazel tov,” I say. “I hope you and your video camera will be very happy together.”
We laugh. This feels good. It’s been awkward with him since Eliza and I broke up, and our circle splintered.
“Come on,” says Jamie. “I now have twelve dollars to my name and I want to spend it on hot dogs.”
We step out onto the street. The sun’s moved to a spot right between the buildings on either side of Seventh Avenue. It gives all the holiday lights a surreal middle-school-musical glow. We head uptown. At a sidewalk cart, Jamie buys us each two hot dogs, and I cover a pair of Cokes. We walk slowly and eat fast.
“So, Max. How’s your life?” asks Jamie between bites.
“Aside from the fact that I’m living at home and my job makes me want to stick hot pokers in my eyeballs? It’s stellar.”
“Then, quit. Do something else.”
“I’m making a lot of cash for school.”
“There have to be other ways to do that.”
Yes, there are. My mom’s brother Jake invited me to come live with him in Seattle for a few months. He could get me an internship at his tech company. We could do some traveling. He laid it all out for me at Thanksgiving. I didn’t tell anyone because I knew they’d all want me to go. Then they’d expect me to explain why I couldn’t. How could I, when I can’t even explain it to myself? It was easier to say No, thanks.
“It’s only for a few more months,” I finally say, then decide to change the subject. “How’s Camden?”
“Happy,” says Jamie. The simplicity of that causes me physical hurt.
Our buddy Camden fell in love with someone who’s really good for him. I would never tell anyone this, but seeing Camden in a healthy relationship made me see just how unhealthy mine was.
In other words, really completely fucking unhealthy.
But when your girlfriend has been living in a toxic family environment for years, what do you do?
If you’re me, you postpone your plans for college. You agree to stay in town, telling yourself it’s mostly so you can work a humiliating job and earn money toward your first year’s tuition. You give her everything she needs, emotionally and physically, plus the courage to seek help and call a youth hotline. You even walk her to her first Alateen meeting.
You watch her start to help herself and be okay.
Which is the moment you know you’re done.
Which can be one moment too late to leave.
“I should get back and check on Big E,” I say at the next corner. “Have fun with the girl. Text me when you’re heading to the apartment, I’ll come downstairs and meet you.”
“Will do,” says Jamie.
After another quick but significantly more awkward guy-hug, I walk away by myself. It’s something I know I have to get used to.