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“Tapes.”
“Yeah, you know, cassette tapes, the plastic rectangles with two circles in the middle.”
“Um, right, yeah, we have some, but….” He runs a hand through his messy hair.
“What?”
“Just, there’s nothing good on tape. Just crap people donate.”
“That’s okay. I just need a few. I’m driving to Detroit and I don’t have a CD player in my car and I broke my tape adapter.”
When I say I don’t have a CD player in my car, Leo’s face fills with intense pity, as if I’ve just confessed to him that I live on the streets and would like a warm meal and someplace to sleep.
“Yeah, man, of course, come on.”
He’s right, the tapes are mostly crap. They’re shoved every which way into a bunch of shoeboxes under the counter. I sit down on the floor and pull a few out. Leo plops down across from me.
“Hey,” I say to him suddenly, “shouldn’t you be at school?”
“I already graduated,” he says, looking down.
“Wait, how old are you?”
“Eighteen,” he says. “And a half,” he adds like a little kid. “But I did junior and senior year last year because I wanted to get out of there.”
“Wow,” I say, “that’s awesome. You must be really smart to have been able to do that.”
He smiles at me again, what I’m coming to think of as his real smile. He reminds me so much of myself in high school I can’t believe it. And for the first time, I wonder if what Ginger said is true. If I seem totally different with her than I do when I’m with other people.
“So, how’re you liking Holiday?” Leo asks.
“Um, it’s nice,” I say, setting aside a John Hiatt tape. “Really different from what I’m used to. I lived in Philly all my life, man, never thought about living anywhere else. It’s just an adjustment, that’s all.”
He nods sagely.
“You’re totally having a Buffy, early season four moment, that’s all,” he says.
“Sorry?”
“Buffy the Vampire Slayer. You know?”
“Never saw it.”
Leo’s eyes go wide. “What? Insanity! Aren’t you an English professor? Who would ever listen to you talk about literary analysis if you haven’t consumed, like, the greatest text of popular culture?”
“I’m not actually convinced that anyone does listen to me talk about literary analysis,” I say.
“Okay, anyway, the point is, Buffy, right? In high school, she was at the top of the food chain. Pretty, popular, friends who worshipped her and had nothing better to do on a Friday night than follow her around on patrol. I mean, sure she had her problems, what with the whole Angel going dark thing—oh shit!” He stops, hand flying to his mouth. “Spoiler alert. Major spoiler alert. I am so sorry.”
When I don’t say anything he continues.
“So, yeah, she takes her hits and all, but basically she’s queen bee. Then she starts college and it’s like, all of a sudden she’s not a big fish in a little pond anymore, you know? Like, Willow’s super smart, so she meets people and is all into school and stuff—let’s all just pretend she would ever actually go to UC Sunnydale, yeah, right—and Buffy kind of feels abandoned. Also, her roommate’s a demon, no big deal. Plus, let’s be honest, girlfriend is not really that smart, okay? Good under pressure? Totally. Wicked clever at outsmarting monsters? Sure. But college-smart? Um, not so much. And she feels out of sorts, you know, which is very un-Slayer-like.
“And that’s you. Just out of sorts because you’re in a new place and you don’t quite know where you fit in.” He pauses, nodding to himself. “But don’t worry. No spoilers—because, obviously, the Slayer has to go back to being a badass—but Buffy totally finds her footing at college, and she starts dating Riley, and, okay, that actually doesn’t work out that well, but the point is that you’ve just got to fall back on your own superpower and you’ll be fine!”
“MY ONLY friend isn’t even old enough to drink and Michigan named a coffee after me,” I moan to Ginger when I’m five miles out of town, Meat Loaf’s Bat Out Of Hell II: Back Into Hell in my tape deck. I’m feeling particularly in tune with “Life Is a Lemon and I Want My Money Back” at the moment. God, Jim Steinman, you are a genius.
Ginger does, indeed, laugh her face off when I tell her about The Daniel.
“Oh my god, pumpkin. I am going to go into every coffee shop in Philly and order The Daniel.” She starts laughing again.
“Jesus fucking Christ, I am so glad to just get out of here for a little while.”
“Won’t you miss the lumberjack? How’s it going? I need an update.”
I sigh.
“I heard a sigh and I can hear Meat Loaf in the background, which I am considering an official cry for help.” She pauses. “Is ‘Paradise in the Dashboard Light’ on this album?”
