He said he would meet her, but he had a feeling they would never get away. He had to leave for the train station in fifteen minutes; they had been meaning to go to the city for months, but somehow had never found the time. He lay on the couch in his living room, engrossed in the music that swelled from the surround-sound. He saw angels, bright-winged, dozens of them hand in hand in a pure light. Raising the sky with voices, they soared on ethereal clouds of sound, higher and higher. He was no longer there, he was wafted upwards with them, a wind, a god...
"What do you think you're... Shiiit!!!" he heard his mother dash across the room, then dash back. He looked into the kitchen, and saw that the chicken soup, which his parents were boiling for dinner, had spilled. It must have been spilling for some time, it covered the stove and part of the floor. He lay back down and tried to focus on the music but his mother pressed her face just above his, "How can you just sit there?" she shrieked, "the chicken soup's boiling all over the place! Take a look! Can't you get off your lazy ass? Don't you ever do anything around the house? You're almost a grown man, god dammit!" Angels, angels... he tried to think, but couldn't.
Stop, he put up his hands, leave me in peace. Is there nowhere I can have some peace? He jumped up and stalked across the kitchen, towards the garage. When he got into the car a strong smell of onions remained in his nose.
He said he would meet her, but he had a feeling he would never get away. "I need a break. I desperately need a break." he'd been telling himself. The suburbs were sucking him dry. He needed to visit the city for a weekend and watch a play or walk through the busy streets, anything to forget himself. He wanted Britney to come with him, but she whined, "Why? What's there to do in the city we can't do here?" He hesitated to tell her that she bored him to death half the time. Part of him despised her, in fact-- her bounciness, her bad taste... She took him the week before to a Britney Spears concert. They had front row seats and were placed right in front of one of the massive speakers. He was knocked back into his seat by the volume, limp and helpless, while Britney danced and flung her arms about. During Britney's favorite song, the singer, dressed in a plastic pink bra, jiggled her breasts up and down and barked the usual about wanting only to be with You etc.
"That song is so...soo... ME!" Britney confided to him afterwards, twisting her buttocks from side to side. Does that hurt? he wondered, her jeans are frighteningly tight. "I'm sure it is." he mumbled, smirking bitterly. An article he read lately came to mind, which proposed that in the next century all music could be written by machines.
"That's my theme song." she went on, "Ah... I just love Britney Spears!"
"She's all right. She has um... a nice rhythm." That's a safe thing to say, he thought, disgusted with himself-- you can say that about any song at all...
"And she even has my name!" Britney pointed out, and put her arms around his neck.
They did not fondle much. He could not stand to be close to her face. It fluffed and puffed, pink like a wad of cotton candy. Her cheeks were pitted with acne and her tiny eyes overemphasized with black liner. She had a nice, meaty build, but for some reason he could not bring himself to touch her. "I want to take it slow... you know, it's the emotional aspect that counts." he told her several times. She found it quite romantic.
Later at night he would writhe in nausea at her when he thought of her voice, her factory-made dreams. He would try to deconstruct her. "A victim of popular culture... Despiritualized by American society, made shallow, empty by a culture which has lost the values of dignity..." He could write a whole essay if he wanted to. For a moment he admired his sharp insights; then he would suddenly turn on himself: You don't even know her, he thought, "Shallow?" How can you assume that?-- maybe she is rather like yourself, deep down-- though he couldn't picture it.-- And finally, before falling asleep, he would imagine things he'd never dare to do. He ravished her like a hungry beast, turning her over and over, biting her neck savagely, mashing her into a pulp against the ground.
The day after the Britney Spears concert they were out late, and he tried to play some of his music on the radio. He was nervous, and beforehand kept repeating to her, "This is so beautiful. This is lovely... This is, oh!... heavenly ..." as if he could convince her by talking. She withstood ten seconds of Beethoven's string quartet, then turned the dial back to some gangsta rap. "Boring!" she pronounced judgment on him.
As he waited for her at the train station, then, he had a sinking feeling that they would never make the trip. He came a few minutes late, as usual, and grew terribly anxious that she'd left already. He waited for half an hour, then saw her coming across the parking lot towards him. He smiled. She was dressed all in black that day. He ran towards her. "Hey, who's the pretty in black huh?" He put his arm around her. She took off her sunglasses and he saw that she had been crying. "What happened, Britney?" He asked.
