Everything Changes by Tropper Jonathan

Author:Tropper, Jonathan [Tropper, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Humor, Contemporary
ISBN: 9780385337427
Publisher: Delacorte
Published: 2006-03-27T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

I get off the train at Eighty-sixth, but rather than go home, I walk slowly toward Central Park, relishing the cold sensation of the rain soaking my skin through my clothes. Wet weather has always seemed to me to be an invitation to extreme action, and, having just behaved extremely, the stinging spray is a welcome, retroactive justification. Leaving work in the middle of the day is erratic behavior, to be sure, but nothing that can’t be explained away. Kissing Tamara, on the other hand, was just plain reckless, and it leaves me feeling perplexed, ashamed, and undeniably excited. I want to take it back and do it again, all at the same time. I think of Hope in London, sifting through recondite paintings in a musty basement, dust mites collecting on her designer clothing, and I feel a deep pang of guilt. I think of Tamara and wonder what she’s thinking about me, if she’s reliving that kiss over and over again the way I am. Best not to think about that too much. But still . . .

I step into the living room an hour later, teeth chattering, to find Matt and Jed napping in front of the television, Matt sprawled on the floor and Jed on the couch. A romantic comedy plays itself out on cable; a mistaken identity has been perpetrated by the woman in the name of unrequited love, but the deception will ultimately be forgiven, since both parties are just so good-looking and because only a fool would overlook the soundtrack and lighting cues that make it clear where the happy ending lies. A worn copy of Nabokov’s Laughter in the Dark lies facedown on Matt’s chest. Despite the tattoos, earrings, and other assorted accoutrements of his trade, Matt’s not at all what you’d expect from a punk rocker. He’s passionate about literature, is majoring in it on his protracted route through college, which explains the Nabokov and why, mixed in with songs like “Bring Your Sister” and “Jerk-Off Jimmy,” you’ll also find ones like “Vonnegut’s Weed” and “Mr. Palomar” in his body of work.

I tiptoe upstairs to my room, peeling off my wet clothes as I go. As I rub the rain out of my hair with a towel still damp from this morning’s shower, I enter into a staring match with the toilet. I’ve managed to avoid it all day, since this morning’s agonizing unpleasantness, but the telltale throbbing in my groin says that I can run, but I can’t hide. I decide to go sitting down. My piss is razor sharp, and in the mirror over the sink, I catch a glimpse of my face contorted in pain, the cords of my neck standing out in protest as I gasp through the stream. But then it’s over, and in retrospect, it wasn’t as bad as this morning, although I don’t know if that’s actually the case, or if I’ve only taken the element of surprise out of it. There’s definitely less blood than this morning, although that’s hardly a cause for celebration.

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