Part 19: James

James woke up early Saturday morning. A side-effect of going to bed early. That was the problem with sleeping to kill time - you always just ended up finding that time on the other end. And Hannah always slept late on weekends. Plus she had been out late last night, and she was probably still at Victoria’s house - it could be eleven, twelve o’clock before she came online. Or what if Victoria’s parents took them somewhere? What if they went to visit Elizabeth at college? Then she might not come online until she got back home tonight, which meant a whole day of time that could only be killed in one way or another.

The sky was almost impossibly bright and clear outside. James opened up the back door and stepped out onto the porch. No one could say he hadn’t been outside all day now. There was a faint morning breeze, it was still a little bit cool, but you could tell it was going to be hot later on. Maybe he would go swimming later. Maybe Sean would want to skate or ride bikes. Maybe they could go to the playground and play on the swings like they were little kids again. The actual little kids would get out of their way; the parents would give them dirty looks.

It could be fun. It used to be fun.

It would be different if he was doing it with Hannah. Going to the playground with Hannah would be so much more than just going to the playground. It would be like they were a team, like they were an army. Like they were proving to the world that it didn’t matter how old you were, you could still have fun. Like it was them against all the hypocrites and office drones of the world. Like the playground was their Garden of Eden, and the slide was the apple, maybe - they wouldn’t go up the ladder, they would walk straight up the slide, somehow he just knew that’s how Hannah would do it - and the judgmental parents who didn’t understand them were God.

Again, he saw them again standing side by side, but now instead of a cliff it was the top of a slide. And he liked that even better. He had to find some way of working that into the song. Something about innocence, about freedom. They were the same thing, really, weren't they?

He stretched his arms above his head and looked around the backyard one last time before returning inside. The paint on the fence was peeling. Did his parents put up the fence or was it there when they moved in? James couldn’t remember, and couldn’t decide which was worse. Either they had put it up themselves, or they had chosen a house with a fence. But he hated fences. Fences were the exact opposite of innocence and freedom. He and Hannah would climb over fences, or maybe even knock them down. No, climb over them and escape. From the Garden of Eden, which was supposed to be a paradise but was really a prison.

They didn’t know any of their neighbors. Weren’t you supposed to know your neighbors? Weren’t you supposed to walk outside in the morning and see them and say “Hey, Mr. Dupont!” “How’s the garden coming, Mrs. Spencer?” Things like that. That’s how it was in the book they were reading in English class. They had one guy who hid inside his house all the time, and that was fine - you could have one. But here everyone was a Boo Radley.

In real places, people knew their neighbors. Where his mom grew up in the city, she must have known her neighbors. But here in the suburbs, everyone was so judgmental and cliquey. City kids probably went to the playground all the time, and no one looked at them like they weren’t supposed to be there.

Suburbs - that was the problem. Suburbs and fences. One and the same, really. If they lived in a city, or a real small town, he and Hannah would live close enough to each other that he could just show up at her house and be like, “Hey, wanna go to the playground?” and they could. But here, you had to drive to get anywhere.

Once he was sixteen, everything would be all right. But for now, he was still a prisoner.

He went back inside, poured himself a bowl of cereal, added some milk (anyone who puts the milk in first is a guaranteed serial killer, Hannah had once said; Cereal killer, he had responded, on his A-game for once, and even though it barely made sense, Hannah had laughed at it, just like she had laughed at “Catafornia”) and brought it into the living room. He sat down at the computer and signed on, looking for something to read while he ate his breakfast. As he searched, the cereal grew soggy, but he wouldn’t start eating until he found something decent. Besides, soggy cereal was better anyway. People who ate it dry might not be serial killers, but they were probably at least perverts or something.

He didn’t have to search too long for reading material: Hannah had taken the same survey he had taken yesterday afternoon. So she had gone online last night after the concert. James swore at himself for going to bed early. Although maybe all she would have wanted to talk about was the concert, and that just would have annoyed him, because he wanted to tell her about Courtney Collins and his thoughts on Genesis and the Garden of Eden and suburbs.

James read through her survey and munched on his cereal contentedly. Not only had she taken it, but she had copied it from him, which meant she had seen his answers. Plus there were certain little parts where she responded to him directly, and every time he reached one, he smiled. She was amused by the Courtney Collins thing. That was good, that meant she might ask him about it later. She saw his thing about the Bible; she saw him say she knew his deepest darkest secret. “aw james,” she said.

But how was she saying that? Was it like aw james you’re so sweet, i’m so glad you value me and our friendship so much to share personal things with me? Or was it more like aw james it’s so cute that you think your secrets count as deep and dark? Aw james you’re such a nice guy but you’ll never understand me and what I’ve been through, your life is so easy and perfect.

What, just because my parents are still together? And have good jobs and we live in a nice house? Just because they’re happy that means I must be happy? Well, I don’t believe in all that fake-ass American dream bullshit, and you should know me better than that by now.