She put her hand in his. Her palm was sticky with tears and snot. She sobbed into his chest. "Can we go home? I really don't feel like going anywhere today..." she moaned. "Sure, sure..." he walked her over to her car.
As she drove she started talking, choking on herself now and then, "I was cooking some milk at home and my dad... you know he's been unemployed for the last three months and staying home, the fucking bum... he was lying there on the couch next to the kitchen... the milk was boiling, then it started spilling... and it kept spilling for all this time, it was spilling all over the stove and the floor... and he just sat there! the prick! then i ran across like crazy and took it off the stove... I said dad, the milk's boiling all over the place! and he just ignored me. Then I got mad and said, Don't you ever do anything around the house? You're a grown man, god dammit. And he said, leave me alone. you don't talk to your dad that way. And then he slapped me...'" And she burst out crying again.
"Careful, drive safely..." his throat was dry, "Drive slowly, put on your safety belt..." He realized that he should be overwhelmed by love and sympathy at the moment, and so put his arm around her, but somehow felt too disoriented to play his part through. Besides, she was already swerving in and out of the lanes, and he wanted to avoid further distractions. He fidgeted in his seat, as if she had tossed him some strange little rodent that he did not know what to do with. He was afraid he'd smother it if he only moved his legs.
After a while he offered her a chocolate bar, which had been melting in his pocket. She thanked him tearfully. She looks sexy when she cries, he observed, and even more so when she cries dressed in black. All she needs is a cigarette. How would she look in leather? thoughts like these paraded through his head. He couldn't wait to go home, jump on his bed and fantasize about her once again.
Two weeks later he stood again at the exact spot. They had rescheduled the trip for this weekend. He had a sinking feeling they would not make it. He came to the train station a few minutes late, as usual, and grew terribly anxious that she'd left already. An old homeless man, who sat near him, glared at him and grinned knowingly. The fantasy crossed his mind that everyone he came across might be conspiring against their journey.
He recalled the day after their last aborted trip. In the morning, she showed up at his house. He tiptoed to the door in his underwear and looked through the peephole. She wore a very revealing miniskirt with multicolored butterfly designs, which was fashionable at the time. With one hand she was smoothing out her hair, while with the other she pushed down the top of her miniskirt until one could clearly define the line between her breasts. He walked back to his bedroom, put some clothes on and opened the door.-- "I just want to thank you for comforting me, back in the car yesterday..." she began. He thought, What?!... "It was really sweet of you! You know, you're such a sweetie pie." she smiled-- "Well, I..."-- "I remembered you said you like Britney Spears," she went on, "So I got us tickets for her next three shows!" Britney showed him.
"Oh, you're very nice." he smiled, "How can you be so nice?"
"I know! I know!" she bounced her fluffy head from side to side. He closed his eyes very tightly, then kissed her on the cheek. "But first," he whispered, "Let's go see that play I've been talking about, in the city? We've been meaning to see that for weeks..."
"Which one," she wiggled on her heels, "Is it the really sad one, or the happy one?"
"The sad one. 'King Lear'?"
"Oh, no... I don't like sad stuff..." she pouted. He kept glancing down to make sure her miniskirt stayed up, and readied his hands to replace it in case it did slip off. Despite his tense state, he managed to coaxed her into going to the city again, shoveling in a dozen promises he knew he wouldn't keep.
He waited at the train station for half an hour, then saw her coming across the parking lot towards him. He smiled. She was dressed all in black that day. He ran towards her. "Hey, who's the pretty in black huh?" He put his arm around her. She took off her sunglasses and he saw that she had been crying. "What happened, Britney?" He asked.
She put her hand in his. Her palm felt sticky with tears and snot. She sobbed into his chest. "Can we go home? I really don't feel like going anywhere today..." she moaned. Something sank in him, and he knew they wouldn't get away.
