Reality Boy

I demand that Nathan and Ashley adopt me.

Hannah curls up in the chair that’s surrounded by three fish tanks and says hello to Lola and Drake. She notes that there’s a fish missing.

“Yeah. One of the Plecs died this week,” Nathan says.

Hannah frowns. “Poor Luis. He was the best cleaner in the world.”

I sit on the couch by myself and watch Hannah, mostly. She doesn’t even know I’m watching her. She doesn’t notice when Ashley offers her a soda before she goes to the kitchen. She doesn’t see Ashley and Nathan look at her and laugh a little. She doesn’t notice when her phone buzzes in her pocket. She’s in those tanks, swimming around the algae-covered faux castle and the driftwood with her fish friends.

It’s as if Hannah has a Gersday.

As I watch her, I realize that I’m tired and I close my eyes. Napping isn’t something I do. Napping was dangerous in my house while I was growing up. Napping made me an easier target. No one here seems to mind, so I try it.

Next thing I know, Hannah is waking me up, asking what I want for lunch.

“It’s on me,” Nathan says. “I get a discount at the Chinese place.”

“I’m not hungry,” I say. Napping made me not hungry. I yawn.

“He can share mine,” Hannah says.

A half hour later, we’re all eating Chinese food around Ashley and Nathan’s kitchen table. Nathan talks about his job as a driver for a local appliance company. Ashley asks Hannah if she likes working at the PEC Center.

“It’s okay,” Hannah says. “My boss is cool, which is a change.”

“You work there, too, right?” Ashley says to me.

I’m still tired. My stomach is all twisted from my nap. “Yeah,” I say.

“You want an egg roll?” Nathan asks.

When I say “No, thanks,” he offers it to Hannah, who eats it in three bites.

I watch the three of them have a conversation about some news story they saw on TV about a high school junior who got expelled for a bomb threat. Nathan doesn’t agree with Ashley about one part of it and Hannah does. They laugh while they disagree. There’s calm—as if the ninety-nine fish in the house have taught these people how to live in the same tank without resorting to drama. They’re just swimming, eating, living.

Maybe what we needed in the Faust household when I was little was an aquarium.

Maybe that would have made everything better.

And it’s pretty hard to crap on an aquarium. I’m staring at the big one now and trying to figure out how little Gerald would have done that. Nearly impossible.

“Gerald?”

I look at them at the table and they are not Ashley, Nathan, and Hannah.

They are Snow White, Donald Duck, and Cinderella. I don’t want this to happen, so I say, “Yeah?”

“What do you think about it? Do you think she should be allowed to go back to that school after what she did?”

I’m staring at Ashley, who is asking this question, but she is Snow White, with that f**king bluebird on her shoulder.

“Gerald doesn’t watch TV,” Cinderella says.

“Righteous,” Donald Duck answers. He holds up his white wing for a high five. “That shit just makes you stupid anyway.”

I high-five his wing and can feel the feathers.

I reach down and pinch my leg, but no matter how hard I do it, I can’t snap myself out of Gersday.

Cinderella says, “Anyway, she only called in the bomb threat. It wasn’t like she planted a real bomb. She had every reason to blow the whole school up, as far as I’m concerned. They all treated her like shit.”

“That’s no reason to freak people out,” Donald Duck says.

“So freaking people out is now a crime?” Snow White says.

“Um, yeah,” Donald answers. “Bomb threats are illegal.”

I pinch my leg harder. I blink. I breathe in. Breathe out. I tap my foot. I dig my fingernails into my palm.

I am still sitting at the table with Snow White, Donald, and Cinderella. So I ask where the bathroom is and I lock the door behind me and stare at myself in the mirror. I am not a Walt Disney character. I am Gerald.

I am Gerald and I will never be anyone but Gerald.

I splash my face with water and flush the toilet and I look at myself one more time and I do not want to punch Gerald. Violence seems so out of place here.

When I return to the kitchen, I am relieved to see Hannah, Nathan, and Ashley cleaning up. No webbed yellow feet and no gaudy ball gowns.

“You want the rest of this?” Nathan asks as he offers me some lo mein.

I accept and sit down and eat it out of the white carton with a fork. They talk excitedly about watching Jaws next—a Friday tradition. Hannah makes her way to the chair in front of the big saltwater tank and touches the glass where a starfish has attached itself. I sit next to her, on the arm of the chair.

“Does he have a name?” I ask.

“He’s an it. This species is hermaphroditic.” When I look clueless, she adds, “It creates sperm and eggs.”

“I know what hermaphroditic means. I just want to know its name,” I say.

“Oh, sorry,” she says. “I call it Sal. Could be short for Sally, you know?”

“Gotcha.”

We stare at Sal for a while and she tells me the names of the other fish. Harry, Sadie, Kingsley, Bob, and the big clown triggerfish named Bozo.

“Don’t they give you a feeling of hope?” she asks. “I mean, like one day we’ll be free?”

I fail to see how fish trapped in a two-hundred-gallon glass tank should give me hope. I would think freedom for Harry and Sadie and Bob and Bozo would look more like the ocean where they belong. I don’t say this. Instead, I say, “Free?”

“They have their own house. They have jobs. They have everything they want. They go on vacation in summer to Wildwood. It’s just—it’s just so much hope.”

“I thought we were talking about the fish,” I say.

“Oh.”

“But yeah. They do give me hope, I guess. They’re so nice,” I say. “Are they always this nice?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not used to it,” I say. “Like I said in the car, you know?”

She stares at the fish and thinks for a minute. “Shit,” she says. “That thing I said about hermaphrodites. It was something like your mom would have said, wasn’t it?”

I laugh. It’s a real laugh. I check to make sure.