And what was that stupid quote from? James copied and pasted it into the search-engine, and it turned out to be from an interview with Xander Cross. Of fucking course. The link was purple for some reason, meaning he had clicked it before, which was strange. He didn’t remember ever reading an interview with that pretentious, self-centered prick, but he supposed he must have. Back when he thought he should get into OBM so it could be one of their things. Before he decided that they were only for girls, that they were all about looks, not music.

No, he thought, responding to the quote, there was something nice about having things you only shared with one person. It gave it a sense of purity, a sense of sacredness. And she didn’t understand that. Of course she didn’t understand that. She broadcast everything out to the world - look at her telling everyone about her mom being an alcoholic, right there in the middle of a survey. James felt betrayed. He had thought he was the only one she confided in about that stuff, but apparently not. When he wasn’t online, she probably said the same thing to anyone who was around. He was interchangeable with anyone else.

And she didn’t get what he meant about the whole “bad weather” thing. If you liked the rain, then rain wasn’t bad weather. It was just what other people thought was bad weather. He thought that she would understand that, but obviously she hadn’t.

She wasn’t different; she was just like everyone else.

In search of more ammunition, James returned to the Xander Cross interview, still up on the screen. What had gone through Hannah’s mind when she read it? She probably thought the stuff about contrast was deep. But hadn’t he had the same thought before? Didn’t he even tell Hannah about it? Yeah, it was the night after they had gone down to the Kindergarten for some special school event to read to them or be positive role models or whatever, and he had said that they kind of scared him (idk i just feel like they’re gonna turn out to be ghosts or something was his phrasing) - but she didn’t appreciate it when it came from him. But when Xander Cross said the exact same thing, then she cared.

But at least James had original thoughts. Everything she said was borrowed from somewhere else - like this thing in the interview Xander said about taking a shit (James mentally filled in the expletive, and wondered why they bothered to censor it - if you knew the word, you could fill it in yourself and if you didn't, then it couldn't hurt you) - that must have been where she got what she said the other night.

When he said eat and sleep, she said shit.

And that was just like her, too - always focusing on the most vulgar, the ugliest things.

When she got to the end of the interview, where Xander talked about his musical influences, did she even think to herself, I should listen to them? When he mentioned a book, did she want to read it? No, she wouldn’t have. She never cared to learn about the things other people loved. Even people she cared about. Hannah liked you, if she liked you at all, for how you related to her. What you were like apart from her, what you were like on your own - that didn’t interest her at all. She would never listen to CrossMyHeart; she would never do what he was doing now. It never occurred to her that she might be missing something.

And that was why she would always stay exactly as smart as she was but he, James, would continue to learn - and eventually surpass her. They weren’t Adam and Eve; they were the tortoise and the hare.

He had just gotten to the bit about the Russian book (which he would read at some point) when a chat window popped up on his screen. It was Hannah, up earlier than he expected. Seeing her screenname, he felt an an automatic, Pavlovian twitch of excitement before his conscious mind reminded him that he was mad at her. How dare she make him feel such contradictory things.

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: why werent you online last night

xx themachine: i thought you were at the concert?

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: well duh

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: i meant after

xx themachine: oh i didn’t think you’d come on

xx themachine: i went to bed early

xx themachine: my mom was on the computer anyway

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: your mom???

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: lmao what was susan doing on the computer

xx themachine: idk mom things i guess

Fifteen seconds passed: an eternity.

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: you ok?

xx themachine: yeah im fine why

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: idk you just seem

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: off

xx themachine: well im not

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: okay

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: ................

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: the concert was great by the way

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: thanks for asking

xx themachine: oh right sorry

xx themachine: i didn’t really have a chance to though?

xx themachine: glad you guys had fun though

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: whats your deal today

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: whats up?

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: not like “nm u” whats up

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: but like actually. whats up?

xx themachine: nothing

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: why do you hate victoria so much

xx themachine: what

xx themachine: i dont hate her

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: obviously you do

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: i saw your survey answer
XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: i dont care

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: i’m just curious why you hate my best friend

xx themachine: i don’t

xx themachine: and even if i did

xx themachine: obviously you’re together

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: she’s in the shower right now

xx themachine: what survey answer?

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: lmao come on dude i’m not dumb

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: the one about who your biggest enemy is

xx themachine: wtf i just hit my hand randomly on the keyboard

xx themachine: bc i was frustrated

xx themachine: and i don’t know who my enemy is

xx themachine: probably myself tbh

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: you put her initials in there

xx themachine: no???

xx themachine: not on purpose

xx themachine: look at the fuckin keyboard hannah

xx themachine: v and b are right next to each other

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: theyre in there three separate times

xx themachine: ok?? still doesnt mean i did it on purpose

xx themachine: coincidences exist you know???

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: james i know you

xx themachine: i thought you did

xx themachine: but if you knew me you’d trust me

xx themachine: if you knew me you’d know i don’t lie

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: bullshit

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: you lie all the time

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: you try and make yourself sound all deep and tortured and profound

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: when really you’ve got this perfect life

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: perfect family etc

xx themachine: you don’t know what my life is like

xx themachine: just because it’s different than yours

xx themachine: doesn’t mean i don’t have problems too

XXxSuicidesxGracexXX: oh, did susan burn the meatloaf last night?

xx themachine: bye hannah

He hit the block button before she could respond.