As she drove she started talking, choking on herself now and then. He tried to listen. He felt like some miscast actor in a strange sitcom. "It will turn out all right," he kept repeating. That should work, he told himself. But apparently it was the wrong line, and induced no response. She was a gigantic switchboard with thousands of lights, buttons, and switches, out of which he had to hit the right one. But he felt out of tune that day. When his first effort failed he kept repeating "It will get better with Time", though he had forgotten by now exactly what she said was bothering her. Besides, the song on her radio kept distracting him. "Could you... ah... please turn down the volume just a bit?" he asked politely. She gave him a sharp look, stopped crying and cranked the dial to the top. She jerked her head at him, in rhythm with the pounding music,
"Do you have an opinion?
A mind of your own?
I thought you were special?
I thought you were someone?"
He said he would meet her, but he knew he would never get away. He came a few minutes late, as usual, and grew terribly anxious that she'd left already. He stood before the entrance of a grey tenement building. From passersby he gathered that it was some kind of local network. It was the right address, he kept taking the paper out of his pocket, wrinkling it and checking. After their last meeting he had been trying for days, without any success, to see Britney again. He felt sick of the whole affair and was prepared to end it. He was ready to apologize to her and humiliate himself in any way she required, if only he could get in touch with her. Then yesterday came a note taped to his door, which directed him to the present address. "What is wrong with me? What is wrong?" He said to the wall and tapped his feet. Half an hour of waiting, then a door opened, and a man with an oversized headset peeked out.
"Britney's boyfriend!" The man pronounced, removing his headset with both hands.
"Yes, that would be me..."
"Come this way."
He followed the man down a long, dark corridor. There were voices in the distance, which swelled as he drew closer to the end of the hallway. A burst of light blinded him at the end. He was on some sort of platform with a few chairs, and the audience was already screaming. A bespectacled man in a business suit shook hands with him. He was too dazed to see the man's face. "I'm Jerry." said the man. "Jerry Springer?" he mumbled.-- "The one and only. Britney brought you here to uh... settle some differences." Jerry pointed across the room.
She was sitting on the opposite end of the stage from him, dressed in dark leather. Her breasts bulged over the low-cut corset like rising dough. Her thighs and buttocks were exposed. He fell back into his seat. Jerry took front stage.
"Welcome to 'My guyfriend has a dirty secret!'" he announced. "These women are tired of their men staying incommunicative and have brought them here, to be exposed! Now what is your name dear?" He lowered the mike to Britney.
"Brit-ney." she stretched it out. A few men in the audience whistled, and she waved at them.
"Now tell me about you and him, Britney."
"Well, you see, this asshole over here..." she pointed across the stage at him, "We never cuddle anymore, and he's just being so weird around me you know. Like I cried to him twice last week but he was so stone cold, he didn't even put his arm around me... I mean gosh..." the rest of her words were lost in the angry gasps of the audience.
A fat woman stood up, stabbing the air with her finger, "It's men like you that ruin everything! You don't know the meaning of commitment! you're the kind of guy that makes us overweight and addicted and suicidal..." she yelled into the mike. Boos and hissing broke out all around him, and the white light seemed to intensify. He put his hands over his face, but still it was dazzling. Behind his eyelids he saw nothing but whiteness, as if it were spilling out from within himself.
"So, why have you been so cold to this beautiful young lady?" Jerry's face pressed down above his. The mike was almost shoved down his throat. "What's the secret you've come here to tell?"
He heard the audience chanting thirstily. Everything spun around him... what am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to say? he tried to think of something good. Finally he had it. "I'm gay! Everyone! I'm in the closet! I'm coming out! I'm gay! I'm gay!" he threw up his arms.
"And can you name the man you've been having a secret affair with?"
"That's me!" he heard someone say. A middle-aged man, unshaven, entered in a pink dress and lipstick. The audience screamed and laughed. Britney pounced at him. She tore the lace from his dress and slapped him again and again. The man's lipstick smeared all over his face.
He could not remember what happened next, but a few minutes later he found himself and Britney hugging. "So, you're going to be best friends?" Jerry asked.-- "Yes..." he garbled.-- "And you, Britney?"-- "Hey, I'm cool, I can live with the fact that he's a queer, transsexual hermaphrodite."-- Britney kissed him on the cheek. The audience melted in an "Aww..." of affection. "A heart-warming ending, folks. Our young man has discovered himself at last." Jerry beamed and shook hands with him. Then hand in hand with Britney, the young man walked off the stage. The room swelled with laughter and applause.