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Who’s there?
Lemon.
Lemon who?
Lemon walrus teacup.
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Ginger.
Ginger who?
Ginger ninja cereal bowler.
Is that bowler as in hat, or bowler as in one who bowls?
It’s an owler who married a b, and the b took her last name.
It doesn’t surprise me at the end of the day when Nicole tells me we have plans. Instead of heading to my bus, I’m commandeered into walking beside her, back to her house. When we get there, she aims straight for the kitchen, saying, “Help yourself to anything.” Quickly I access the geography of her house, which Paul is more than familiar with. Then I access the things he usually eats when he’s there. One has to be very careful around best friends, because a wrong move can be read as momentous. I’ve been in situations where I’ve reached for a soda and as a result have been lectured about how I will do anything to be popular, even drink what the popular kids drink.
I go for some pretzels, and Nicole’s lack of commentary means I’m safe. I figure we’ll set up in the den or the kitchen, since I’m a boy today and she’s a girl, and most parents have the mistaken notion that if a boy and a girl are alone in a room with a bed, pregnancy will ensue. But Nicole’s parents must not fear that from me, because she picks up her book bag and leads me onward. When we get to her room, she stretches out on the floor, unpacking her books and pulling out a pen. I take my space beside her, my body eventually semiicircling around my homework. From above we must look like a pair of parentheses, with open pages between us.
Human beings act very much like storms when there’s something to say. Very rarely in nature does a deluge catch you by complete surprise. There are the signs before—the sky darkening, the wind picking up, the air smelling like rain even before a drop has hit. With Nicole, the sky darkens when I look up to find her watching me do my homework. The wind picks up when she quickly looks away. The air smells like rain when she second-guesses, and looks at me again.
Paul might ask, “What is it?” Or he’d already know what it is. But for me, the storm remains nameless. I try to dodge it. I go back to my homework. I read the science textbook like my life depends on it.
This only angers her more.
She’s abandoned any pretense of studying. She is watching me, sending the first wave of rain over to me, the dare so cle
ar. I am supposed to look up at her. I am supposed to meet her eye. Time will not let me go forward until I do.
I try to keep reading, even though the words dodge my focus. I turn the page when enough time has gone by for me to be due to turn the page.
“Paul.”
She’s moved her foot over to mine, and it stays there. Presses.
I look up. “What?”
“What?” she mimics.
I know she thinks my incomprehension is fake, but it’s real.
She sighs. Then says, “Knock, knock.”
I respond with the unavoidable, “Who’s there?”
“Water.”
“Water who?”
“Water we doing?”
I try to keep my voice light. “Homework?”