This was a first.

They’d had fights before, of course. They had even gone days without speaking to one another, both too stubborn to be the first to open a new chat window and type some random word that would make everything normal again (or so James had imagined.) But they had never blocked each other. They had always been able to see the other's screenname. That little reminder that the other person existed had always been there.

It gave you such a feeling of power, blocking someone. It was like he had deleted Hannah from existence.

Fury surged through James’s body, immense and inexpressible. He wanted to run a mile; he wanted to smash the computer on the ground; he wanted to scream. But it was morning. His parents and Becca were still in bed. So he had to settle for agitated pacing and muttering. Some dim part of him was aware that he resembled a crazy person from a movie, and wondered if he was one.

But most of him was devoted to performing a monologued argument with Hannah: she called him fake and dramatic and a poser; she laughed at him. That cold, dismissive laugh that she used on people she didn’t even count as people. She turned people to nothing with that laugh. 

“You think you’re so much smarter and cooler than everyone else,” he said under his breath as he paced. “You think just because you’re from Connecticut and you don’t have a dad and your mom likes to drink, that makes you special. Well guess what, none of that’s actually you. That’s just the stuff that happened to you. All you are is just some average girl who’s desperate for attention and thinks it’s okay to treat people like shit because of things they can’t control. You’re no better than all the people you hate. You do the exact same thing they do. You’re just like one of those Christian hypocrite politicians who says one thing when it’s other people doing it but then when it’s them, oh no, that’s totally different. Like I bet if Xander Cross said he was a Christian you’d suddenly be one too, and you’d pretend like you were the one who thought of it. And like you say you hate posers and followers and people who can’t think for themselves but then you call Victoria your best friend? And then pretend to me like you can’t stand her but then when you’re with her you say the exact same shit about me, don’t you?”

Here fake-Hannah interjected: “At least Victoria doesn’t block me and run away like some kind of baby.”

“Because she’s scared of you, Hannah. I’m the only one who’s not scared of you, who would actually ever say this shit to your face, and if you were actually honest, you’d be thankful for that. But you don’t really want the hard truth, do you, you want a nice happy lie just like everyone else in this pathetic world.”

Passing the computer, James noticed that he was still signed in. Blocking Hannah meant she couldn’t see his screenname, but other people still could. And Hannah surely hadn’t been just talking to him - she was never just talking to him - so she could easily ask someone else if he was still online, and realize that he had blocked her. Panic flooded his body, displacing his anger in an instant. Frantically, hands shaking, he grabbed the mouse and dragged it to the icon that would log him out. 

Before he could click it, the mouse slipped out of his sweaty hand. A brief delay, but a catastrophe when every second counts. He had wasted enough time as it was. Finally, he managed to maneuver the mouse back to the icon, clicked it, and breathed deeply. Apparently he had been holding his breath.

He tried to remember who else had been online, but his mind was blank.

Maybe he had caught it in time. Maybe she hadn’t bothered to ask anyone else. She probably didn’t care enough, anyway. But just in case, he’d better just stay away from the computer for a while. Actually, he should shut it off completely. He jabbed the power button and held it, feeling like he was holding a pillow over someone’s face, suffocating him. (It was his grandfather, for some reason, in a hospital bed. Why? Both of his grandfathers were alive: healthy, endearing old men.) As the computer died, he felt Hannah fall further away.

He would do something else today - something outside, something that had nothing to do with her. That way, when they got around to discussing the fight, processing it like they always did - he could tell her he had been busy and it wouldn’t technically be a lie.

Just like it wasn’t technically a lie that he had slammed his fist on the keyboard when the survey question asked him about his biggest enemies. That was one of the things he had done. The fact that he had also added a couple of extra vb’s in there did not negate that. He was always honest, but he did sometimes leave things out.

“But so do you,” he added, addressing pseudo-Hannah once more. “You don’t always tell me when you’re talking to other people or when Victoria’s sitting next to you or when you’re not home.”

And so did everybody, didn’t they? Nobody ever told the whole truth or else they’d never shut up.

How would Hannah respond to that? Would she get it? The real Hannah, not the one in his mind and not the one who was online right now, who was mad at him over practically nothing. James made a mental note to run it by her once they were friends again. Only then could he know if it was a worthwhile thought or not.

There was a whole area of James’s mind reserved for storing ideas that he hadn’t talked to Hannah about yet.

Another one, from last night, after he had gone to his room: when you listen to a song a lot, it gets its own area in your mind. Like a yard with a fence, and your mind is the town. And the neighborhood is all the other songs that are connected to it.

Another: minds are like places.

And some more, taking form right now, in front of the black computer screen: Maybe I do have OCD. Maybe that’s what this is. Maybe I’m going crazy. Maybe I’ve always been crazy and I just didn’t realize it because I was too crazy. Maybe knowing I’m crazy is what makes me sane. Maybe it’s the world that’s crazy and we’re the only ones who are sane. Maybe . .